#infamous snake owner | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daemour · 20 days ago

Text

MDNI

➳Pairing: mafia boss! Wooyoung x f! nightclub owner! Reader

➳Genre: Mafia au, angst, hurt/comfort, some fluff, smut, E for explicit

➳Summary: The line between hate and love is thin. You're aware of this, and yet you can't help but love Wooyoung, no matter how badly he treats you.

➳Word Count: 15017

➳Warnings: Violence, toxic behaviour from a romantic partner, guns, death, murder, minor injuries, Wooyoung can be read as yandere-he's extremely possessive, manipulation, language, coersion, sexual innuendos [smut warnings under cut]

This was written for @sanjoongie's Year of the Villains: Year of the Snake collaboration! It was extremely fun to write for, despite all the emotion rollercoasters I went on (mostly of my own doing)

This is indeed a chonker of a fic, so I'd like to formally apologise >v< but please enjoy! It's got very dark themes, so please make sure to read the warnings amply!

A big thank you to @thelargefrye for helping me out with the plot!

➳Smut Warnings: Public touching (no intercourse), slight drunken sex (do not do this), some breast play, praise, degradation, dom/sub (Wooyoung dom, reader sub), unprotected (do not do this without prior discussion), oral (m), deepthroating, fingering (f), riding, !! UNDERNEGOTIATED GUN PLAY !! (do not do this)

➳Please Note: Some scenes will appear dubcon. In one, YN is tipsy, and in others, she has been in fear of Wooyoung prior. Please read at your own risk.

!! If I've missed any, please let me know !!

“C’mere, doll,” Wooyoung purrs. His lips pull into a wicked smile he has reserved for you, devoid of any softness. His eyes glint as he rakes his gaze up and down your body, every bit the kingpin of the drug scene in his city.

You step forward, your heels clicking with every step you take. You don’t remember how you ended up in this position, starting as a measly nightclub owner. But you hadn’t realised your club ran right in the strip he controls, and one day you were late with rent.

When he came personally, infamous drug lord Jung Wooyoung, something about you just caught his favour. And you can’t refuse his favour, not unless you wanted your club burnt to the ground.

As you move to take a seat next to him, Wooyoung tsks, raising a hand. “Not there,” he instructs, and you hesitate, your false confidence wavering.

“Where would you like me to sit?” you ask, although you know what his answer is going to be.

A smirk plays on his lips as he takes notice of your hesitation, clearly amused by the way you’re trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “On my lap, doll,” he commands, patting his thigh expectantly. His eyes gleam with a predatory intensity, making it clear this isn’t a request but an order from the man who holds your livelihood in his hands.

The air seems to thicken with tension as he waits for you to comply, the weight of his dominance palpable. It’s a subtle reminder of just how much power he wields, and how helpless you are against it.

You hesitate ever so slightly before moving towards him, your movements stiff. As you carefully settle yourself on the edge of his knees, you cross your ankles to try and keep some semblance of your composure.

Wooyoung narrows his eyes, displeased with the minimal contact between you two. Before you can do anything else, he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against his chest, his fingers digging into your body.

“Now, that’s better,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear as he presses a light kiss to your temple. His hand slides up your side, splaying across your waist possessively. “You look even prettier when you’re squirming under my touch.”

Your eyes flick nervously towards the other crime bosses lining the table. Although none of them are as influential as Wooyoung, you still never would’ve expected to see them so close. As Wooyoung’s hands continue to roam your body, you try not to flinch or squirm so much, not willing to hear lewd comments or see the leering from the others.

“Your rings are cold,” you mutter in Wooyoung’s ear as you lean away from his touch ever so slightly. It’s a bid to get him to focus his attention elsewhere, although you know it’ll be in vain.

At your quiet comment, Wooyoung chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “Oh, they’ll be warmed up soon enough,” he retorts, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your skirt to brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is deliberate, meant to break your fragile attempts at appearing demure. “If you’re truly feeling chilly, maybe we should find a way to heat things up, no?”

With that, he pulls your head towards him, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss that leaves you breathless with no doubt about his intentions. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming it as his own.

Fidgeting, you turn your head to whisper to him, “There are men here…” You turn your eyes down, avoiding meeting his gaze.

“Let them watch, doll,” he purrs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before shifting to the assembled men. “They all know who you belong to.” Despite his words, he does have business to attend to, and he reins in his affection, though his hands still wander your body possessively.

As the meeting progresses, as much as you try to pay attention, he leans in to murmur something in your ear, reminding both you and everyone else that you’re his plaything.

When a particularly heated discussion arises, Wooyoung’s grip on your thigh tenses, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin in a twisted comfort. It’s a silent message—stay close, stay quiet, and remember your place in this world.

You keep your eyes trained on the wall, although you can still feel the stares of everyone on your body. Wooyoung’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The unspoken warning is clear; keep your eyes and hands to yourself, lest he shows exactly why he’s the kingpin.

As the meeting winds down, Wooyoung rises to his feet, pulling you up with him. He keeps a firm hold on your waist, guiding you through the crowded room, the men parting for him. Once outside, he releases you abruptly, stepping back to light a cigarette.

“You did well tonight, doll,” he remarks, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Remember, you’re mine to flaunt or hide, whenever I please.” With that, he turns to leave, expecting you to follow without question.

Before you can move to follow, a hand grabs your wrists and yanks you back. You come face to face with a face you’ve seen on papers Wooyoung leaves out rarely—an up and coming drug lord, one new enough to not realise exactly how damning it can be to cross Wooyoung. You quickly yank your arm out of his grip, holding back from striking the man in his neck. “Now, hold on,” he grins like a cat waiting to swallow a bird. “Why don’t we share?”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow to slits as he spins around, his expression deadly calm. “Sharing isn’t exactly my style,” he drawls, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “Especially when it comes to what’s mine.”

His gaze flickers to the man holding you captive, a silent threat hanging in the air. After a tense moment, you’re released, the man stepping back with a sheepish grin.

“I was just joking, kingpin. No need to get testy,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Wooyoung watches him for another beat before nodding curtly. “See that you keep it that way,” he warns before turning back to you. “Let’s go, doll. We have business to attend to.”

As we start to leave again, the man mutters under his breath, apparently just wishing for death, “Why bring your plaything along if we can’t use it? Might as well ask us to lick your ass.”

Unfortunately for him, Wooyoung’s hearing is sharp.

His expression darkens further at his subordinate’s crude remark, his grip on your arm tightening almost painfully. “You want a piece of my action, huh?” he sneers, spinning to face the insolent man once more.

Before you can even react, Wooyoung’s fist connects with the lord’s jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. The sound of cracking bone echoes as he delivers a vicious kick to his ribs, pinning him beneath his boot.

“You forget your place, fool,” Wooyoung snaps, his face contorting with fury. “My ‘plaything’ is off-limits to every last one of you. Touch her again, and you’ll wish for death before you even have time to blink.”

With a final, brutal stop, Wooyoung lends down and presses the butt of his cigarette to the lord’s forehead, branding him with shame before flicking the ashes onto the floor and straightening up.

“Apologies for the interruption, doll. Let’s get out of here before someone else decides to try me,” he hums, his voice softening until it’s almost unrecognisable.

He leads you away from the scene, his pace quick and purposeful. The silence is heavy, the tension from before still simmering in the air. As you reach his car parked a block away, Wooyoung finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “That was a mistake, letting him get under my skin like that. But you saw how quickly I dealt with him, right? Don’t worry, no one touches you without my permission.” He glances at you sidelong, his eyes intense.

You nod shakily, legs trembling from the biting winter wind. “I know…I just wish you wouldn’t lose your temper like that,” you mutter. His bursts of anger always scare you, but Wooyoung’s still riled up and your timing was wrong.

His grip on your elbow tightens, his knuckles whitening as he pulls you closer. “You think I enjoy losing control?” he snarls, lips curling. “I do it to protect what’s mine, including you. It’s my responsibility as the kingpin. How do you think you’ve remained safe? If you can’t handle that, maybe you should find somewhere else to be.” There’s a challenge in his tone, daring you to defy him.

You stumble a little, heels slipping in the ice as you shake your head quickly. You can’t afford to lose his favour. “I meant nothing of it,” you squeak out, shivering at both his intense stare and the wind blowing through your bones. You regret forgoing a coat. “I’m just worried for you.”

Wooyoung heaves a sigh, his expression softening slightly at your words, some of the aggression draining from his stance. He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your chilled skin. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Just focus on staying by my side, and let me handle the rest. You care too much about people, with disregard for yourself.” Oh, how false his words are.

He steps closer, enveloping you in his warmth as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, get in the car and warm up. We need to head home to get you out of the cold.” He guides you forward, his tone reassuring, but there’s an underlying edge that suggests he won’t tolerate any further dissent.

You try to keep yourself from tripping as you hurry forward to slide into the passenger seat. Your face is warm from his touch, but your heart is twisted at his sweet words. The back-and-forth of his actions always confused you, and today is no exception. A constant question in your mind is why he keeps you around.

As Wooyoung slips into the driver’s seat, he pauses for a moment, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Get comfortable, doll. We’ve got a long ride to the apartment,” he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the air.

Once you’re settled and the car is heated up, he pulls out of the parking spot, merging seamlessly into the late-night traffic. The silence between you stretches, punctuated only by the hum of the tires and the occasional blare of a horn.

Your hand twitches as you debate whether to indulge yourself and reach out to hold his hand resting on the console. It’s not wise to entangle yourself further into his web, but as much as you know you shouldn’t, you crave his touch as well.

Wooyoung notices your hesitation, his piercing gaze flickering to your hand before returning to the road. A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as he senses your inner turmoil.

“After all these months, you still can’t decide whether to bite or run, hmm?” he muses, his tone laced with amusement and a hint of something else you can’t place. “It’s cute, really.”

Without looking away from the road, he lifts his free hand, extending his fingers invitingly. “Come on, doll. Go ahead.”

Tentatively, you reach out to interlock your fingers with his, enjoying the warmth his hand brings to you. As soon as your hands connect, Wooyoung’s thumb begins to rub gentle circles, applying gentle pressure. “There you are, doll. Just relax,” he coos, his voice dripping with honeyed persuasion.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. You can’t help but lean into his side, craving more of his comforting heat.

As the miles fly by, Wooyoung continues to play with your hand, his caresses gradually becoming bolder. His fingers dance across your palm, tracing intricate patterns that leave goosebumps in their wake.

Despite the intimacy of the gesture, there’s always a quiet reminder in the back of your mind that he’s a dangerous man, and that in his world, you belong to him. Both body and soul.

Weeks pass, and the nightclub is hosting a private party for Wooyoung’s closest associates. Instead of attending as an owner, you’re Wooyoung’s guest. It’s almost embarrassing to be seen as this by your employees, but there’s enough liquor in your stomach that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

Wooyoung stands beside you, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as he surveys the crowded room. The dim lighting casts a flattering glow on his features, making him look every inch the powerful kingpin he is.

You’re doing great, doll. The place looks amazing tonight,” he praises, his lips curling into a smile. “My boys are enjoying themselves.”

He nods towards a group of suited men, their clothing a stark contrast to the colourful lights and their wives’ pretty dresses. They’re clearly mafia men, and the way they watch the room with calculating gazes makes it clear they’re always on high alert.

Wooyoung leans in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers, “And don’t forget, you’re my doll tonight. So behave yourself and make sure everyone knows it.”

You nod happily, the alcohol in your system making you more responsive to his commands. Although you usually do end up bending to his will, there’s always pushback at first. Tonight, however, you’re content with being a good doll.

Wooyoung smiles fondly, chuckling low in his throat as he pulls you closer. “That’s more like it, sweetheart. I like seeing you happy and compliant,” he purrs, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm.

As the night wears on, Wooyoung keeps a possessive grip on you, ensuring everyone present knows you’re his. He introduces you to his associates as his “wife”, the endearment rolling off his tongue with a casual ease that makes your stomach flutter.

When a particularly bold associate approaches, thinking he can steal your attention, Wooyoung’s reaction is swift and decisive. He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him with an eyebrow raised and a sharp statement on his tongue. “Hands off. She’s mine.”

The man backs off, and Wooyoung turns his attention back to you, a smug grin playing on his lips. “See, doll? No need to worry, or fight for yourself. Just remember, I’m always going to protect you.”

He guides you towards the bar, ordering another round of drinks for you. As the bartender prepares the cocktails, Wooyoung’s hand finds its way to your hip, squeezing gently. “It’s a successful party,” he informs you, his tone businesslike despite the gleam in his eye. “But after this, we’ll celebrate in style…privately.”

His words leave no room for argument, not that you want to. He’s been in such a good mood since the last investment meeting with the other mafia families, and you’d like to try and take advantage of this rare occasion.

You nod agreeable, face flushed warm as you lean in to press your cheek against his. “Okay,” you hum, a slur to your words. “Want me to clear a room here or go back to th’ apartment?”

Wooyoung’s expression morphs into a quiet amusement at your state, a glint sparking in his eyes. “Leave the club to my people. We’ll head back to the penthouse,” he instructs, his voice low and husky.

As he steers you towards the exit, Wooyoung’s hand never leaves your lower back, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch. Once outside, he flags down a waiting limousine and helps you inside before sliding in beside you.

During the short ride, the tension between you builds, the air thick with unspoken desires. As soon as the car pulls up to the building, Wooyoung opens the door and assists you out, his strong arms wrapping around you to support your weight.

Inside the lavish penthouse, he hands you a glass of water, sobering you up a little more before leading you straight to the bedroom, closing the door behind you with a resolute click.

You smile dopily at him, the alcohol flushing itself out of your system but the high of a party still lingering in your bones. Wooyoung’s gaze rakes over your dishevelled appearance, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Looks like someone had a bit too much fun tonight,” he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

He starts to undress you slowly, his fingers deftly working to free yourself of the dress. As the fabric falls away, revealing your body, he lets out a low whistle of approval.

“You look delicious like this doll,” he murmurs, his hands skimming your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. “All pretty and pouting for me.”

With deliberate slowness, he peels off his own clothes exposing his chiseled physique to your eager gaze. Once naked, he pulls you into his arms, pressing his hardening length against your lower stomach as he claims your mouth in a searing kiss.

Happily, you let your mouth drop open for him to take from, whining quietly as your hands tug lightly at his long hair. He groans into the kiss, his tongue diving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. As he deepens the kiss, he walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before gently lowering you into the plush mattress.

Straddling your hips, he breaks the kiss just long enough to trail his lips along your jawline and down the column of your throat. “I’ve wanted you all night, baby,” he admits, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

His hands roam your body, mapping out every inch of you with a reverent touch. His cups your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, coaxing needy moans from your parted lips. His touch is gentle, and you crave it.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” Wooyoung demands, his voice rough with desire. “Tell me you’re mine, completely and utterly.”

“I’m yours, completely and utterly,” you parrot, before mirroring his title for you at the party. “Please, ‘husband’. I want you so bad, Wooyoung.”

A triumphant smirk plays on Wooyoung’s lips as he hears your plea. “Good girl,” he praises, his words tinged with dominance. “Now, be a good wife and spread those pretty legs for me.”

As soon as you do so, he settles between your thighs, the tip of his erection teasing your slick entrance. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, mingling with your own feverish arousal.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t remember your own name,” he promises, his voice a husky growl. With that, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. A guttural moan escapes him as he savours the wet heat enveloping his cock.

You moan in tandem, back arching as he stretches you out so well. “Ah– please,” you whine.

Wooyoung sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward with each powerful thrust, smacking against your cunt with wet sounds. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his deep groans.

Leaning down, he captures your mouth in another bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing intensity. One of his large hands grips your thigh, using it as leverage to drive himself even deeper.

When he breaks the kiss, he nips and sucks at your neck, marking you as his. “Look at me, baby,” he commands, eyes blazing with hunger. “Watch me while I claim this pussy and mark it as mine.

His gaze locks onto your face, the raw lust in his expression sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

You slowly raise your eyes to meet his as your hips stutter and your eyes well up with tears from the please. “Wooyoung– ah–” you moan his name repeatedly like a prayer on your lips.

The sight of tears glistening in your eyes only spurs Wooyoung on, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. He leans down, his forehead resting against yours as he pants heavily.

“That’s right, baby. I’m your ‘husband’, your master,” he growls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his impending release. “This cunt belongs to me, understand?”

To emphasise his point, he reaches down and rubs tight circles over your clit, the added stimulation pushing you closer to the edge. His movements become more targeted, hitting that spot inside you with each snap of his hips. “Come for me, doll. Let me feel this sweet pussy clench around me,” he demands, his thumb pressing insistently against your sensitive bud.

It doesn’t take much before you come easily with a shriek, creaming around his cock as you squeeze around him like a vice. It’s almost like you’re sucking him in deeper, and it triggers his own release. Wooyoung throws his head back with a guttural moan as he presses his hips against yours impossibly close. His cock pulses and throbs, shooting thick ropes of searing hot come into your cunt.

“Fuck– take it all, you perfect, pretty wife,” he snarls, grinding against you to prolong your pleasure. Wave after wave of pleasure crash over him, his body shuddering with the aftershocks.

As he finally relaxes, he leans on top of you, careful to not crush you with his weight. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses along your sweat-dampened skin between heavy pants. “Thank you, doll,” he murmurs, his voice still rough but a hint of gentleness in it.

You hum, turning in his arms to smile at him. The alcohol is almost out of your system now, and it’s been replaced with a warmth in your belly from his sweet treatment. Your hand moves to cup his cheek gently as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“I wish you were like this all the time,” you hum, more to yourself than anything. Maybe it would’ve been easier to love him.

Wooyoung stiffens slightly at your words, a flicker of something—Guilt? Regret?—passing over his features before it’s quickly masked. He rolls off of you, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“You know I can’t be soft all the time, doll,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “The world I live in, it requires a certain ruthlessness. But this…” he gestures between the two of you “this is real. You’re the only one who gets to see this side of me.”

His words shock you, a sincere admission of the feelings he hides. He turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ask for things you don’t fully understand, doll. My love may not be conventional, but it’s not false. I protect what’s mine, even if I have to do it in ways you don’t always like.”

You nod slowly, hurt flickering in your eyes, although it mixes with an understanding. “I know, Wooyoung. Just…grant it to me in private. Please.”

Wooyoung sighs deeply, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. After a moment of contemplation, he sits up and pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“Alright, doll. I’ll try,” he agrees softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “But you have to promise me something in return. Promise me you’ll never leave me, no matter what happens. Out there in that cruel world, you’re my only light in the darkness.”

His arms tighten around you possessively, as if afraid you might disappear. “I know I’m not an easy man to be with, but you’re stuck with me now. We’re bound together, for better or worse,” he states like it’s what makes the world go round, tilting your chin up with a finger to get you to meet his intense gaze.

You smile at him, eyes shining with an unspoken emotion. Although there are times you question his feelings, moments like these remind you just how much he truly does love you, in his own way. Guilt gnaws at your gut, but it mixes with the warmth of your misplaced love, and you lean up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll stay,” you murmur. “I’ll stay.”

Wooyoung returns the kiss with a tenderness that belies his usual rough exterior, pouring all his pent-up emotions into the gentle caress of his lips against yours. When he finally pulls away, his dark eyes are filled with a rare vulnerability.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with genuine gratitude and affection. “I know I don’t say it nearly enough, and I show it even less, but…I love you, doll. More than anything in my fucked up world.”

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, his touch gentle. “Get some rest now, baby. Tomorrow’s a new day, and I want you well rested.” WIth that, he settles back against the pillows, pulling you flush against his side.

You curl into him, throwing an arm around him as you press your face into his neck. “I love you too. My love,” you murmur, as much as it pains you to admit.

A contented rumble emanates from Wooyoung’s chest as he wraps his strong arms around you, holding you close and enjoying your warmth. “That’s right, my sweet doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing purr. “Sleep now, and dream of a world where we love each other freely.”

Despite his tone’s roughness, there’s a tenderness in his words and actions, a loving protectiveness that you’ve craved for so long. You feel cherished, and as it overwhelms the sadness in your heart, you drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady beat of his heart and the comforting weight of his arms around you.

As your breath evens out, Wooyoung remains awake, watching your face with a fierce devotion. His mind wanders to the enemies he must confront and the dangers that lurk in every shadow. But for now, in this quiet moment of peace, he allows himself to enjoy the feeling of having you by his side.

Gently, he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. “I’d do anything to keep you,” he vows under his breath, a claim over your heart. “Anything at all, to make you mine.”

With that thought, he closes his eyes, his dreams filled with visions of a future where you’re safe, and forever his perfect doll. A world where his darkness is gone and your love is pure.

When morning arrives, you roll over only to be met with an empty bed and a note on the bedside table.

‘Good morning, doll.

I had to take care of some business today, but don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, treat yourself and have a bath. We’ll have a busy evening ahead of us.

Wooyoung’

There’s a faint scent of his cologne lingering on the paper, a tangible reminder of his presence even though he’s not here with you. You can’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation, wondering what pulled him away so suddenly. Nevertheless, you decide to follow his advice and indulge in a leisurely morning routine.

As much as your heart aches waking up alone, the bath relaxes you, and you fall fast asleep, sinking deeper into the water.

Hours pass unnoticed as you nap peacefully in the warm, fragrant bathwater. Each soft breath makes your body relax more and more as the sun starts to set.

Just as you begin to stir, a sudden commotion erupts downstairs, the cacophony of raised voices and scuffling feet jolting you awake. Startled, you sit up abruptly, sending water splashing over the edge of the tub. The cool air hits your damp skin, causing you to shiver involuntarily.

Concerned, you quickly dry off and slip into a robe, hurrying down the hall to investigate the source of the disturbance. As you reach the corner, a hulking figure emerges from the shadows, blocking your path.

The imposing man steps forward, revealing a bruised and bloody face, one that is vaguely familiar. He’s clearly been in a fight, and judging by the menacing glint in his eye, he’s far from finished.

“Well, well, well,” he sneers, his gaze raking over you with a lecherous hunger. “Looks like the boss’s little puppet is all grown up and ripe for the taking.”

His words spark panic in you, but before you can react, he lunges at you, grabbing a fistful of your robe and yanking you hard towards him. His hot breath fans your hair as he growls, “Seems Jung has been neglecting his duties. Time to show you what real men can do.”

You struggle against his iron grip, but he’s far stronger than you. You don’t want to go back, and you scream, “Wooyoung–” before stomping on the man’s foot and biting into his hand in a bid to get away.

When his grip loosens, you book it to the bedroom, diving for the loaded gun Wooyoung keeps in the bedside table.

Bloodied and enraged, the attacker gives chase, his heavy footsteps thundering down the hall as you frantically search for the gun. Just as your fingers close around the cold metal, he slams into the doorframe, leaning against it heavily.

“Foolish bitch,” he snarls, reaching out to grab at you once more but missing with his clumsy movement. “You think a little toy like that will save you? You belong back with us.”

His words confuse you, but you don’t falter, whirling around in a flash and aiming the gun at his head. “Stay back! I won’t hesitate to use this!”

The intruder scoffs, unfazed by the weapon. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots. Go ahead, shoot me. It’ll just make the boss angrier. You’ve stalled for too long.”

Your finger twitches but you don’t shoot, not yet. Deep down, you realise what he’s talking about, and your arms shake, but your aim remains steady. “I’ll take Wooyoung’s wrath over returning,” you snap. “I’m his doll.”

The man’s smirk fathers for a split second at your declaration, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his battered features. He seems to weigh his options, calculating the risks and rewards.

“I’ll give you credit, sweetheart,” he says slowly. “You’ve got spirit. But that won’t save you from me, or the boss. And it certainly won’t save you from anyone who wants a piece of whatever Jung owns.”

He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his movements measured and menacing. “Now, either you hand over that gun and come with me willingly, or I’ll take it by force and make you regret ever double crossing me or the boss.”

As he advances, you find yourself backed against the wall, the gun still clutched in your white-knuckled hands. Your mind races, desperate for a solution, but the reality of your situation is grim.

Just as the man reaches out, you fire a bullet straight between his eyes. Blood splatters across the room as the intruder crumples to the ground, dead before he even hits the ground. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. And as the gunshot rings in your ears, the door crashes open to reveal Wooyoung, blood streaming down his face and his nose crooked, but alive.

For a long moment, Wooyoung stands frozen, his gaze locked on the lifeless body at your feet. Then, with a low growl, he stalks towards you, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness.

“What the fuck happened while I was gone?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous. “Who sent this bastard?”

Before you can respond, he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. “And why the hell did you think you needed to defend yourself? You’re supposed to stay hidden and safe, not play hero with my fucking guns.” His grip tightens, a hint of fear staining the anger in his voice and gaze.

Your eyes dart between him and the body, the adrenaline wearing off and the weight of what you’ve done settling in your stomach. “I…I didn’t know where you were,” you try to explain, your voice sounding foreign even to yourself. “I killed a man. I killed him…I’m a murder.”

As you start to panic, your voice raises in pitch, hands shaking as you drop the gun. Your knees start to buckle. With a swift motion, Wooyoung catches you as you collapse, holding you upright against his broad chest. He strokes your hair soothingly, his touch gentle despite the turmoil raging in his eyes.

“It’s okay, baby,” he coos, his voice a stark contrast to the fury that had consumed him mere moments ago. “You didn’t murder anyone. This son of a bitch had it coming. You defended yourself and me.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he tries to calm your frantic heartbeat. “I should’ve been here to protect you, or brought you with me. Instead, I left you vulnerable, and this is what happens.”

His own breathing grows ragged, the weight of what happened finally crushing him. “We need to get out of here, clean up this mess. Can you stand for me, doll? I need you strong right now.”

You scramble up, leaning against the wall to steady yourself. You can’t keep your stare off the body, even as Wooyoung is hurriedly stuffing a handful of belongings in a duffle bag. He tosses fabric—a dress—in your face. “Put it on. You’re still in just a robe. We don’t have time for anything else,” he commands.

You quickly follow his instruction even as your mind whirs. As you slip into the dress, Wooyoung’s eyes roam over your stiff and stilted movements, a mix of concern and possessiveness flashing across his features. Satisfied that you’re covered, he nods curtly and zips up the duffle bag.

“Let’s go,” he orders, gripping your wrist firmly and leading you out of the room and then the penthouse. The sound of sirens wail in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.

He hustles you through the darkened streets, keeping to the shadows as they navigate the labyrinthine alleys of the city. The cool night air does little to calm your racing heart, and you can feel the tension from Wooyoung radiating through his taut muscles.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally slows, guiding you into a nondescript building. It appears abandoned from the outside, but as Wooyoung ushers you inside, it becomes clear that it serves as a secret hideout. The space is sparse but well-equipped, with surveillance monitors lining one wall and a cache of weapons mounted on another.

Wooyoung sets the duffle bag down and turns to face you, his expression grave. “This is our safe house,” he explains, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s where we go when shit hits the fan.”

He steps closer, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realised were falling. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “That will never happen again. I swear it on my life.”

Wooyoung’s words hang heavy in the air, a promise forged in the heat of adrenaline and desperation. He pulls you into a fierce embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck as if seeking solace in your warmth. For a long moment, he simply holds you, his breaths uneven and ragged against your skin. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes burn with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I need you to stay here, lock yourself in the back room until morning,” he instructs, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for disagreement. “I’ll deal with the aftermath of tonight, but you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. “Rest, doll. I’ll be back before you know it.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help yourself and reach out to take his wrist, a pleading look in your eyes. “Please promise me,” you beg. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

At your desperate plea, Wooyoung’s resolve falters. He looks down at your hands wrapped around your wrist, then back up at your tear streaked face. A pained expression crosses his features before he forces himself to nod.

“I promise, doll,” he vows, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll come back to you, no matter what. You’re mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” With those words, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his love, fear, and determination into the passionate embrace. When he finally breaks away, he presses a final, tender kiss to your forehead.

“I mean it,” he whispers fiercely. “Wait for me, and I’ll return to you.”

As soon as he exits with one last glance towards you, you quickly follow his instruction, locking yourself in the back bedroom and shoving a dresser in front of the door for good measure. While you wait for his return, your mind wanders back to the moment you shot the man, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Hours pass in tense silence, the only sounds being the distant hum of the city and the occasional creak of the old building settling around you. You pace the cramped confines of the room, your thoughts jumbled mess of fear, guilt, and anticipation.

The memory of pulling the trigger replays in your mind like a macabre filmstrip, each detail etched into your brain with painful clarity. The feel of the gun’s weight in your hand, the click of the safety disengaging, the sudden bloom of crimson as the bullet tore through flesh and bone…

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shake off the haunting images. But they linger, refusing to be banished. Just as despair begins to creep in, you head the sounds of footsteps approaching, followed by the rattle of keys unlocking the door.

When it tries to open, but thuds against the dresser instead, you can practically see Wooyoung’s exasperated but fond expression in his voice. “Really, doll?”

You quickly rush over to shove the drawers away, thankful for a distraction from your spiralling thoughts. Wooyoung pushes past the now-cleared barrier, his face a mask of exhaustion and relief. The blood is still on his face, but his nose is set back into place, a bruise blooming over the mottled skin. He cans the room, ensuring you’re unharmed before letting out a sigh and collapsing on the edge of the cot.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he chides, reaching out to tug you onto his lap. His strong arms envelop you, cradling you close as he buries his face in your hair. “I thought…God, I thought I’d lost you.”

He rocks you gently, his breaths evening out as the adrenaline fades. After a moment, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “We need to talk about what happened,” he says, his tone serious but not unkind. “But first, let’s get you cleaned up and sleep. You’ve been through enough for one night.”

You lean into his touch, body relaxing despite your racing heart and mind. “We’re safe?” you want to confirm.

Wooyoung nods solemnly, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm like he did in his car not even a month ago. “Yes, we’re safe. The body’s been taken care of, and the police won’t find anything linking us to the scene.”

He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “There might be some repercussions within our organisation, but I’ve got everything under control. You don’t need to worry about that right now.” Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on your temple. “All that matters is that you’re here with me, alive and unharmed. That’s all that matters.”

At his reassurance, your lips wobble, and that’s the only warning he gets before you burst into tears, sobs wracking your body. You can’t even form coherent words as the events of the day hit

Wooyoung’s arms tighten around you as you break down, holding you close while you cry. He doesn’t try to comfort you with empty words or false promises; instead, he lets you pour out your emotions, offering only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the solid warmth of his body.

After a while, your sobs gradually subside, leaving you gasping for air and clinging to him like a lifeline. Wooyoung strokes your hair soothingly, his own eyes red-rimmed from the stress of the night.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Let it out, baby. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

He waits patiently until your breathing evens out, then gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. Since you’ve calmed down more, Wooyoung helps you stand and leads you to the small bathroom tucked away in the corner of the room. He starts running warm water in the shower, gesturing for you to undress and step into the stream.

As you wash away the grime and blood of the night, he keeps watch, his eyes never leaving you. When you emerge, dripping and shivering, he wraps you in a towel and dries you off himself, his hands gentle yet possessive.

After you’ve dried off properly and changed into a set of clean clothes, he brings you to the tiny kitchen area, making a warm meal for you. As you eat, he sits beside you, occasionally feeding you bites from his own plate when you’re too exhausted to manage to eat more than a few spoonfuls.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble, eyelids heavy as you fight to stay awake and chew mindlessly. “I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

Wooyoung sets his fork down, his expression melting into one of sadness as he reaches out to cup your cheek. “No, baby, you didn’t fuck it up. You did what needed to be done to protect yourself. I’m proud of you, doll.” He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before pushing your bowl away. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. We both need rest after tonight.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into his soft touch. “Okay,” you mumble, yawn escaping your mouth. “I’m sorry,” the apology leaves your mouth again without thinking, and Wooyoung chuckles with no amusement, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. Your safety always comes first, okay?” He stands, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. “Besides, you’re mine. Shouldn’t I be the one handling everything? Rest tonight, doll.”

Carrying you to the small bed, he lays you down gently and pulls the covers over your chilled form before climbing in beside you. His arms wrap around your waist, tugging you back against his warm chest. “I’ve got you, doll,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear and his heartbeat lulling you into a relaxed state. “Sleep now, and dream of better days.”

As your eyes shut and sleep claims you, Wooyoung remains vigilant, his eyes never fully closing as he watches over you. Despite the weariness etched on his face, his grip on you remains firm, a silent promise of protection.

Hours later, the first light of dawn creeps through the grimy windows, casting a pale glow over the room. Wooyoung’s hold on you loosens slightly as exhaustion finally overtakes him, and he drifts off into a fitful slumber, still cradling you close. The sounds of the waking city filter in, a distant reminder of the world beyond this cramped sanctuary. But for now, in the quiet moments before reality sets in, a fleeting peace is found.

A few hours later, you awaken, blinking away the sunlight shining into your eyes. Wooyoung stirs beside you, your minimal movements waking him up easily.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning before turning to regard you with a serious expression. “We need to discuss what happened last night,” he begins, his voice calm yet authoritative. “You were targeted because of our closeness, which means our situation just got a little more complicated.”

There’s a long pause as Wooyoung studies your expression intently. “Doll. I need you to be truthful with me. Did you know that man…the one you had killed?” His gaze is piercing, searching for an answer in your face. In this moment, he looks every inch the powerful kingpin, but there’s a vulnerability lurking beneath the surface—a fear that you had betrayed him, turned your back on him.

Your hesitation gives him the answer he needs, and you flinch, waiting for his usual anger to snap, but there’s a long silence. When you crack your eyes open, Wooyoung’s gaze hasn’t left your face. He’s waiting for your explanation.

“He…he’s part of your rival’s gang. The one I was a part of.” Your voice grows more and more timid as you continue talking, but Wooyoung still does not make a noise. “I was selected to take the place of the old owner of the nightclub, and my job was to try and feed information. When you took favour to me, they thought it would be a good opportunity. But I changed my mind at that point. I didn’t want to betray you, and I swear I didn’t do anything against you for the last few years—not since I was allowed to attend meetings. I didn’t want to betray you because–” you cut yourself off.

A flicker of something you can’t place crosses Wooyoung’s features, replaced swiftly by his usual stoic mask, making you wonder if you were just seeing things. “Good,” he says simply, before leaning in and pinning you still with his gaze. “Because I’m not letting you go anymore, no matter what happens.”

He rises from the bed, extending a hand to help you up. “First things first, we need to get you some proper clothes and supplies. Can’t have my doll looking like that, now can we?”

The smirk on his face is playful, but there’s an underlying steel to his words. This is a man who always gets what he wants, and right now, he wants to see you looking the part he wants you to play—a symbol of his power and status, and the failed attempt to rattle his spot as kingpin.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” he urges, not letting you wonder about his unbothered attitude at your confession. You let him lead you towards the door with a firm grip on your hand, just happy he hasn’t killed you on the spot, and is returning to his confident self.

“Wooyoung…” you can’t help but to ask as he unlocks his car parked behind the old building “...I understand if you can’t trust me, so you don’t have to answer. But what was the business you were taking care of? It said in the note you left for me last night, and then when you came, you were hurt. What happened?”

Wooyoung slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a smooth hum. As he navigates through the early morning traffic, he glances at you sidelong, his expression unreadable. “I went to see my associates. And it got a little out of control. Nothing to worry about.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, a habit that betrays his agitation. “Last night was a warning, doll. Someone thinks they can challenge my authority and test loyalties. But they picked the wrong man.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw as he accelerates through a yellow light. “Rest assured, I’ll deal with them accordingly. But for now, let’s focus on getting you settled and comfortable. That’s my priority.”

There’s a subtle emphasis on the word ‘my’, a reminder that, despite the lie you had lived, Wooyoung will always put your needs first. At least, that’s how Wooyoung sees it.

As you arrive at a high-end boutique, Wooyoung parks the car and rounds the hood to open your door, offering his hand to assist you. Inside, he browses the racks with an expert eye, selecting pieces that showcase your body in the most flattering way possible.

“You look stunning, doll,” he murmurs, helping you into a sleek black dress that flows around your figure like second nature. The material drapes elegantly across your hips and thighs, the neckline plunging just enough to make his pulse quicken.

He steps back to admire his handiwork, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Perfect.”

You smile slowly at him, finally feeling more and more secure in your relationship with him, the murder you committed pushed to the back of your mind. “As you wish it, I shall be whatever you desire.”

Wooyoung’s eyes darken at your words, a thrill of possession coursing through him. He steps closer, his large frame enveloping you as he trails his fingers down the side of your neck, leaving a tingling path in his wake.

“Indeed,” he rumbles, his breath hot against your ear. “My beautiful, obedient doll. Always dressed to please me, ready to fulfill her duties.” His hand slips lower, grazing the swell of your hip before settling on your thigh. The contact is electric, sending sparks dancing along your nerve endings.

“But remember, doll, you’re mine, body and soul. Don’t you ever forget that,” he continues, his voice low and menacing. With that, he releases you, stepping back to survey his work once more. “Now, shall we continue on, my dear?”

Your face flushed, you nod. “Yes, Wooyoung.” In moments like these, it’s easy to pretend that the two of you are a normal married couple, and it’s somewhat comforting. “Where to next?”

Wooyoung leans down to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Come, there’s a surprise for you. One to mark you as mine, truly and irrevocably.” He leads you to a jewelers, the woman behind the counter handing him a beautiful glass case.

Inside, a delicate necklace adorned with an intricate diamond pattern sits atop the velvet cloth. As he opens it and fastens it around your neck, his fingers press into your skin. Your breath catches in your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung,” you gasp, quiet awe in your voice. You twist and lean in to peck his lips gently.

His lips curve into a smug smile as he accepts your kiss and your thanks, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Anytime, my doll,” he murmurs against your mouth, his own lips brushing yours with a hint of hunger.

For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy, imagining that his is indeed a relationship built on love and affection, rather than power plays and manipulation. But reality soon snaps him back to attention, and he steps away, clearing his throat. “Let’s finish up here and head back to the penthouse,” he suggests, his tone returning to its usual commanding cadence. “I have some business to attend to, and it requires you to be by my side.”

It’s an unspoken reminder that your safety depends on your compliance and proximity to him. He still hasn’t quite given you a reaction to all the truth you had revealed to him. You nod with no further comment, reaching out to grasp his hand quietly as he leads you through the district.

Wooyoung glances at your pensive face, his eyes roving over your features. “You look stunning, doll. Like the queen you are,” he compliments you quietly, the last soft moment he allows you. And with that, the spell is broken.

As you step out of the area, Wooyoung’s demeanour shifts, his gaze hardening as he scans the\ surroundings. His grip on your hand tightens, a silent warning.

“We need to move,” he growls, ushering you to the awaiting car. “I’ve received intel that someone may be tracking your movements. Can’t be too careful these days.”

Once inside the car, he checks his phone with a frown, clearly displeased by whatever message he’s reading. Without saying anything, he speeds off, carrying you both towards the towering skyscraper that serves as Wooyoung’s second lair. The tension in the air is palpable, a stark contrast to the earlier intimacy.

As the two of you walk into the opulent penthouse, Wooyoung’s presence commands every inch of space. The cityscape stretches out before you, a glittering canvas painted by the setting sun. “Welcome home, my doll,” he declares, gesturing grandly to the lavish interior. “Make yourself comfortable while I attend to some urgent matters.”

He strides purposefully towards his study, pausing to glance at you over his shoulder. “We’ll discuss your role in this mess later. For now, sit tight.”

With that, he disappears behind closed doors, leaving you alone amidst the splendor of his domain. The weight of his expectations settles upon you, a constant reminder of the delicate balance between your roles as lover and pawn in his game of power.

The couch is comfy, but it does nothing to soothe your nerves at Wooyoung’s words. As you lose yourself in swirling thoughts and the view outside of the penthouse, a gunshot rings out every so often, echoing through the halls even through closed doors. Each sharp bang makes you jump, although your expression remains neutral.

Under your facade, every shot reminds you of the night you wielded the gun and shot a man dead. As much as you’d never regret keeping yourself and Wooyoung safe, you can’t help but wonder what if you had never gone so far in the first place.

Hours pass, the sound of gunfire punctuating the otherwise tense silence. You try to occupy yourself, browsing through the expensive art books and designer magazines scattered across the coffee table, but your mind keeps drifting back towards the bloodstained memories you’ve worked so hard to bury.

Just as you’re starting to feel the strain, the study door swings open, and Wooyoung emerges, his suit immaculate despite the violence that likely transpired within. He approaches you with a calculated stride, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and something darker.

“Well, that took care of the problem. Our little rat won’t be squealing anymore.” He reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly gentle considering the brutal nature of his actions. “But enough about that.”

You can smell the iron of blood off him, but you hold your tongue, waiting for him to continue.

Wooyoung’s gaze lingers on your face, searching for any signs of distress or hesitation. When he finds none, a hint of relief flickers in his eyes before he turns to pour himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the sideboard.

He takes a seat beside you, his thigh pressing against yours and sending heat through your body. Your heart pounds in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, hands fisting the fabric of your dress, waiting for him to deliver your judgement on the way you had worked against him, even for just a short while.

Instead, you hear a low chuckle, fingers brushing against your chin as he tilts your head upwards. “Look at me, doll,” he commands. When you raise your eyes to meet his piercing gaze, he continues. “Back when you were talking about your past, you said you didn’t want to betray me, and you stopped short at the why. Finish what you were saying.”

There’s an unspoken understanding in his eyes—he knows what you were going to say, the depth of your affection for him. And yet, he wants to force you to articulate it, to acknowledge the bond that has grown stronger each day.

The room seems to shrink, the weight of his expectations pressing down on your shoulders. Confessing it could either solidify your place by his side, or only bring you more suffering, depending on what he chooses.

You bite your lip, tasting the sting of blood as you look back down at your hands quivering. “I…I love you,” you finally admit, your words quiet enough you swear Wooyoung will be able to hear your heart pounding. “I stupidly fell in love with you.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the steady thrum of the city outside and the ragged beat of your heart. Then, suddenly, Wooyoung reaches out and cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your trembling lip.

“I knew,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it. “I’ve known all along where you came from, your mission, and…and the change in you. I’ve seen it in your eyes for a while now. The way you look at me? It’s no secret.”

His fingers trail down to press his thumb against the junction of your neck, showcasing his power against you, and yet it is still soft, gentle, and reverent. “I have to admit, it pleases me. Having you by my side, loving me…it’s a treasure I hadn’t anticipated.” But beneath the tender words, a thread of hardness remains, a reminder of the ruthless world he rules. “Yet, as much as I enjoy keeping you close, you’ve lied to me. You’ve used me for your own gain, and you must be punished for that, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you deem as proper, I accept it,” you comply, ready for a sharp hit, or even a gunshot as well. You fight to keep your eyes on him, unable to read his expression.

A heavy silence hangs in the air, the seconds ticking by like hours. Then, unexpectedly, Wooyoung pulls you into his arms, holding you close against his chest.

“You’re mine, doll,” he declares, his voice a deep rumble against your ear. “Whatever happens to you, you belong to me. And I won’t let anyone, including who you were, threaten that.” His hands roam possessively over your body, a claim of ownership, a reminder of the twisted dynamic that binds you to him.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m absolving you of your sins,” he adds, his hot breath ghosting against your skin. “You’ll still face the consequences. Just perhaps not the ones you’ve feared.” He holds you tightly, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as if trying to burn away the shadows of your past. His hand drifts down to the small of your back, pressing you closer.

“You understand, my love? I’m offering you a reprieve, but you must learn to trust me completely. To obey without question, and you will be spared. I’m offering you a chance, and that is not something I give lightly.” Wooyoung leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “In return, I’ll ensure your safety…and pleasure.” The implication sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

His grip tightens, as if to reinforce his claims, and yet also a silent allowance for your answer. Not that you need any time to deliberate. Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. You nod, a silent agreement, your heart racing in your chest.

“Yes, Wooyoung,” you whisper, the name feeling like a prayer on your tongue. “I understand. I’ll follow your lead, as well as any and all decisions you make.”

You press yourself further into his embrace, craving the sense of security and belonging he offers. Even if it means surrendering parts of himself, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to stay by his side. “And…I trust you,” you add sincerely, the admission slipping out before you can stop it. The words hang in the air, a declaration of faith in the man who wields such power over you.

A satisfied smile plays on Wooyoung’s lips as he hears your whispered submission. He nuzzles your hair, inhaling your scent deeply.

“That’s my good doll,” he praises, his voice a low purr of approval. “You’re back in the game. Soon, you’ll be perfecting the role of my devoted wife.” His words send a shiver down your spine, and his wands begin to wander once more, tracing the contours of your body with a deliberate slowness.

“But first, let’s celebrate our new arrangement, shall we?” Without warning, he spins you to face him, his eyes darkening with a hunger that sends a flush creeping up your neck. “Get on your knees for me, doll. Show me the respect and obedience you’ve promised me,” he commands, his voice rough with desire.

Without hesitation, you quickly comply, falling to your knees in front of where he sits, looking up at Wooyoung with wide eyes and awaiting his next instruction. Wooyoung’s eyes follow the line of your body, a predatory glint in his eyes. He leans forward, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.

“That’s a good doll,” he repeats, his voice dripping with approval. “Now, open wide. Show me how eager you are to please your husband.”

With that, he releases the button of his trousers, allowing them to sag slightly and reveal the impressive bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers. You can practically taste the musky arousal, making your mouth water.

You can’t help but to shift forward until your face pressed against his clothed cock, mouthing at his underwear until he’s groaning at your ministrations. A low growl rips its way out of Wooyoung’s throat as he frees his thick cock from its confines. It slaps against his abdomen, obscene wet sounds making you hunger even more as you watch his precum bead out of the tip.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, his hand wrapping around the base to guide himself into your waiting mouth. “Take it all, my doll. Every inch.”

As he pushes past your lips, you feel the heat of his flesh, the firmness of his cock stretching your mouth wide. The taste of him floods your mouth—salt and a little sweetness that makes your cunt clench and drip out more wetness to soak your underwear through.

Wooyoung begins to thrust slowly, savouring each vibration you send through his length as you moan and gag around his dick. Each stroke is deliberate, using your mouth for his pleasure and his pleasure only. And that in itself brings you into a heady mindset.

Your hands squeeze your thighs as you try to ignore the increasing wetness between your legs, focusing on sucking and licking as best as you can around his thick cock. His hips rock steadily, sliding in and out of your mouth with lewd sounds echoing through the penthouse. Groans and sighs spill out of his mouth, clearly enjoying your mouth working him to his orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his fingers tangling in your hair to guide your movements. “Take every bit of my cock. You look so perfect with it stuffed in your mouth, truly my perfect wife.”

The praise sends a thrill down your spine, even as you choke around his girth. It only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt throbbing more and more as you swallow around him. You can feel his cock twitch, but before you can react, Wooyoung’s hands tangle in your hair. He holds your head down as he comes, shooting ropes of hot come down your throat with his head thrown back.

Eagerly, you swallow it all, licking the head of his length to coax every last drop out of him. Before you get very far, Wooyoung pulls himself free, his cock slick with saliva. “Stand up,” he orders, a smirk playing on his lips. You scramble to your feet, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, and you can see his eyes roam over your body, drinking in the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re worked up,” Wooyoung hums, reaching up to cup your breasts with his large hands, thumbs ghosting over your nipples. “Look at you, so cute. All for me, aren’t they?” His tone is teasing as he pinches the flesh.

As he continues to toy with your tits, he snakes a hand down between your thighs, pressing against your underwear. “So wet too,” he notes approvingly, his fingers pushing the fabric aside to slide into your cunt easily. “You really are my eager wife, aren’t you?”

“Always, for you,” you gasp, hands reaching out to grasp his wrists. “Your wants are my wishes, please.” Your voice lilts into a whine, Wooyoung chuckling low in his throat at your desperate plea.

“That’s right, doll,” he agrees, his fingers pumping slowly in and out of you as his palm rubs circles on your sensitive clit. “You’ll give me everything I want, whenever I want it.”

The pressure applied to your clout becomes more insistent, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Come for me, babydoll,” he demands, although he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice anymore. “God, you’re squeezing me so good with that greedy cunt of yours.”

The mix of praise and degradation sends you over the edge of pleasure. Shivers wrack through your body as you grind against his hand. “Wooyoung–” you gasp, legs trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut, moans cutting through your breaths.

As you tremble and quake through your orgasm, Wooyoung’s grip on your hips tightens, holding you still as he works his hand in you to help you ride out each wave. “That’s it, let go for me,” he hums, his voice silky smooth. “Give it all to me, doll.”

You lean forward, tears dropping out of your closed eyes and onto his thighs, Wooyoung easing his fingers from your pussy, licking your release off of the digits. “You taste even sweeter when you’re mine,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming with possessiveness. He holds the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue pressing past your lips to claim every inch as his own.

Happily, you drop your mouth open to let him swallow every whimper and moan that tries to escape you as you chase his lips. Your core still aches but also craves more of him as your arms wrap around him.

Wooyoung breaks the kiss, his chest heaving with every breath as he gazes down at you with an intense passion. “I think it’s time we consummate this marriage,” he suggests, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as his hand trails down to squeeze your ass.

Before you can even react, he hoists you up into his arms, carrying you effortlessly to his bedroom. “We have a lot to discuss, my dear wife,” he hums, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a contrastingly gentle kiss to your cheek. “And I plan to thoroughly discuss every inch of your body.”

He pushes open the door and stalks towards the bed, his strides long and purposeful. Deftly, he drops you onto the soft bed, crawling over until he looms over you with a confident smirk.

Your eyes don’t leave him as you reach up to stroke his cheek gently, pulling him into a soft kiss. “I love you,” you can’t help but to say again, your gentle words lightening the hunger coursing through your veins.

At your whispered declaration, Wooyoung’s expression shifts, a flicker of something almost tender passing through his dark eyes as he captures your lips again in a searing kiss. His hands roam your body, mapping every dip and swell as if memorising you.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is heavy with emotion. “I know, YN. And I love you too. It might be in ways you don’t understand, but I do.” There’s sadness in his voice, an acknowledgement that his love is complex, and toxic. He leans down to trail kisses along your jaw and neck, teeth scraping at your delicate skin as he tries to take both your minds off of the seriousness. “Come on, let’s get comfortable. I want to show you exactly just how I love you.”

His hands slide up your dress, his calloused palms gliding over the expanse of your stomach as he lifts the garment over your head. You shiver as the cool air hits your body, goosebumps littering you.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the side of your breast, sending a shiver through your veins. With a fluid motion, he flips your positions, drawing you close to sit in his lap. His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down to grind against his hardening cock.

“Ride me, doll,” he commands, his eyes burning with desire. “Show me how much you want my touch.”

Carefully, you reach down and grasp his hard length, letting the head push into you slowly. A broken moan leaves your mouth as you sink down more and more.

Wooyoung grunts, his hands gripping your hips as you envelop his thick length, your cunt gripping him like a velvet vice. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses, his hands digging into your flesh as he helps guide you down further, sheathing himself fully inside you.

For a long moment, he simply savours the sensation of being buried to the hilt in your warm folds. Then, with a sudden thrust, he rocks you against him, setting a brutal pace that has you bounding on his cock with a needy cry. “There we are, doll, take it all,” he groans, his lips pulling into a fierce grin. “You were made for me, wife. This cunt is just for me, right?”

You bite your lips, trying to quieten your moans as your arms wrap around his shoulders and you drop your head into the crook of his neck, pulling him even closer.

At your movements, Wooyoung chuckles, his hips snapping upwards in a relentless rhythm. “Such a good doll, taking all of me like this,” he hums, his voice low in his throat.

One hand slides up your back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the slender column of your neck. He latches onto the tender skin, biting and sucking marks into your flesh as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. “You’re mine, doll,” he growls against your throat, his words punctuated by the lewd sounds of his hips meeting your ass. “Every inch of you belongs to me, and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

“I’m yours,” you repeat dumbly, eyes rolling back in your head. “Wooyoung, please…”

Wooyoung’s grip on your hair tightens as he leans in close, his hot breath fanning over your ear. “Please what, baby? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you,” he prompts, his voice a seductive purr. He slows his thrusts slightly, allowing you to feel every inch of his thick cock as he grinds against you. “Or maybe you just need to come undone on my dick, screaming my name?”

His free hand trails down to tease your sensitive clit, circling the bud with maddening slowness. The stimulation is nearly too much to bear, your core coiling tighter and tighter until you sink your teeth into his neck. “Please, Wooyoung,” you whimper, unable to string together a coherent sentence. “I need– I need–”

With a wicked smile and a nip to your ear, Wooyoung pinches your clit firmly, sending waves of pleasure through your nerves. “You need what, sweetheart?” he taunts, his fingers still mercilessly tormenting your aching cunt.

He picks up the pace once more, driving into you with ruthless abandon. The room fills with the symphony of your ragged breathing, his groans, and the obscene sounds of him working his cock deeper into you.

You throw your head back as you reach the cusp of pleasure again, body tensing as your cunt squeezes in a vice around him. “Fuck– Wooyoung–” you cry out before your core snaps and you come, creaming around his cock as you whine and whimper.

Wooyoung’s control slips at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him. With a feral moan, he buries himself to the hilt and holds you down on his cock, the length of it pulsating as he fills you with enough come that it bubbles out of your conjoined bodies.

“Fuck, take it all,” he hisses, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out his climax. His fingers dig into your hips and thighs, marking you with crescent shapes as he buries his face in your hair.

As the waves of pleasure ebb, he collapses back onto the bed, dragging you down with him to nestle against his chest. His heart thunders against your ear as he strokes your hair soothingly, a rare display of tenderness from the usually dominant man.

“That’s it, doll,” Wooyoung continues to pet your hair softly, his breathing gradually evening out and his heart slowing to a lull. “Just relax now. Let me hold you, my wife.”

Despite the lingering ache between your thighs, his cock softening inside of you, you find yourself relaxing in his embrace, his warm body surrounding you. After a while, he tilts your chin up to capture your lips in a slow, languid kiss, his tongue sweeping across the seam of your mouth to taste the remnants of your passion. When he finally breaks away, his gaze is almost affectionate.

“Come on, doll, let’s get cleaned up,” he says, although there’s no real conviction behind his words.

You press your lips against his again, enjoying the soft domesticity of this. “Let’s stay like this for just a little longer, please,” you ask, voice tinged with timidness as if scared he’ll leave again.

Wooyoung’s expression turns thoughtful at your request, a small furrow appearing between his brows. For a long moment, he simply looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to decipher your emotions. Then, with a subtle nod, he enfolds you more securely in his arms, holding you close as if to shield you from the world.

“Alright, doll,” he agrees quietly. “Just a little longer. We’ve got all night, after all.”

He presses another tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if savouring the simple intimacy of the gesture. In this moment, the ruthless kingpin seems to fade away, replaced by a man who craves connection, however fleeting or unconventional. Time seems to stand still as you both bask in the afterglow, the world outside your intimate bubble fading into insignificance. It’s a fleeting reprieve from the harsh realities of their lives, but one they cling to desperately, savouring the precious few moments of tranquility before the storm inevitably returns.

“Doll, come here.” You can hear Wooyoung’s voice from across the apartment, his tone low and commanding. It leaves no room for disagreement, so you quickly slip out of the bedroom where you were going over the financial reports of your club.

Wooyoung stands in the living room, arms crossed and face guarded. “It’s time for your punishment. Come with me.” You nod quickly, body tensing. It’s been weeks since you admitted your feelings, and Wooyoung had made no move to punish you for the disloyalty. Now, it seems he has finally decided on a fitting end.

Without waiting for a response, Wooyoung turns and strides out of the apartment, expecting you to follow closely behind. He leads you to a nondescript car, different from his usual automobile, the interior far more luxurious than the exterior would suggest.

He opens the passenger door for you, his expression still unreadable. “Get in,” he orders curtly, not offering any further explanation. You quickly follow suit, and Wooyoung walks around the car to get into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and starting the trip.

The cityscape blurs in the windows, an uncomfortable silence settling uncomfortably over the car. After a few tense minutes, Wooyoung finally speaks, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. “Doll, whatever comes, I want you to know this isn’t a reflection of how I feel about you. This is a necessity for you to understand I can’t let anyone cross me.” He glances at you sideways.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s waiting for an answer, and you quickly nod. “Of course, Wooyoung, I understand.” Your voice sounds quiet and foreign even to yourself, but your words are true.

Wooyoung’s jaw clenches at your obedient response, a flicker of something akin to pride crossing his features. He reaches over to squeeze your thigh reassuringly, his touch firm yet gentle.

“You’re smart, doll. That’s why I chose you,” he hums, his voice taking on a tone of affection. “Now, just sit back and relax for now. We’ll be there soon.”

As promised, you arrive at your destination in a short while—a seedy, rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town. Wooyoung parks the car and exits, motioning for you to join him. He leads you through the dark halls to a room, akin to a dungeon. The heavy wooden door creaks shut behind you both, enveloping you in an atmosphere of dark anticipation.

Once inside, he produces a dark cloth, wrapping it around your wrists and binding them in front of you. You twitch, wanting to bat his hands away, but you hold back. When he finishes, he steps back, his piercing gaze raking over your form appraisingly. “I’ll strip you,” he orders, his voice devoid of emotion. “Then I want you on your knees when I return.”

Without waiting for a response, he quickly rips your dress off of you and exits the room, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. The cool air feels thick with tension, each second ticking by agonisingly slow as you hastily comply with his demands.

After what feels like hours, but is probably only ten minutes, the door swings open once more, and you register Wooyoung’s breathing before you even see him as he stands in the threshold. It takes you another moment to realise he’s got a heavy bag slung over his shoulder.

Before you can even question what’s in it, Wooyoung throws it to the ground in front of me, and the bag lets out a muffled grunt. You recoil as you realise there’s a human being in there. “Wooyoung–” you start to talk, but Wooyoung shakes his head and you snap your mouth shut.

“I don’t think dolls can speak, can they?”

As soon as you nod shallowly, Wooyoung reaches out and undoes the bag, pulling the person out roughly. It takes you a moment to register, but when you see it’s your old boss, Wooyoung’s rival, you can’t keep the sharp gasp from exiting your mouth. He’s got a black eye and a busted nose, but he’s awake, shifting uncomfortably.

“Say hello, doll,” Wooyoung hums, his voice light but dangerous. “Park here wants to apologise, right?”

He kicks his rival in the ribs, a glint in his eye that can be seen even in the darkness. You can see the figure of Beomjun scramble to his knees, a strong contrast to the terrifying leader you once knew. “I’m sorry,” he repeats what is a clear script, his voice tense and teeth gritted, “for using what wasn’t mine. Wooyoung’s property is not to be touched.”

You can hardly keep your eyes off the grovelling figure, so you don’t notice when Wooyoung approaches you until he presses a cool metal object in your hand. A gun lays in your hand, and your hands shift to hold it properly automatically. “Shoot him,” Wooyoung’s voice rings clear, his mock whisper meant to be heard by Beomjun.

“Wait, please, you said you wouldn’t–” Beomjun’s words dissolve into whimpers and sobs. You never thought you’d see such a strong leader in the black market appear so…pathetic. “I won’t bother you anymore, I’ll leave YN alone, please– let me live– I’ll give you all my assets–”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue. “Either way, I’ll get all of your offers, Park. Your incentives are nothing but dust.” He leans forward to brush his lips against your ear. “Shoot him, doll. Show me that you put all your trust in me, now. He is nothing to you.”

His hand moves to your waist, and the other one lifts your arm that’s holding the gun until it’s aimed at him. Although you hesitate just a moment, Wooyoung’s words wind around your mind like a snake, and your finger twitches on the trigger.

You don’t even register the sound of the gunshot as Beomjun’s next plea is caught in his throat and he collapses against the concrete, eyes open wide and blood pooling around his body. You can hardly think as Wooyoung presses a chaste kiss to your cheekbone, taking the gun out of your hands and shoving it in his waistband before leading you to a small sink in the corner of the room, where he wets a paper towel to clean the specks of blood that landed on you.

As he wipes gently, he leans in close, lips pressing against your temple. “Remember, doll, my patience has limits. Don’t ever test them again.” With that warning, he brings you to a different room, where it’s decorated simply with a bed and nothing else. “Come, sit on my lap,” Wooyoung commands, his voice strangely gentle.

Carefully, you follow his direction until you’re nested up against his chest. You can feel his boner through his slacks, curious as to where this is headed. Before you even have time to gasp, Wooyoung flips your skirt up and pushes aside your underwear before pressing his fingers into you.

He’s not gentle by any means, but the roughness only brings you pleasure as tears fill your eyes. You’re sure the wetness trickling down your cheeks only makes him hard, and you can feel it beneath you as well.

“Are you going to try to betray me again, wife?” Wooyoung asks, the pet name spoken without affection, although you know it’s hidden under the punishment you deserve.

You quickly shake your head, eyes wide. Killing someone still has you shaken up, but you’re in no mood to piss Wooyoung off ever again, and you want to enjoy the pleasure of his fingers. “No, Wooyoung, husband, I promise–”

Your quick response and lilt of a whine in your voice gives Wooyoung pause, his fingers slowing. “Good doll,” he croons, leaning in to give you a proper kiss, gentle and loving despite his rough treatment earlier. “You’re so pretty and perfect for me, let’s keep it that way.”

The gentle touch of his lips has you whining and twitching your hips, and you can feel the gun tucked away pressing against your thigh. The thought of it has you whining, and you must be easier to read than you think, your eyes flickering down to where it sits, because Wooyoung chuckles and reaches down to pull it out.

“Look at you, so dirty, wife,” Wooyoung preeens, pressing the barrel against your thigh and dragging it up until it’s hooked through the gifted necklace and pressing against your chin. “Begging for my cock, begging for my gun. Aren’t you a pretty picture for me? So pliable.”

You whine, nodding eagerly even as the gun knocks against your chin. “Please,” you gasp out, hips grinding against his hand even without his prompting.

Your begging only makes Wooyoung’s smile wider as he moves the gun until it’s pushing your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. “Did I tell you to speak, doll?” he grits out, hand stilling his movement. “Be a good doll and open your mouth for me.”

When your mouth drops open almost immediately, a delighted chuckle leaves Wooyoung’s throat at your eagerness. Without saying a word, he pushes the tip of the gun into your mouth, forcing you to taste the metallic tang of the barrel.

Your cunt leaks around Wooyoung’s fingers, your eyes glazing over as your mind drifts away and all you want to do is please. The gun doesn’t push too far past your teeth, not like Wooyoung’s cock would, and you lick and suck at it gently as you rock slowly against Wooyoung.

The amusement in Wooyoung’s eyes only increases as he reaches down to unfasten his pants, pulling his rock-hard cock out. “Come on, baby, ride me,” he commands, pushing your hips up until his cock aligns with your cunt. “Show me how much you want to be used.”

With the gun still in your mouth, you drop down, his length spearing into you until you whine around the metal. Saliva drips out of your mouth and down your throat, pooling in your collarbones and slicking up your breasts. Your eyes roll back as you start a slow pace, bouncing up and down as best as you can.

Wooyoung’s hang grabs your hip tight enough to leave bruises, pushing you down to take him even deeper. The whine you let out is cut short as he slams his hips up into you, fucking you with wild abandon.

You can hardly feel anything except searing pleasure as he thrusts into you, the gun now resting in your mouth too far gone to continue sucking on it. But then Wooyoung leans in closer, nose brushing against your ear. “The safety’s off.”

It’s a lie, a bald-faced lie. You saw him lock it before sliding it into its holster. You know that it won’t shoot, the trigger wouldn’t even budge. And yet, the idea of it makes you groan around the barrel, cunt spasming as you come around Wooyoung’s cock, squeezing it so tight your core aches.

Wooyoung gasps at the feeling, pulling the gun out of your mouth and tossing it to the side as he pulls you closer into a bruising kiss, teeth scraping at your lips. “Fuck–” he moans into your mouth “–you fucking slut. You love having a gun in your mouth and a cock up your pussy? Maybe next time I’ll shove it up your cunt while I fuck your ass, such a perfect dumb whore.”

The kisses he litters on your lips betray his harsh words, and he comes with a groan, cock twitching as his hands grope your tits roughly. You’re limp, leaning against you as he uses you for his own pleasure. He grinds into as you pant against his collarbone, drawing a few more weak drops of come out of his cock.

As you lay against his chest, Wooyoung chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “You know,” he hums, “a punishment isn’t supposed to be so pleasurable for you. But I’ll let it slide this time.”

There’s no way you can register his words properly, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he lays you down and lets you regain your mind and energy. Your eyes flutter shut as he strokes your hair softly, his gaze transfixed on you, a mix of possessiveness and adoration flickering in his eyes. “Rest now, and we’ll talk later,” Wooyoung hums more to himself than anything else. For now, he’ll enjoy the calm of this moment.

The ride home is silent, the only sound is the hum of the engine and your ragged breathing as you try to grasp what just happened. You don’t know what to say or do, hands grasped together as you try to wrap your head around the events of today. After shooting Beomjun’s lackey, it never occurred to you that it might have to happen again, much less that it would be Beomjun himself. But something in you burns at the power you held over the gang leader.

Upon returning to the penthouse, Wooyoung ushers you inside, his demeanour softening slightly as he removes his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He glances over at you, noticing your conflicting expressions, and he sighs through his nose.

“Doll, you okay? It was intense, but you needed to understand the world I live in, through its entirety.” He pads over to you, closing the distance, reaching out to pry your fingers apart and weave his own through yours. “It’s late…let’s get some rest. I want to hold you.”

He’s trying to divert the topic, and you grasp at it, following him like a sheep led to slaughter, letting him gently change you into pyjamas. He even brushes your teeth, treating you like you’re fragile and may break at any moment. When he slides into bed, he pulls you alongside, wrapping his arms around you.

As you settle into the warmth of his embrace, you let out a sigh and your body finally relaxes and sinks into the mattress. Despite the tumultuous relationship he provides you with, his presence still gives you a sense of safety and security.

“Wooyoung…I love you,” you breathe out, turning to press your face into his neck.

He stiffens slightly at your words, his hold on you tightening almost imperceptibly. For a long moment, he remains silent, processing your words. He’ll never be truly used to hearing you say it out loud, his line of work stunting his emotions. But, it still gives him warmth.

In low tones, he responds, “You’d better, doll. You’re mine, body and soul.” Despite his gruff words, there’s a hint of vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened kingpin. He strokes your hair soothingly, his other hand tracing gentle patterns on your hip. “Sleep now, doll. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

Despite the complexity of your relationship, you drift off easily, feeling a sense of belonging. For better or for worse, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. And one day, you’ll have him grovelling under you.

#snakesandplottwists #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez mafia au #ateez smut #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fic #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung smut #wooyoung mafia au

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i-only-ever-asked-questions · 1 year ago

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Map of Soho Good Omens Season 2 - Part 3 (the intersecting street)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 Update: Map and pictures further down now have Lucky Snake, and the description of both the Lucky Snake and The Chinese Buffet Restaurant have been updated too.

We don't know the name of the street that crosses Whickber Street. It starts between the market and the furniture store, and after a crooked crossing of Whickber St., it continues between the bookshop and the Dirty Donkey Pub until it ends on Wardour Street. On that upper block we have: -A. Z. Fell & Co. The bookshop has a backdoor that leads to this street. -Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps This shop has been here for centuries. Originally Bilton and Scaggs was a publishing firm that printed among other things "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch." Neil believes they went out of business in the late 19th century and the hat makers took over. Their shop was called Bilton and Scaggs Milliner & Haberdasher for a while and eventually they changed to Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps. But honestly, only Aziraphale knows the whole story.

On the other side of the street we have: -The Dirty Donkey We don't know how long this pub has been in business, but we know that it was already there in the 40's when the zombies used it to hide and spy on the heroes. And then in 1967 Crowley used a private room to set up the caper to steal holy water from a church. The set was also used to set up two of the pubs where Gabriel and Beelzebub met. Both scenes were filmed on the same day! After the tour, the first episode of Season 2 was screened inside the pub for those lucky enough to win spots. The Dirty Donkey Pub has also appeared in Neil's "We Can Get Them for You Wholesale" and "Sandman: Overture." In the show, one of the elevators to Heaven and Hell opens inside the Dirty Donkey, maybe this supernatural ability allows it to show up in many different Neilverses ;) -"Model" This is Mrs. Sandwich mysterious establishment. Nobody really knows what happens there. We know the upper floor has lovely pink curtains, presumably for her girls who also love coffee. -Will Goldstone's Magic Shop Named after Will Goldston (not sure why an extra "e"), a stage magician who wrote many books on magic. The store existed in 1941 when it was run by Pat (who met a gruesome end at the hands of zombie nazis). Will Goldston himself died in 1948. So, was he the owner of the store and Pat just an employee? Did someone use his name? Or is that the reason behind the additional "e", to claim it wasn't him? We don't know. In current times it is operated by Mutt.

This street ends on Waldour Street and because we don't see much of it, I included those shops in this post: -Chinese Buffet Restaurant (updated) The English sign just says "Chinese Restaurant", Google translate gave me "Chinese Buffet Restaurant" for the sign on either side (if you look closely both sides say the same thing). There is no other writing that I could see so I would say that we don't know if it has another name or where is it written (inside maybe?). @embracing-the-ineffable raised the question of how do we know Mr. and Ms. Cheng own the restaurant. The truth is that we don't know for sure. We have assumed it probably because Aziraphale and Ms. Cheng are in front of the restaurant when he invites her to the meeting, but for all we know she was just walking on the street when they met. The Chengs could easily own the Herbal Pharmacy or the Grocery Store. We just don't know for sure -Lucky Snake (updated) To the right of the restaurant (our left) there is another store with yellow walls and red lanterns. It was brought to my attention (thank you!) that this is the infamous Lucky Snake we see in Aziraphale's typed list of shops. In Season 1 it was called "Oriental Delights" but this season it is a grocery store. -Herbal Medicine and Pharmacy - Traditional Chinese medicine appointments To the left of the restaurant (our right) we have the herbalist/pharmacy. This is written in English while "traditional medicine appointments" is written in Chinese. There is no other name outside either.

Turning around and looking towards Whickber Street, we can get a peek all the way to Great Windmill Street, between the news agency and the market. -Windmill Theatre Today it is called Windmill Soho but the name Windmill Theatre is equally recognizable. In 1941 it was owned by Mrs. Laura Henderson. The theatre was famous for 1)not closing at all, even during the heaviest of bombings and 2)its motionless nude girls (tableaux vivants) called the "Windmill Girls". Because of this, it used the motto "We Never Closed" (although people modified to "We Never Clothed"). In the set, the doors are not props, they are the real doors to the internal docks of the studio, which honestly it is very clever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 3 #good omens 2 set #good omens soho #A. Z. Fell & Co.#Bilton Scaggs #the dirty donkey #mrs. sandwich #will goldstone's magic shop #Mr. and Mrs. Cheng #Waldour st #Windmill theatre

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carameldansan · 6 months ago

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Originally an ignyhide student who was politely asked to transfer to the pompfire dormitory after accidentally getting a ransomware virus by visiting sketchy websites meant to pirate korean soap operas. An unusual student at Raven college, known for being a destructive, careless individual who lacks foresight. Despite the infamous reputation of collecting lost items, never considering the owners; Suzuanne uses her unique magic to transfuse these various nicknacks to create an entirely new creation, primarily stuffed animals.

The origin of the lady’s infamous reputation involved a past incident with another first year student, whose family heirloom became the ingredients for Suzuanne’s newest stuffed animal, a purple elephant named Lumpy. Unfortunately, despite trying to be civil this altercation got heated requiring staff to break the altercation. Students who were in the lunch room at the time could only stare onwards in shock. Not long after, Suzuanne became a social wallflower, despite her earnest efforts to fix burned bridges – the altercation plummeted her reputation into the gutter. Rumors spread quickly across the corridors of the student’s forward, kind nature was nothing more than a facade. Leaving her with the nickname: “Raging Red”.

If one were to befriend the girl, looking past her airheaded and blunt nature; offensive to many. Suzuanne’s heart is in the right place, even if she doesn’t the grasp the concept. As an example, maybe in foresight it is not a good idea to bring a wild snake in-doors, reasoning being of the cold weather outside. Added with a short temper, willing to follow impulse thoughts. Rumors spread about Suzuanne are a hyperbole of her character, yet rooted in truth to an extent.

Despite her flaws, and reluctance to welcome Suzuanne, the Pompfire dormitory accepted her not because others were fearful of having an infamous new addition, but due to Suzuanne's ability to find beauty in everything; whether it be a rodent, serpent, or a forgotten trinket. ---- This is my Twisted Wonderland Oc (Yuu) Suzuanne! Suzuanne is loosely inspired by the Backson from Winnie the pooh (2011).

#twst oc #twst yuu #twisted wonderland yuu #twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #caramel draws #suzuanne #my art #ツイステ #yuu #female yuu

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gothsuguru · 11 months ago

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You Have to share some little bit details about the Halloween fics.. like the tropes and dynamics pllllsss 🐍🐍

OH BESTIE I GOT YOU COVERED THANK YOU FOR ASKING :3 ALSO love the snake emojissssss 🐍

• “faceless beauty”

— OKAY THIS IS THE ONE I WAS TALKING ABOUT BEING MOST EXCITED FOR! this’ll be based on the korean film “faceless beauty”/“hypnotized”, i’ve never watched it & i’m only taking a few plot points from it so essentially it’ll be about: suguru being in love with satoru’s wife, and he hypnotizes her so at midnight she will always come by his room. it’s quite dark/morbid, & it’ll be a delving into suguru’s unstable obsession and the aftermath that causes to everyone involved.

• “tar black soul, blood-red jam”

— vampire!priest geto my beloved… this one will be almost like a character study about the inherent darkness that lives inside suguru that overcomes him. in my personal opinion, corruption & devotion go hand in hand, therefore him being a “priest” & a “vampire” works so well! suguru has an obsession with reader & this small town has a string of heinous murders happening with no leads to who’s doing it. suguru wants to keep reader safe and will do whatever he has to do in order to ensure that.

• “inertia”

— suguru is a detective & reader is a serial killer who’s responsible for multiple murders in a once calm town. suguru finds himself utterly obsessed with reader but can’t seem to get them out of his head… reader is dangerous, heinous, a psychopathic murderer who doesn’t feel much, but knows they feel a certain… glee, when they see suguru. this story has a lot to do with corruption of self & how far one will go in order to feel something.

• “kiss of death”

— no curses au! grim reaper!reader follows suguru along the course of his lifetime from high school to adulthood. suguru finds an odd friend within the angel of death, and catches himself in multiple shenanigans with the specter! a fun little take on the grim reaper & the souls they reap — or don’t reap.

• “the house on the end of the street”

— suguru geto, the town’s infamously beautiful man, owns the house on the end of the street. everyone says the house is teeming with ghosts, ghouls, & terror-inducing creatures — that the manor’s owner is the cause of all these curses and ghoulish frights! reader is new to town and wants to befriend everyone, even the devilishly handsome man the town steers clear of. the incarnate of gothic horror (suguru) meets the incarnate of modern delight (reader)!

• “we’re a little ditzy!”

— satosugu x reader but let me explain the gist: satoru x reader are a ditzy couple! richboy toru & silly sweet reader are soooo enamored and in love with each other! their best friend suguru (who loves them both but desperately is in love with reader), tries to get with them in the best way he knows how — role play as GHOSTFACE bc his two little dummies won’t know/care! this is a smut so it’ll essentially be suguru corrupting satoru & reader (but he loves them so much, he’s just a nasty freaky perv!) it’ll be: dom!geto x sub!reader x brattysub!gojo

• a few more ideas in my mind: angel!geto x fallen angel!reader, morticia!geto x gomez!reader, finalboy!geto x ghostface!reader, & a few soft autumnal fics of geto as well! <3

#asks #anon #THANK YOU SOOOOOOO MUCH FOR ASKING BTW HEHEHEHEHE #there’s so much i wanna write i’m just inundated w ideas 😭 it’s nice 2 yap about them!!!! <333 #but yes. i have so many more ideas that i have planned i’d put them in here but it’d be soooooo long then 😭#if you’re curious feel free to ask me again! <3 BUT THANK YOU AGAIN FOR BEING CURIOUS MWAH MWAH MWAHHHHHH <333 #snippets

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fightingmonsterswithwords · 4 months ago

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little snippet from the untitled lucifer fic (see? it exists)

The path disappears at times beneath overgrown grass as you tread between the hedgerows, nervous but unhurried, filling your lungs with the moist air, twisting this way and that until you reach the clearing where all paths converge. You release a small awed gasp—it’s still there. Part of you feared it would be gone. The epicenter of the maze is in the form of a hexagon, mirroring the six stone pedestals carved intricately with flower garlands and reptiles disposed on each corner of a big fountain, and in the center of it all, a sculpture. The water in the shallow, circular basin is still, almost black under the overcast skies. It shows your limpid upside reflection as you come to a stop by the closest pedestal. They appeared taller in the past; now you can cross your arms on top and lean comfortably on the cold stone, gazing up in a mixture of sorrow and fondness.

Stalling for a few more minutes, saying hi to an old friend.

The bronze sculpture became as colorless as its surroundings after long decades exposed to the elements, though there must have been a time in which it shone aflame when hit by sunlight. To your understanding, it’s as old as the house. It depicts the most infamous fallen angel, mighty wings outspread, screaming up to the heavens, a snake coiled around his limbs and the base of the statue as though keeping him grounded, prisoner.

You don’t know why, it was like your feet always led you here when you sought refuge from the endless scolding and stifling lessons. You would huddle behind one of those pedestals and cry at the feet of the statue, feeling a strange kinship.

Engraved on the stone beneath, dark letters read…

“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,” a disembodied feminine voice provides, making you flinch in surprise, shortly followed by its owner, striding down another of the paths leading to the clearing. “Long time no see, cousin.”

#staralfurr writes #wip #wip weekend #untitled lucifer fic #it's very slowly coming to life..... i'm not even sure people will like it lmao #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #lack of sleep has me all over the place today 🙃#YES it's the Lucifer statue in the Retiro Park i have no shame

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crystal-in-nagasaki · 1 year ago

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the story of kiwi

As many people from Facebook know, I accidentally became a cat owner earlier this year when I decided to pick up an injured cat from the road. If you aren't familiar with how things typically work in the US, there are many shelters and animal rescues that will take in sick or injured stray animals. I have had instances in the past in the US where I find an injured animal, drive it to a shelter, hand it over to a professional, and go on about my day. I learned the hard way that Japan is not so easy.

On February 25th 2023, the same day I helped clean up the farmhouse with other ALTs from my last post, I was driving down a seluded country road on my way to stay at my friend's house in Minami Shimabara when I found a kitten in the road. He was sitting in the middle of the road loaf-style, and my first thought was "this stupid cat is going to get hit by a car because he's sun bathing in the road." So I pulled over and got out of my car with the intention of shooing him out of the road and going on my way. But as I approached him, I noticed that he was very dirty, shaking, unreactive to my approach, and there was blood on him and the road. Realizing that he had probably been hit by a car, my friend and I picked him up and drove him to the nearest vet.

Now, in the US, I could just hand him to the vet, or receive information about a place that I could hand him over to and be done with it, but this was not the case. The vet seemed confused that I had even bothered to pick him up, simply gave him a fluids shot to keep him alive (he had many other obvious problems that the vet didn't treat or examine), charged me for the care, and sent me out the door.

Many people have heard of the many stray cats in Japan or of its many infamous "cat islands." This is because Japan has a huge stray cat problem, and very few people are trying to fix it or even care about it. Many Japanese people seem to view stray cats as any other wild animal, and I often see dead or very ill cats in the streets. There are some catch and release programs which make efforts to control the cat population by neutering them and releasing them again, but these efforts are pretty futile considering the immense size of the population. I've also heard that many animal shelters that do exist in Japan have a very high kill rate of their animals, as many people buy from pet stores rather than adopt. This leaves a whole population of unwanted and uncared for cats, while pet shops continue to breed and sell purebred cats with a plethora of breeding-related health problems for ridiculously high prices.

Having learned this, I realized that taking this cat in became something much bigger than just dropping him off at a vet or shelter. I realized that if I released him or handed him to a shelter, he would likely die. So with the advice of a helpful expat cat expert living in Tokyo, I began navigating the cat rescue scene in Japan.

I got into contact with a very kind local woman named Ito-san in Omura who runs cat adoption events. She lent me a cage for my furry little guy, who I attached the placeholder name of Kiwi to, since that was the name of a song that was playing in my car when I picked him up and was the first thing I thought of.

I took Kiwi to a proper vet to get examined and discovered a heap of health problems. Not only was his jaw dislocated from being hit by a car, but he had matted fur from being caught in a glue trap that needed to be shaved off altogether, he was covered in ticks, and he had a bacteria in his stool that the vet said was from eating snakes or frogs in the wild. I couldn't even tell what color he was because he was so dirty. His temperment was very calm at first. He sat very still with wide eyes and didn't react when he was touched or moved. I wondered at the life this tiny cat had lived in the mountains of Shimabara, getting stuck in glue traps, navigating the typhoon season, and eating frogs and snakes.

Now, I am but a lowly assistant language teacher with a criminally low salary, so I'm very grateful for the support I received on the GoFundMe I started for Kiwi's care. Through donations from friends, family, and people in the community, we reached our goal and were able to cure all of Kiwi's health problems as well as get him neutered and vaccinated.

The next step was to get Kiwi adopted by a loving family. Of course, I didn't want to take him to a kill shelter, so I worked with Ito-san and my vet to get the word out. I gave flyers to the vet office and adoption events, made a listing on an online adoption website, and brought Kiwi in for adoption events in person. However, being a feral kitten recovering from a traumatic injury and change of lifestyle, he was terrified of people for months, and I was worried his personality would never become more open. As I mentioned before, not many people adopt pets in Japan, so very few people even came to the adoption events, and the ones that did weren't interested in a cat that hissed and backed away when they got close, and who had half of his fur shaved off and a wonky jaw.

Needless to say, it was rough going. In the meantime, I kept Kiwi in my apartment. I fed him, bought him toys, and kept his cage clean. Eventually when I felt he was ready, I opened the cage and began to let him into my apartment. At first he only came out at night, and would hide under my bed. But slowly he began playing with the toys I left out (quite noisily actually, I couldn't sleep well for months.) At some point he started to come into the room to eat while I was around, but still wouldn't come near me. Then he started letting me play with him with fishing toys, while still keeping his distance.

Several months in, in May, my father suddenly passed away. I booked a ticket to go home and be with my family, but spent two long days in my apartment alone, barely eating or getting out of bed. During this time, Kiwi opened up when I really needed it and let me play with him, and even purred a bit.

A friend looked after Kiwi while I was in the US, and when I returned, something amazing happened. Kiwi began rubbing against my legs and purring. He did this for a few days, and one day I reached down to pet him and he didn't run away. He leaned into my hand and let me scratch under his chin and behind his ears while purring.

That was the end for me. I canceled the listing on the adoption site and told my vet to take the flyers down. I decided Kiwi was mine. I begged my coordinator to let me keep him even though my apartment doesn't allow pets, since it will only be for one year until I return home. Now we're looking into steps needed to prepare him to fly to the US with me next year. I really love him and I'm so happy to have him in my life now.

This post is rather long, but I wanted to share my experience with this in Japan, since it was surprising and disappointing to me that Japan has such a lack of resources around animal rescue. I hope that in the future, Japan's animal rescue system can grow and begin to see the cat population growth for the problem that it is and work to correct it. It's frustrating to see tourists brag about their trips to Japan's cat islands, when these are not quirky tourist spots, but ecological and inhumane disasters.

I want to thank everyone who offered support to Kiwi's recovery, including my coordinators who really went above and beyond to help me take him to the vet and find ways to get him adopted. I really felt a sense of community coming together, and it made me hopeful about the kindness of humanity.

Anyway, Kiwi is growing, happy, healthy, and has all his fur back, (though he is down two tiny balls.) He yells at me in the morning for food like any other spoiled cat and loves to cuddle and play. He means the world to me and I'm so happy that I plucked him out of the road that day. I recently made an Instagram account to post pictures of him, so if you're interested in following, the link is here.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope we can all work together to improve the stray animal situation around the world.

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sanguinifex · 1 year ago

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Right wing groups in America are almost exclusively members of Christian denominations who believe that child abuse and sexual harassment of teen girls via modesty culture is a sacred duty. I know because I was raised in one of those denominations, Eastern Orthodox Christianity. Its leadership in the US became infected with the ideas of Protestant theologian and sexual abuser Bill Gothard, best known for leading the denomination that the infamous Duggars from 20 Kids and Counting are part of. Let me put it this way: the only reason these groups don’t practice female genital mutilation (FGM) is that either they don’t have any awareness of it, or they think it’s a Muslim thing or a transgender thing or maybe a very racist “heathen black savages” thing.

The other right wing groups in America are capitalist business owners who don’t want to have to take any responsibility for their labor practices or their endangerment of consumers or their duty to their governments, aka paying taxes.

The two groups allied in the late 1940s, during the Truman presidency. Christian theocrats, then primarily represented by the Southern Democrats, split from the Democratic Party following Truman’s defection from their policy objectives (he hadn’t wanted to be FDR’s veep, was completely unprepared for the presidency when FDR died, and integrated the military and the federal government probably at least half to spite them) over opposing the New Deal and desegregation.

Crazy Christianity as a whole was less involved in politics at the time, and what there was of it typically believed in racial segregation and that “charity” should be the province of the Church. It was also typically much further left on labor rights (for white and white-ish people, anyway) than it is is today, which is why the Democratic Party was what it was prior to Truman.

Meanwhile, the Republican Party of the day were the same corporate Republicans of our day. They didn’t want to pay any more money to workers or the state, they wanted it to be legal to destroy the planet and give people cancer and pardon war criminals who used Auschwitz prisoner labor if it made money, and they considered allying with the racists and the crazies a necessary evil, if not simply smart business! They’re the parents or grandparents of the Koch Brothers. They’re the people who say “Well I’m perfectly fine with gay people, but the government really does need to balance its budget.” They’re baldfaced, self-interested parasites; the religious crazies at least mostly believe they’re doing the right thing for the wrong, even if they’re dead wrong about what that is, while the Rockefeller Republicans have never had any illusions about being morally correct or benefiting anyone other than themselves. Ayn Rand even somehow managed to blend the two factions by creating a borderline religion of selfishness as a virtue!

Capitalism is a poison, Christianity is a poison, the two are the fangs of the snake in the American garden that is the Republican Party, yes I do recognize how ironic that metaphor is, and I should really get back to work before I get in trouble.

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kathyprior4200 · 2 years ago

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Helluva Boss S2 E4 “Western Energy” (Part 2)

Part 2: “Striker’s Story”

“From out of the fire Came a man cruel and bold Farmhand and a hitchhiker By night he drank whisky By day killed weak imps And the townspeople knew him as Striker”

“Trotting down deserts and volcanos Adored and feared In saloons and brothels and the like-er With snake eyes of greed And an inferno steed Pumping guts full of lead, he’s Striker”

“Striker! Striker! Striker! Striker!”

“A ladies’ man indeed, from horns to his tail A hybrid-born hitman and fighter His legend’s known well In the Wrath Ring of Hell Beware ol’ scheming Striker”

This is the twisted tale of Hell’s most infamous rootin’ tootin’ cowboy residing in the wild western Wrath Ring. Although he was an imp, there was something special and unique about him that left him shrouded in mystery. Not many citizens could forget the horned figure dressed in cowboy attire, dashing into the sunset on a hellish black equine aglow with flames. Or during the times when he’d lounge and gab at a nearby saloon, a bottle of Satan’s Wrath in one hand and a curved red dagger in the other. Sometimes when he ordered a drink, he’d place a few hellish dollar bills called souls in front of him and stab his dagger through them for intimidation. Those who made him mad received black eyes and bruises in brawls…at least the lucky ones.

Unlike many imps, he had a long pointed tail with four black stripes and eight sharp spines lined up on them. The tail sometimes made rattlesnake noises when it moved, like it had a life of its own. His black and white horns were jagged in appearance, curved upwards. His face was a pale faded red; his eyes yellow and green, glowing in spiral hypnotic patterns. A gold tooth glinted among his sharp teeth. He stood a little over six feet tall, his skin possessing incredible endurance and healing powers. A wheat straw was often seen in his mouth.

Though an impoverished outlaw, he still made a name for himself. Though proclaiming himself a messiah for the downtrodden imp race, he despised the weak and nearly everyone around him. Though developing a hatred for royalty, he ended up working for one. Here was an arrogant, selfish, and sadistic man, marinated in complexity. Rumor has it that he had never lost a fight. Even the roughest toughest hooligans parted whenever they heard the tapping of his tall boots and the ominous hissing from his tail.

In his quest for money, fame, and his vision of righteousness, he was an unstoppable force.

He was Striker…assassin, outlaw, legend.

0 0 0

Early Days

Striker was born in the Wrath Ring to his imp parents. His father was a muscular, snake-like imp named Butcher. Butcher wore a brown cowboy hat, thick pants and had a long spiky tail. The unique feature about him was his yellow glowing eyes and snake fangs. Butcher was the proud owner of the Kill-Count Casino, a popular tourist destination in Wrath. Bucher also prided himself on his beer and brewery. He showed Striker all the fine arts of weapon-wielding, dirty-dealing and occasional stealing. Several of Striker’s favorite childhood moments included going on train rides with his family, riding his horse and munching on Paté loafs of meat at family dinners.

Then there was Striker’s mother, Ambrosia. She had thick black hair, black pants, and a tank-top shirt. Her tail was also spiky and pointed and her horns were black with white stripes. Tough and sexy at the same time, she was a bartender at a nearby saloon. After Striker’s parents had met, they decided to combine their businesses together, to better make ends meet. Both parents loved their son, dearly. They took turns taking care of him, but Striker remembered his mother the most.

As Striker grew up and inherited both places, the saloon was soon called “Striker’s Saloon.” His father gifted him with his very first horse, Bomb-proof. They had an unbreakable bond ever since. As a young teen, Striker loved flirting with the lady imps and drinking Satan’s Wrath Whisky with his friends. Striker’s skill at fighting also came in handy when warding off vandalizer imps and rival cowboys.

“I’m so proud of you son,” said his dad. “I knew you would be a great asset to our business.” His mother kissed him on the head.

Everything was going rather smoothly…until they came.

Striker’s village of imps soon saw tall figures on horses wearing crowns and colorful robes. Two guards rising horses with many eyes on them held up banners displaying various Goetia sigils. Striker backed away behind his worried parents. Trumpets sounded and a tall Goetia bird wearing robes and a mask over his face posted a piece of paper onto a building.

“ROYAL DECREE: All surrounding businesses within the radius of the train tunnels shall be demolished and renovated in two week’s time to make way for new malls, apartments, and parks, sponsored by his majesty King Paimon et al. All imp residents shall kindly sell their stores and relocate elsewhere or risk the warning of a fine and the second warning of…you don’t want to find out. Many thanks and sealed by Your Infernal Majesties, the Ars Goetia.”

“What is this madness?” Butcher asked his wife.

“Are the birds planning on taking our land?” asked another imp.

“Where will we move to?” asked another.

“Move? We can’t move! We’re Wrathians, we must fight!” Butcher called. Many imps shouted in agreement.

“Fight the royals?!” spat Ambrosia, eyes wide. “Are you fucking insane?! They have better weapons and magic. And don’t forget about our son!”

“He can fight if he wants to!”

“No way! He’s just a kid!” Ambrosia cried.

Striker anxiously looked back and forth between his parents.

“I agree with Butcher here!” called another imp with his family.

In a matter of days, the Wrathian imps had made protest signs in black marker that read “LEAVE OUR BUSINESSES ALONE!” “FUCK THE ROYALS!” “GO HOME, GOETIA SCUM!” The Goetia, of course, ignored them.

Ambrosia knew things would go south the moment the Goetia returned in two weeks. The young Striker’s world crumbled as the imps rushed at the horses and royals to no avail. The horse’s hooves crushed the imp’s swords and pitchforks. For every beer bottle thrown at the Goetias’ heads, blasts of fireballs would incinerate the imps on the spot.

“This is your last chance to leave in peace,” the royal leader told Butcher.

“Fuck no!” he spat. “You assholes ain’t takin’ my casino or my son’s saloon.”

“Have it your way,” the royal added. With the flick of his hand, he hurled a fireball at the Kill-Count Casino and it exploded with an ear-shattering blast.

“Adding to the imp kill-count, sir!” laughed one of the royal men next to the leader. Two other royals ransacked the saloon, burning the contents inside and trampling the screaming imps.

Ambrosia looked at Striker with tears in her eyes. “My son, you must leave!”

“Where?” Striker asked.

“Head down to the mine tunnels. They won’t find you there.”

“No, mom, I’m not leaving you!”

“I have to help your father, now go before they see you!”

Striker buried his face in her thick hair for one last hug and ran off to hide.

After several hours, Striker emerged from his hiding place…then wished he hadn’t. All the buildings were charred and destroyed. All that was left were the Kill-Count Casino sign, the blue snake Venom sign and the Striker’s Saloon sign.

To the teen’s horror, there were bodies of his imp neighbors, family, and friends everywhere who had died fighting for their land.

But Striker’s worst nightmare came true moments later. To set an example, the royals hung the imp leaders in the gallows. Striker burst into tears at the sight of his parent’s limp bodies hanging with several others.

As the sun set, Striker realized he was all alone. A lone survivor of the genocide. His family…his businesses…his entire life…gone. The royals had taken everything from him, and he was barely into his teens.

Now he had no choice but to move on. He lifted up the signs and the remaining memorabilia and carried them down into the mine tunnels, making his hideout. His life was hard, rough, and impoverished ever since. His heart filled with disgust as he soon spotted the royals and other imps enjoying themselves in the malls, motels, and tourist sights in the spots where his family used to be. Striker’s only companion was his horse, who nuzzled his head to comfort the imp.

From that day forward, Striker swore he’d get his revenge. He became Wrath’s most wanted assassin and was willing to go great lengths to get Goetia blood on his hands.

And as for the statue with his big dick…Striker had made that himself in his spare time.

0 0 0

Farmhand by Day, Assassin By Night

It wasn’t long before Striker began to make deals in his adolescence in order to gain power. With his reputation as a master hitman, clients from all over Hell would speak with him. Mostly they were other imps, itching to get their revenge on their rivals. Other times, they were Sinners whom Striker recalled, “could care less about who he was.”

“Just get the job done, imp,” they would spit. “I ain’t got all day.”

“Are you sure you’re tough enough for the job?”

“Go back to the ghetto, farm-boy.”

“Chameleon fucker can serve us any time.”

Despite the taunts, Striker carried out his duties with the silence and grace of a ninja. Whenever he got money, it would just as easily be lost to bets, beer and battles. In harder times, Striker would salvage scraps of food to survive. Water was very scarce in the drought-stricken land. Thankfully for him, he could usually find a few people to kill or kill for. He kept up his trade, because it was what he was good at. It got him enough money to get by. Plus, it was entertaining stomping out the meek and weak so easily.

Oh, but it was never enough. Not enough money to spend for long, not enough imps to bully and taunt. An insatiable bloodlust. He wanted more; he always did. Striker knew that he’d have to possess or do something incredible in order to not be stuck in his second-class status. Once an imp always an imp, it was said.

There were a few times where Striker traveled to the Pride Ring to meet with his Sinner clients. While he was up there, he briefly heard of one imp who had started his own official killing business. He didn’t know who the imp was, but he found the feat to be pretty impressive.

Though he could travel easily enough, there was no way he could form a business on his own. Not when he was his own boss.

He moved from motel to motel, stopping at bars and sleeping in alleyways during the night. A few allies allowed him to sleep on couches.

Striker made many deals, killing various rivals while sometimes fleeing from the more powerful demons. He gained more power, energy and respect the more deals he made. He soon grew wary of Sinners, deciding to stick more with the chaotic familiarity of his imp brethren. Tales of the infamous (and sexy) cowboy spread like wildfire throughout the Rings.

“If I can get enough people to fear and respect me,” Striker thought with a sinister grin, “I could experience the luxurious lifestyle of an Overlord someday! I could be the first imp Overlord in Hell…then no one would dare mess with me or my kind again. Who needs Overlords or pompous Goetia demons when I could slaughter them all?!”

It was these self-righteous thoughts that kept Striker going each and every day. No matter if he was wrestling a hellish beast or searching for scraps to get by, the spark to survive and thrive never faded.

0 0 0

Striker discovered something extraordinary one evening while he was in town. He turned his head sideways, yellow eyes narrowing as he heard hushed muttering from three figures. They were leaning against a wall, hidden in the shadows. One imp wore a trench coat and smoked a cigarette, his head hidden underneath a dark hat. The two other ones had thick curved horns and black mustaches. The cloaked figure spoke in hushed whispers to his companions.

“Did ya hear what happened not too long ago? After the last Extermination, several angelic weapons were found on the ground. Just a bunch of glowing treasure left there. After all their bodies were disposed of, there was a brawl over the weapons found. A bloodbath, I tell ya.”

“I heard that at least a dozen imps offed themselves for good after fighting over them weapons,” said the second imp. “Heard that a couple of imps managed to grab hold of one of them before running off. They were planning on giving it to Satan as a gift.”

“And?”

“And they decided to raise the price of it even more in front of him,” the second imp chuckled.

The third imp spat on the ground. “Too bad Satan’s infinitely rich.”

“Nobody’s as rich as Lord Mammon,” said the leader. “Everyone knows that he’s the king of Greed, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well Lucifer’s the king of Hell,” said the second imp. “He’ll find out about the weapon for sure.”

“Hmph,” said the third imp, crossing his arms. “It’s always the Goetia and the Overlords who can afford the good tools. How I’d love to get my hands on it.”

“Too bad,” said the leader. “Cause that weapon’s gonna be in my possession soon enough.”

“Nonsense, Crimson,” said Red, the second imp. “It’s helluva expensive.”

“That’s why I’mma use your souls to get it!” said the leader. “They don’t call the currency ‘souls’ for nothin’!”

Just as Crimson raised a knife before them, Striker plunged his sharp tail into his chest. He gasped, shuddered and gagged before Striker pulled his tail back. Red and Burgundy swiped at him with a mace and large fists, but Striker was too slippery. He slid underneath them, dodging the mace and tripping Red to the ground. Burgundy held out a pistol and fired close to Striker’s head.

“You gonna kill me, little man?” Striker grinned. He knocked the pistol out of his hands and shoved him away. He then kicked and gripped at Red, shoving him against a nearby wall.

“Ah you fucker!” growled Red before Striker slammed his head hard against the wall. Black blood spilled out and Red slid to the ground. Red collapsed by his leader, their eyes slowly glazing over. Striker then turned to the cowering Burgundy, grabbing him by his collar and pinning him against the wall.

“So then…” Striker began, wrapping his long tail against the struggling imp’s throat. “Tell me about this weapon of yours?”

“It ain’t mine, asshole!” Burgundy sputtered. The tail tightened. “Ah, aurgh, shit…”

“Talk, you pathetic little pig,” Striker spat.

“O-okay! It’s a .42 caliber pistol, blessed-tipped with bullets to kill demons instantly.”

“Where is it?”

Burgundy wheezed.

“Answer me!”

“In the b-black market! Just down the lane! Good luck tryin’ ta get it!”

“Oh, I won’t need luck,” Striker said, before he promptly shot the imp through his chin with his weapon. The imp slid down in a black mess as Striker blew smoke from the holes of his pistol. He examined his brown weapon.

“I could use a new one of these,” he mentioned.

Striker strolled down the lane, a wheat straw in his mouth. He entered a dimly lit alleyway and then went down a darkened flight of stairs. His eyes allowed him to see easily in the shadows.

A vast underground chamber was revealed. Bustling among the torches were hordes of chattering imps and demons, anxious to purchase rare wares. Striker looked and saw an exotic manticore locked in a black cage while snakes with many eyes slithered in silver cages at a booth. Lava lamps glowed and clothing made of soda taps shimmered on hooks. A sign read “Human Hides, 25% Off!” while another sign shouted in bold, “Demon Meat Made Fresh!” Rows of stuffed animals were also selling fast by a taxidermist imp.

Several stalls sold occult books, cannibal recipe books and various porn magazines. Another stall consisted of jewelry made of silver, gold or in some cases, wires. A tattooist hunched over and inked a flaming horned skull onto the chest of a beefy male imp. A cacophony of discordant music echoed throughout the vast space. Imps were playing guitars, drums and electric keyboards while several demons sang in ancient foreign languages. It sounded like Latin at certain times, Indian at other moments, ever changing.

“Get your wares here!” called a large woman selling bottles of aged liquor and a row of skulls.

“Get your fixes over here!” called a scrawny imp with a white beard selling cocaine, meth and weed in plastic bags. “Don’t go for the regular prices, get ours at only 666 souls.”

Striker noticed a family of chained saddened imps beside a man who hollered, “Slaves for your every need! Farming, sex, murder, you name it, we got it!” Two of the imp children cried in their mother’s arms as other consumers looked them up and down.

“Fresh fish from Envy Ring over here!” called another imp dressed as a sailor in blood-stained clothing. Eels, fish, crabs and sharks swam in small tanks. “$66 per fine specimen. Nearby lost my life trying to fish for these!” He waved a hook in place of his hand as Striker continued on.

“Scarot cards! Intense incense! We tell your fortunes better than royalty!”

“Rumor has it!” called a man, “That this black key can allow Sinners to travel to any Ring in Hell! No more being restrained to Pride! You can kill and visit those former humans anytime, anywhere!” He held up an old-fashioned black key with wings and a pink eye at the top. “The Sinner’s Key!”

A crowd of imps “oohed” and gathered around.

“Um,” said the imp beside the vendor. “Isn’t that just an old-fashioned key painted black?”

“Shut your trap,” the vendor seethed to his companion. “I’m tryin’ to make a good sale here!”

At last, Striker came across the largest section in the area. A large wooden sign in bloody capital letters read “WEAPONS!” He quickened his pace as he entered. The area was packed with imps and demons of all shapes and sizes. Indeed, in addition to food, the Wrath Ring was known for its vast selection of weaponry.

Striker’s eyes grew wide at the collections. All around him were weapons on display. Swords, knives, spears, daggers, scimitars, tridents, axes, hooks, chainsaws, harpoons, katanas, so many silver blades in one place. Maces, clubs, catapults, crossbows, darts, crowbars, chains and rods were located in another section not too far away. Then Striker stopped at the last and more modern section. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers, sniper rifles, tank missiles, even nuclear bombs were all prepped and ready for purchase.

Striker didn’t notice a dark shadowy individual sneaking nearby, watching his every move.

Striker took a close look at the most expensive weapons. A few swords, harpoons, rifles and pistols had strange glowing white patterns on them. Unlike the other weapons, they were propped up within glass cases.

Striker strut over to the counter and his eyes landed on a pistol. A brownish blessed-tipped pistol with a glowing white trigger handle. On the bottom in glowing white were cloud designs and a small eye surrounded by six angel wings.

“That must be the one that imp was talking about,” he thought. An angelic weapon…one that could kill demons for good.

All it took was one bullet.

“Howdy, sir,” Striker greeted the mustached imp.

“What weapon do you have in mind?” the imp asked. “Rob” was on a name tag.

With a slight wiggle of his finger, Striker pointed to the pistol in the glass case.

“That’s a big buy,” Rob smirked. “It’ll cost you an arm and a leg…perhaps literally.” He snickered.

Striker grinned and hosted up the bag of money he had retrieved from the horse-riding imps. Rob counted the bills and coins.

“A lot of souls for sure,” he mentioned. “But see the price tag? It says 66,000 souls. You only have 9,000.”

Striker’s eyebrow raised, his eye twitching. “It’s over 9,000! You sure you counted right?”

“Absolutely. The calculator doesn’t lie…most of the time. But I don’t have all day. Come back when you have enough.”

“I have to have it,” Striker said, coming up with an idea. “My family’s been killed off by an outlaw and I have to kill him before he steals water from my town!”

The imp scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “A likely story. Tell ya what, I’ll take the money. You can have the weapon, but only if ya suck my dick first!” Snickers and catcalls came from behind him.

“Not a chance.”

“Scram, chameleon cunt!”

Striker’s rattlesnake tail hissed menacingly. “Do you not know who I am? I am the only and only man who makes ladies drop to their knees and men cry from seeing me in their nightmares.”

“Get lost, punk.”

Striker pulled out his older pistol. “I’mma blow so many holes in ya, your guts’ll be leaking lead!” Striker mocked.

Rob merely grinned as two other imps pointed long guns at Striker. “Try me.”

“Vermin,” said Striker in a husky voice.

This time, Striker was surrounded on all sides. He could flee easily if he wanted to. But fighting a group in such a packed place…

“Anyone want 66,000 souls for this here pistol?” Rob called. “I may have not stolen this from Lucifer himself after donating money to the Morningstar family and being a groundskeeper all these years.”

Rob smirked as Striker stood his ground, eyes darting back and forth. The imps clicked their guns, daring him to make a move.

“Y’all be sorry you messed with the infamous Striker!” he called, still unafraid of death.

Rob called out. “Anybody? Going once, going twice…”

“Put it on me,” said a low demonic voice. Several imps parted as a figure in a long dark hood strode over to him.

And who are you?” Rob asked.

Without a word, the figure held up a badge with a sigil on it. A handful of golden soul bills were placed in front of him. Rob reached toward them, but they became transparent in his hand. He growled in anger as the figure held out a hand.

Rob laughed nervously, eyes wide. Though he was selling the weapons, he secretly wanted both the money and weapons for himself. “This must be some mista…”

A force and a terrible screech emitted from the figure, Striker and the imps covering their ears. Rob’s head exploded in black blood as the nearby glass cases shattered. The figure tossed Striker the angelic pistol while they retrieved an angelic rifle.

“Tell Lucifer I wish him well,” the figure spat at the dead Rob. “He won’t be needing these anymore.” Striker walked along on his way, twirling his new pistol. He dodged several imps clawing desperately for the weapon. Then the shadowy figure materialized in front of him.

“Holy shit, wha…”

In a flash of light, a piece of white folded paper appeared in Striker’s hands. He glanced down with a glare and saw elegant handwriting.

“Sinister Stars Saloon, Wrath Ring 12AM sharp tomorrow Come alone.”

Striker looked up, but the mysterious figure had vanished.

0 0 0

True to his word, Striker entered the Sinister Stars Saloon at midnight. A bunch of drunken imps were still roaming around, smoking and chatting. A smoky haze filled the small dark room, no light save for overhead red lights along the ceiling borders. A few imps were playing cards and telling stories of tribal wars. Several demons and hellhounds feasted on a hellhog in a booth. An ogre trimmed his long yellow nails with a knife.

Striker looked around before barely spotting the cloaked figure in a corner. Striker hovered a hand over his pistol in case a fight broke out. Behind the figure, a wooden door opened slowly by itself. Seeing the figure suddenly appear not too far behind him, Striker made his way inside the small room. The door closed behind them. Striker sat in a wooden chair while the imposing figure stood before him.

“So,” said Striker. “You’re the one who called me?”

“Yes,” they said. “And I warn you. I’m not here to fight you. But one word of this gets out, and you’ll be disposed of for good like the common scum you are.”

Striker seethed, fingers clenched, tail waving in warning. This figure was powerful; he could feel it. The figure was no ordinary imp. His hair stood on end. Was it fear? Or anticipation?

“My lips are sealed,” Striker said.

The figure’s eyes glowed bright pink. “Good. Because I’ve come to you with a…prince problem.”

The figure removed the hood.

Striker gasped. “Who are you?”

The white swan demon spoke, wrath in her eyes. “Lady Stella Goetia,” she said. Her dress was light pink, and her crown was small and golden on her head. From underneath her cloak, a small red imp butler appeared, shivering in fear.

Not wanting to appear rude, Striker played it safe with a small bow. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your majesty.” He took her long black hand and kissed it. Stella didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “Yeah, let’s brush past the formalities.”

“As you wish,” he said, stepping back and sitting down. He propped up his boot-covered feet onto the table.

“So first of all,” Striker asked, “What does a high-class demon want with someone like me?”

“I’ve heard stories about you, Striker,” Stella answered. “From the newspapers and the news. Once I saw you in person at the market and heard your name, I had to see if the legends were true.” She paused, looking him up and down. “Apparently they were.”

Striker beamed with pride. “I’m not surprised. Even royalty knows who I am.”

“As much as I despise your vile violent kind, you imps are experts in killing and war. And no one else seems to match your level of expertise.”

Striker grinned. “I’m flattered, ma’am. To be honest, I see myself as better than all those pathetic excuses of demons. They’re nothing but brawn and no brain. They just use brute strength and argue all the time instead of being civilized and making a real life for themselves.”

Stella nodded. “I mentioned before that I have a prince problem that needs to be addressed. If you can do this job for me, I will elevate your status beyond that of a regular imp.”

Striker cocked his head before bursting into laughter. “Lady, please! Don’t fool with me! I’ve never been a ‘regular’ imp!” He then spoke in a serious tone. “But for your request, I charge a great deal of money.”

Striker was cut short when Stella tossed a bag full of souls, bills and coins in front of him. “Would this be enough?”

A bowl of meat and several large bottles of fresh water appeared as well.

Water…actual water! Water that could help many imp farmers, but more importantly help his parched throat.

He stared into the bag with a greedy expression on his face. He reached in for a handful of coins, only to have the majority of coins vanish. One lone gold coin was left in his hand. Striker reached for the water and food, but they vanished, too.

Striker stared in annoyance. It was too good to be true.

“Don’t forget the one who helped you get that rifle. And the pistols and rope and knife. You won’t earn your rewards until the job is done.”

Striker took a breath. “So, you want me to kill someone.”

Stella nodded.

Striker grinned wider. He could not resist an interesting proposition such as this. To be able to have not just money, but food, fame, freedom…

Stella pulled out a framed picture and held it in front of his face.

“Do you see this demon?” she asked, venom in her words. Her dark finger pointed to the owl Stolas, who was lying on his belly on his bed, smiling. His feathery chest was bare, his arms were tied, and a ball gag was around his neck. He wore his black top hat and crown. “This is my husband, Prince Stolas Goetia. He’s the man I want you to kill.”

Striker was taken aback. “Oh my. Marriage problems, I see.”

“Oh, there’s more than that!” Stella barked. “You see that thing?” She pointed to a naked Blitzo who was riding on Stolas with his member fully erect. “That’s the monstrosity imp that he’s been fucking with behind my back! I found this picture lying around on his work desk.”

Striker grinned. “Now things are getting interesting. You want revenge for adultery. Never thought I’d become a marriage counselor! Hahaha!”

Stella seethed. “I want you to frame that imp for Stolas’ death.”

“Hmm. That can be arranged, I think. What’s his name?”

“I don’t fucking care! I just want them dead!”

“Okay, okay,” Striker said, keeping his cool.

“That imp rides my husband like a horse and what’s worse, all of Hell will soon know about it! Do you know what will happen next?”

Striker could only guess.

Stella continued. “Once everyone knows what my husband did, the whole Goetia family will be a laughingstock. Lucifer, the Overlords, the Seven Deadly Sins…they’ll all bring our line to the ground, and I’ll be no better off than you and the commoners!”

“Right,” Striker began, narrowing his eyes.

“And I cannot just divorce him, either. Our marriage was arranged, and I had to work hard to get my position. I married him and I got money and power like I wanted. But then my Octavia was born and then Stolas ruined everything. He slept with that imp in our fucking bed! Fooled around in a motel like plebeians! He doesn’t respect his loyal royal wife of one thousand years, but instead goes for a childish perverted scum he just met! If I divorce him, I’ll lose my status and his imp toy will replace me as his consort!”

Striker laughed nervously. “Oh, really?”

Stella leaned in close to his face, “Yes, really!” before leaning back.

“Well, I can see why you’re desperate,” Striker said.

“Once Stolas and that imp are gone, I’ll finally be able to regain some proper power in Hell. I’ll restore the Goetia tradition and help Octavia be a worthy heir.” Then she added in a demonic voice, “Whether she likes it or not!”

In the blink of an eye, Stella grabbed onto a nearby white mouse and promptly consumed it. She chewed and swallowed before looking at Striker again.

Striker folded his hands together, wheat straw in his mouth. “So now begs the question, how can I kill demon royalty? And what do I do to frame that imp?” He spit out the wheat straw.

Stella smiled sinisterly and beckoned the imp butler over. With effort, the butler hosted up a long brown case onto the table. He opened it and there lay the carmine colored blessed tipped angelic rifle with the Christian fish symbol, eyes and crosses glowing on it. Striker studied it in fascination. “How beautiful.”

“You remember when I got this from the market,” said Stella. “Supposedly Rob got the weapon from Lucifer’s people.”

Striker licked his lips.

“You’ll use this weapon to kill Stolas,” Stella explained. “A hand-crafted weapon not from Hell but from Heaven. This can kill high ranking demons. Consider it a blessing gift to aid in your task. Make sure no one else gets a hold of it. And be protective of your other weapon too.”

Striker nodded and took the rifle and case.

Stella then presented him with more weapons: two black angelic pistols with halos and wings decorated on them, white blessed rope, and a sharp angelic knife with glowing white lines on it. Striker grinned widely. Maybe being a temporary underling wouldn’t be so bad.

“And to answer your second question,” Stella barked. “During every full moon, Stolas and that imp screw around so the imp can access his grimoire to kill humans on Earth. We know that traveling to Earth isn’t allowed and by letting the imp have his book, Stolas is neglecting his duties.”

“Indeed he is.”

“Plus,” Stella continued, “If Lucifer and the Overlords find out Stolas’ mistake, I will be stripped of my status, be banished or worse! The Goetia line will be reduced to stardust. With powerful demons and traveling to other dimensions, everyone could be fucked!”

Striker nodded. He couldn’t believe it. Now was finally the chance to prove himself.

“Well ma’am, consider yourself a widow,” Striker grinned with a tip of his hat.

Stella grinned and held out her hand. “So, it’s a deal then?”

Striker stood up and shook her hand. Sparks and light flew from their palms. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said. “You have engaged my valuable services, your majesty. Just tell me, where and when I can find this prince?”

Stella spoke lowly and Striker chuckled. With his imp tail, Striker impaled his red dagger into the picture, creating a torn hole where Stolas’ face was.

“Stella’s pretty face will be next!” Striker thought.

0 0 0

Far out in the desert countryside, two imps were sitting by a recently dug hole and a makeshift gravestone. One imp was beefy with red skin, white hair, a small white mustache and white scars on his arms. His wife sat next to him, her black hair wild, skin red, eyes yellow. Both of them wore farming clothes and had their heads lowered. In front of them was the body of their last farmhand. On the gravestone were the words, “Here lies Fred, he is dead.”

Joe comforted Lin and briefly stared at the charred burned remains of their cottage.

“I can’t believe it,” Lin sobbed. “Fred was just doing his job, tending to the farm. But then this fire twister blew in outta nowhere.”

“Thank Satan we and our family could take shelter underground,” Joe mentioned. “Fred stayed behind to try and save the animals.”

“Our crops, our home, our farmhand…all gone.” Lin sighed sadly. “The kids aren’t gonna like this when they get back from visiting town.”

“What will we do now?” Lin asked.

“Well until we can get our place fixed up, we’ll just have to sleep in the wilderness somewhere. Or maybe a motel.”

“Well, howdy,” Striker called to the two imps.

Both of them looked up to see Striker trotting toward them upon his horse. “Sounds like you two could use a helpin’ hand.”

“You bet we do,” said Joe. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Striker, sir,” said Striker, hopping off his horse and shaking his hand.

“A fine name Striker is,” Joe mentioned in approval.

“Reminds me of the battles we fought in our younger days!” Lin added. “Crushing the heads of imps who tried to raid our land. Even just blowing other imps away in competitions. All we had to use were our bare hands and stamina.”

“I must’ve strolled along to the right place,” Striker said with a grin.

“I’m Joe and this is my wife Lin,” Joe drawled. “You new here?”

“Lived in Wrath for a while.”

“Well then, Striker, if you can help us repair our cottage to start, consider yourself hired!”

So that’s what Striker did. After a week, the cottage was restored, and the family returned to their old life. To Striker’s delight, Joe and Lin paid him reasonably well for his hard work. Besides fixing their house, Striker helped fight off coyotes, wrestle hellhogs and slaughter their livestock when it was time for dinner. Even the rival farmer imps didn’t come sneaking to the May property anymore.

Joe later showed Striker a picture of his family. “You’ve already seen my sugar pie Lin. These are all my kids. Mildred, Sallie, Billie, Willie, Dillie, and Tillie.”

“My, that’s a lot,” Striker remarked. “Why does Mildred sound so different?”

Joe pointed to the picture of Millie. “We sometimes call her Millie.”

“Ah, makes sense now.”

“Yes, she’s a wild one. She and her sister Sallie are perhaps even more rambunctious than their brothers. They killed several competitors at last year’s Harvest Festival. Millie killed nine in one round and now she’s off doing freelance work in Imp City. She is an unstoppable force.”

“Heh. Mighty cute, too.” Both men chuckled.

Striker paused. “The Harvest Festival, huh? I’ve witnessed it a few times.”

“It happens every year. The Pain Games is a competition to see who can be the toughest imp of all.”

“Now that sounds like fun!” Striker grinned.

“You’ll be great for sure. The festival is just a few days away!”

“How interesting,” Striker thought. Stella had told him that it was the event that Stolas would be attending. It would be the perfect moment to make his move!

0 0 0

At the Harvest Moon Festival

“Speaking of strong hands,” Joe said to Blitzo and the gang. “Y’all should meet our newest help.” He then called out, “Hey, Striker!”

The sound of rapidly clopping hooves approached. Black legs with golden hooves raced across the ground. Small plumes of smoke emitted from the legs and sparks flew off the hooves and onto the rocky path. An imp dressed in cowboy attire rode atop his horse, using his long tan pointed tail to whip the horse’s flank. The imp’s tail moved and hissed like a rattlesnake. The hell horse leaped over a wooden fence and moved toward the group. With a mixture of a roar and a neigh, the hell horse Bombproof reared up on his hind legs before lowering to a complete stop.

The inferno equine was magnificent. He had a coal black coat and three black ribs exposed underneath him. His underbelly, mane and tail consisted of dazzling crimson and orange flames that matched the speed of the creature’s movements. Three golden circles were decorated near his flank and his flaming tail was also black with small spikes on it. The horse had glowing small holes in his face for eyes, seven black spikes jutting out from his long neck and a few sharp fangs from his elongated mouth.

“Well, howdy!” Striker greeted.

The tall imp had a faded red face with reptilian-like features. He smiled a dazzling grin of sharp teeth, a gold tooth standing out. He had a small black mustache and white hair with two jagged black and white striped horns that pointed upward. His long tail was pointed, with four black stripes and eight accompanying sharp spines.

Striker wore a stereotypical brown sun hat, tall cowboy boots, a red scarf and torn white pants. He had a black shirt and a dark navy vest with black cuffs. A light red scarf was around his neck. A straw of wheat was in his mouth. His eyes were yellow and hypnotic with a spiral pattern.

“Oh, lookie here!” Striker spotted Millie and jumped off his horse. “You must be the famous Mildred.” He playfully poked her with the wheat stalk. “Heard some good things about you from your folks, little lady.”

He winked at her, and Millie laughed sheepishly, waving her hand. They both shook hands.

“What’re y’all doing so far away from Imp City?” Striker asked. “Heh. Free working finally slowin’ down?”

“Oh no! Freelance isn’t free! It’s a…” She paused. “Never mind. We’re just visiting for the festival. The prince is our boss’ boyfriend!” She said “boyfriend” dramatically.

Blitzo glared at her, making a slapping gesture. “Millie, I’m not above hitting a female in front of her daddy.”

“Boss, huh?” Striker asked before noticing Blitzo. “Ohhh, so you’re the bold imp to start his own killing biz?”

Blitzo grinned smugly. “Yeah, well if you’re good at somethin’, you should probably capitalize.”

“Not many imps start businesses on their own. That’s pretty impressive, sir,” Striker complimented with a snap of his fingers.

“Oh. Yeah? It is…” Blitzo stuttered. “I-I-I I guess it is, isn’t it?”

“So, you even conned that ditzy blueblood into gettin’ you to the surface?” Striker asked.

Striker and Blitzo shook hands.

“Well, it’s long and complicated but the short answer is, yes,” Blitzo answered. “But he’s not like, you know, we’re not like, we’re not doing it…” Blitzo stuttered. “It’s a transactional fucking, you see.” He did a motion of putting a finger through a hole.

“You know,” Joe called, “You boys should enter the Pain Games!”

Blitzo walked sideways toward Joe in excitement. “I heard games! What games? I’m in!”

“Every Harvest Festival, there’s a competition to be the roughest toughest bastard in Wrath!” Lin explained.

“Yeah! Wish I could play!” Millie pouted, crossing her arms in disappointment.

“Millie,” Lin chided, “You know you get too carried away. The last competition ended in fifteen separate funerals.”

“I’m aware, but I only caused nine of them!” Millie protested. “How come Sallie May still gets to compete?”

“Your sister doesn��t have a neighborhood head count.”

“She so does!”

In the background, Sallie May carried a sack while a smaller imp dragged an imp body on the ground.

“Doesn’t count if they don’t find the bodyyyy!” Sallie May sang as Millie seethed.

“Still, you get to root for her and your brothers and now you can cheer on your boss!” her mother encouraged.

Moxxie put a hand on Lin’s shoulder much to her disgust. “You know, she can also cheer for me.”

Joe laughed and slapped his leg. Then he raised an eyebrow and pointed. “Wait, you?”

“Yeah! I can compete, can’t I?” Moxxie asked. Lin elbowed him hard in the side and he teared up in pain. Joe chuckled.

“Sorry boy, but I don’t think sensitive thespian types would last very long in the games.”

“I was born here too!” Moxxie protested. Then he drawled, “I have some fight in me.”

Striker put a hand on Moxxie’s shoulder. “Huh. Well then little fella, why don’tcha help me wrangle one o’ them hogs for dinner?”

Striker mentioned to a large sleeping gray hell hog in a pigpen with large black tusks, spikes along the back and closed eyes on its side.

Moxxie held up his head, nose in the air. “Simple. Watch me!”

“Nah. With these,” Striker said. He tossed a red knife and some rope into Moxxie’s hands.

“Bullets can’t pierce the shell. You gotta get the knife underneath them and pry yourself an openin’.”

Moxxie gulped. “Oh, right, right. I knew that.” Moxxie was better equipped for long distance shooting. He was an expert marksman, but not so proficient when it came to raw physical strength. To say Moxxie was out of his comfort zone would be an understatement.

To make matters worse, Blitzo leaned in toward Moxxie and grabbed his shoulders.

“Now just remember, your rep with the in-laws is on the line here! So, no pressure at all, you totally will not make an ass of yourself in front of everyone important in your life.”

Blitzo’s words were laced with sarcasm and mockery. Moxxie’s eyes twitched, his pupils dilated in fear. He could already envision being beaten up and sent away from Millie by her parents.

“Go get’ em tiger,” Blitzo grinned, shoving Moxxie forward.

“Oh.”

“Mox, you don’t need to do this,” Millie countered.

But her words fell on deaf ears as Blitzo remarked, “Oh, he totally does!”

There was no turning back now.

Moxxie hopped over the pen fence and nervously stalked through the mud, rope and dagger in hand.

“Kick its ass, Moxxie! Yeeeeaaaaah!” Blitzo hollered, making punching gestures.

Taking a deep breath, Moxxie leapt forward and wrapped the rope around the hog’s neck. He brought down the knife, which bounced harmlessly off the hog’s armor shell. The glowing eyes on the hog opened up and the beast let out a ferocious roar.

Moxxie yelled out as the hog raced around the pen, trying to buck him off. He held onto the rope for dear life. Blitzo’s cheers added to the intensity and stress.

“Fuck yeah, Moxxie! Ride it, Moxxie! Making that bitch you won’t call back in the morning!”

Loona snickered. “This is fucking beautiful.” She held up her black cell phone and recorded a video.

“Doing great, Moxxie!” Blitzo said with a thumbs up. Then he whispered to Loona, “Send me that video later.”

Moxxie screamed and tried to stay on as Millie watched in concern.

A shadow fell over Moxxie, and he was soon knocked off. He landed in the mud and glared at the figure above him.

It was Striker. He twirled the red knife with his fingers and held it high above his head in a smug pose. He brought the knife down hard, straight through the hog’s tough skin. The hog roared and squealed before dropping dead. Striker had slaughtered the beast.

“Ow…My clavicle,” Moxxie cried, rubbing his neck. Striker towered over him with a grin, his tail rattling.

“Don’t worry, little one. You never stood a chance.”

Moxxie bared his teeth in anger as a proud Striker carried the dead hog on his shoulder back to the group.

“Hey, boss man,” Striker called to Blitzo, looking at him with a sideways turn of his head. “You wanna help the men skin this thing for dinner?”

Blitzo puffed up his chest in pride. “Oh, I am always down to skin the manly meat with the manly men!”

“That’s what she said!” Loona called out, as she tapped on her phone and followed the imps inside.

“What, ‘who said?’” Blitzo asked before asking in anger, “Wait, what bitch is talking shit about me?!”

0 0 0

Wally Wackford stood on the wooden stage, holding a gray microphone decorated with an eye in the center and small horns on the top. He wore his usual white shirt, vest, white pants and dark boots. He twirled his black cane and tipped his black top hat. Large speakers with skulls on the inside stood off to either side. Nested under a stripped tent in the back center of the stage sat Stolas on a stool. He wore his usual crown, black top hat and royal red robes. The grimoire lay on his lap. A white banner held up by high spears read “Harvest Moon Festival” in bold blood red letters. Stolas’ sigil and a pentagram decorated the banner background.

Wally Wackford spoke dramatically through the microphone.

“Welcome, I say-a welcome all to Wrath-a Ring’s annual Harvest-a Moon-a a Festival! To kick things up, we have the great prince Stolas-a here to user in this here Pain Games!”

Stolas took the microphone from him and chuckled in slight embarrassment. “How kind, Wackford.”

Stolas then addressed the audience. “Greetings tiny Wrath Ring imps! I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell!”

A crowd of imps glared at Stolas and several boos were heard. Many of these Wrath imps were impoverished farmers who lived on scraps, meat, or good crops if they were lucky. The food they worked so hard to produce was consumed by royalty and those in the other Rings. But the reward for their work was being underfed, underpaid, and underappreciated instead. The unbalanced cycle had lasted for generations.

Striker too, stared at Stolas with a burning hatred. Here was this owl prince who paraded around in his garb while he had to deal with war and a daily battle for survival.

Stolas obliviously continued. “I’m happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest imps to show their skill and dominance.” He did a little wave with his fingers. “Good luck to you all!” He noticed Blitzo in the crowd beside Moxxie and Striker and spoke lower. “Especially that sexy little one there! Yoo-hoo! Blitzy!”

“Ugh. Fuck me,” Blitzo scowled. Striker smiled in amusement.

A gun went off and the games began.

0 0 0

The first event was the race. Moxxie was instantly trampled by the other racers.

The second event was the high jump. Striker climbed over the high wooden ramp structure with ease and raced after Blitzo who jumped past him. Moxxie struggled to keep his balance as he reached the top. He slipped down, trying to use his claws to hold on. He fell with a splash in a small puddle…and was promptly chewed on by a monstrous black and white shark with several red eyes.

The third event was an event with rope. Striker grinned as he held a tied up Blitzo. Blitzo’s arms, legs and horns were all tied up. Moxxie gulped as a stronger grinning imp tied him up with ease.

The fourth event was tug of war. The crowd cheered as the two teams pulled hard. Striker, Blitzo and Moxxie were on a team. Moxxie stumbled and fell into nearby water, where the shark attacked him again.

The fifth event was mud wrestling. Blitzo and Striker grinned as they wrestled each other, Striker getting the upper hand as he held Blitzo down, arms locked. Moxxie was instantly crushed in a football hurdle by a group of imps. As they got off of him, Moxxie sat up. And the shark leaped out of the water and over the fence.

“Mother fucker!” Moxxie screamed as the shark crushed him. (Moxxie somehow survived all this.)

Wally Wackford was back on stage.

“I say, I say for the first year ever, we have a tie, for the winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!”

Stolas took the microphone from him again.

“The winners are…Striker, aaaaand my darling Blitzy!” Stolas did a one-legged pose as the crowd cheered.

“Just say my name right!” Blitzo complained. He muttered “Fuckin’ dick,” as he and Striker walked onto the stage.

Millie and Moxxie watched from the stands. Moxxie was dirty and bruised, one of his eyes was swollen. He crossed his arms.

“Alright, so he has the ‘physical advantage.’ I’m better at other things. Like singing!”

Just then, Striker pulled out a slender dark indigo guitar with knobs made of bones at the top. It was decorated with a brown horseshoe in the center, the guitar curling up into uneven horn-like shapes arching toward the strings.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to sing a quick song I wrote just now, about me winnin’.” He strummed the strings.

“Oh, what the fuck?!” Moxxie bellowed in disbelief, both his arms extended. The crowd began to cheer. The backstage lights turned pink as Striker began his song.

“Sweet victory I smell it sweet From up in stinkin’ Heaven To the rugged rocks of Hell”

“Sweet victory With everything I do With every talent I’m so much more talented than you Every time I tryyy I push it and succeed…me! Every first attempt at every single deed”

“Me! I’m totally the best! The super cool me, handsome guy”

A fangirl imp squealed with tears in her eyes as she raced over to the stage. Striker kicked her in the face, sending the happy imp into the arms of a larger imp. The girl was then mauled by a group of vicious imps.

Blitzo arrived with a slice of Swiss cheese on a stick. He happily jumped into the spot next to Moxxie and Millie, taking a bite of his snack.

“Isn’t this guy great?” Blitzo asked, his mouth full.

“False!” Moxxie declared. From the moment he first saw Striker, Moxxie’s instincts told him that he was not a trustworthy person.

Blitzo squirted some red-hot sauce onto his cheese and took another bite. “It’s gonna be nice workin’ with him!”

Moxxie couldn’t believe his ears. “Working with him? What?!”

“Yeeeeaaaah! I asked him if he wants to join I.M.P.”

“You asked…but…” Moxxie began.

Moxxie lowered his head, visibly hurt. Millie sensed that something was wrong.

“Mox, I think you’ve had enough for now. Let’s head back to the house and get you clean.” Millie lifted his chin up and Moxxie smiled a sad smile.

Striker glanced over at Moxxie with a cruel grin. He sang, “Heh. Moxxie go fuck yourself!”

Tears spilled out of Moxxie’s eyes as he scowled and turned away. Millie led him back to the house.

“Did you hear something? It was just the wind.” Striker finished in song as the crowd cheered. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

0 0 0

The sky was blazing red and yellow lava spheres glowed at the top of large volcanoes. Back at the ranch, Bombproof the hell horse ate a dead animal carcass near a bladed windmill. Blitzo lay on his stomach, feet in the air, watching the horse with utmost adoration.

Striker arrived back at the cottage after the performance. He went off to see if he could mock that weakling imp friend of Millie’s. He flickered out his tongue and sniffed the air. Someone was in his room.

Striker, being cocky, had accidentally left the door unlocked and had also left open the glowing weapon in the case. Climbing up the wall and leaping through a window, Striker soon appeared inside by the door.

Inside the house, Moxxie walked glumly up some stairs.

A faint humming sound made Moxxie open his eyes and lift up his head. Moxxie noticed a sliver of light coming through the crack underneath one of the white doors. He raised an eyebrow. His cloven hooves stopped in front of the door, catching the light. The humming grew as he stepped closer.

“Well, that’s troubling,” he commented.

Moxxie opened the door and peered around. No one was in the bedroom. Nothing but a gray ceiling fan, a bed with a skull on the headboard and a nearby vanity on a dresser.

Moxxie almost froze when he spotted the source of the light and the humming sound. It was coming from a box on a table. He walked closer to inspect it.

“Oh, my crumbs!” he breathed, his yellow eyes wide and shining.

Sitting in a brown gun case lay an intricate and very expensive looking rifle. It was a dark reddish color with glowing white swirl-shaped designs along the side. The area near the trigger was decorated red. A white Ichthys fish Christian symbol was on there as well.

In fascination and dread, Moxxie ran a hand along the side.

“A genuine carmine crafted blessed-tipped rifle.”

A weapon with angelic bullets.

Moxxie stared in disbelief. “How…how in the fuck did he get one of these?!”

“Why don’t you ask me, little dude?”

That familiar dark southern drawl…Moxxie’s hairs stood on end.

Moxxie whirled around. “Shit!”

Striker was leaning against the doorframe.

Moxxie glared in suspicion and anger. “W-why do you have this?! Mister!” He pointed a finger at him. “You are aware this kind of weapon can kill…”

“…demon royalty,” Striker finished.

“Yes. That.”

“No shit. That’s kinda the point,” Striker remarked. He flicked the wheat stalk away, running his claws along the door before shutting it.

To Striker, there was no use to attempt to lie to this imp about being a “gun enthusiast.” One, because he would’ve seen through Striker's lies easily. Two, the imp was about to die.

Moxxie stepped back and stuttered. “Okay. Well, I’m…I’m relatively concerned by your possession of this…”

Striker grinned sinisterly, advancing toward Moxxie like a predatory rattlesnake. Striker’s pointed tail hissed in anticipation. Moxxie was cornered by the table behind him.

“I’m also glad my instant dislike of you has been vali…dated!” Moxxie added before gasping.

Striker wrapped his tail around Moxxie’s throat, causing the imp to gag. He tossed Moxxie hard against the wall, where he slid with a thud to the floor. Although Blitzo would likely be upset that Striker had harmed his employees, he could easily use manipulation tactics to get him on his side.

Moxxie sat up and clutched his head…then Striker was upon him. Strong hands firmly gripped Moxxie in a chokehold. He struggled to free himself, but Striker held him down with his body weight. Striker’s butt and legs were dangerously close to Moxxie’s crotch. Striker could already feel his dick getting hard at the feel of his victim struggling underneath. Moxxie tried to claw at him, but Striker easily avoided the swipes. A glint caught Moxxie’s eye, and he noticed a red glass vase on a nearby table.

With a grunt of effort, Moxxie kicked at the table, sending the vase crashing onto Striker’s head. Millie heard the crash from outside and raced toward the house. A freed Moxxie stood up and ran as fast as he could toward the door. He managed to open it before Striker pulled him back by his tail with a forceful yank!

“Aaah!” Moxxie screamed before his mouth was covered by Striker’s hand. Beams of red light shone into the room as Moxxie struggled in vain to get free. Striker leaned down and pressed his body weight against Moxxie, pinning him in place. The seconds dragged by, Moxxie losing consciousness. Moxxie’s eyes started to flutter, his body going limp as Striker held his chin.

Striker chuckled evilly. “Pathetic.”

A sudden slash of pain shot through Striker and he screamed. He let go of his captive and Moxxie fell to the floor.

Through bleary eyes, Moxxie could see the fierce figure of Millie. She was stabbing Striker in the back repeatedly with a knife. Her mouth was open in a snarl, her sharp teeth revealed, veins popping out near her glowing red pupil-less eyes. Little crosses were shown in her eyes instead. She was feral, ferocious…and never looked more beautiful.

She jabbed and stabbed again and again, black blood splattering this way and that. She then leaped onto his shoulders, a knife against his neck. Striker angrily moved around and gripped one of her hands. He grinned and rammed Millie hard against the wall.

Thud!

Millie collapsed to the floor next to Moxxie, grimacing in pain as a fresh wound in her leg oozed black blood. Moxxie weakly reached for her with a shaking hand. Striker had wounds of his own, but his thicker skin had saved him from the brunt of Millie’s attacks. Striker grinned triumphantly above them, grabbing them both by their hair.

What a shame…maybe if the pretty Millie had sided with him, they could’ve done incredible things together. Killing, sex, riding off to kill some more. Of course like Blitzo, Millie would’ve been just another secondary pawn for him to use.

A cellar door was opened.

Moxxie cried out as he tumbled down the stairs and onto the floor. Millie tumbled and followed suit. Unfortunately for her, one of her legs got caught in a black bear trap.

Snap!

“Owwww!” she cried out, black blood pooling onto the floor. Moxxie gasped in horror.

Both imps looked up at their captor.

“I’d kill y’all but I feel like there’s more leverage with your rodeo clown of a boss if I don’t!” His spiral reptilian eyes gleamed menacingly in the dim light. “Plus, you little things aint’ worth the cleanup.”

Moxxie raced up the stairs toward Striker, but he promptly shut the wooden doors.

That took care of them. Blitzo would easily join him once Striker threatened their lives. Either Blitzo would submit, or his employees would perish. A win-win either way, so long as he could go after his true target and goal.

Back on stage, after tapping the microphone, Stolas magically flipped through his grimoire, which hovered in front of him.

“My dear commoners of the Ring of Wrath, I Stolas of the Ars Goetia, hereby curse this year’s harvest with the glow of the true Harvest Moon!”

The sunset sky swirled above him until a portal appeared with a light purple sparkly rim. The portal revealed a beautiful pink-orange colored full moon in a clear starry night sky. The imp audience oohed at the splendid sight. One of them yelled out that he knew that Stolas would do the portal trick.

Not too far away, Striker focused on his target, his rifle drawn. Stolas’ face was shown in the reflector, the glowing white lines centering on his forehead. Striker chuckled darkly and prepared to take aim, wheat straw in his mouth.

A click sounded behind him. Blitzo stood with his tan flintlock pistol pointed at Striker.

“Uh, excuse me? The fuck?!”

“Bliiiitzo!” Striker cooed and turned around in surprise. “I thought you were still at the ceremony!”

Blitzo scowled. “You thought I wanted to stand around with a bunch of hillbillies excited about corn n’ shit with a thirsty owl on stage?!”

Striker stood up. “Huh. And now you seem disappointed in me.”

“Yeah, well I’m not a fan of someone I offered a job to about to off my easiest lanky ticket to Earth behind my back.”

Striker casually leaned against the window frame, one leg propped up, arms crossed. Striker spit out the wheat straw and Blitzo pointed his pistol at him.

“Blitz, come on,” Striker said. “You know the two of us are superior than most of our kind.” He strode forward while Blitzo stepped back nervously.

Striker continued, circling around Blitzo like a vulture. “And you were so above suckin’ on a disgusting rich pompous Goetia, only to sneak topside for scraps and work for bitter Sinners who could care less who you are when you could be slaying Overlords.”

Memories flashed back to Striker as he spoke those words. Blitzo had more in common with him than he thought. Both had more strength, agility, charm, than many other imps. He knew that as hybrid imps, they were powerful, special, chosen to break free from the crowd and prove themselves to the rest of society. With demon-killing weapons, royalty would never bother them again. They could truly live free.

Blitzo froze, pupils darting back and forth. Blitzo stood conflicted, as Striker continued to try and get inside his head. It was amusing how uncertain he looked.

Striker’s shadow darted in the darkness, and Blitzo pointed his rifle again.

Striker continued. “Why struggle to run a business that is rigged against you? When you could partner up with me…”

Striker appeared in Blitzo’s face, fingers curled, “and kill the un-killable?”

Blitzo was soon pinned against the wall, both of Striker’s arms on either side. Striker sensed arousal coming from Blitzo and he grinned.

“Starting with the one who treats you like a plaything?” Striker said, his eyes glowing, red pupils, long tongue briefly out.

“I could easily dominate this guy in the bedroom,” Striker thought. “See how tough he really is. He’ll soon obey my every word. It’ll be so much easier when we can rule all of Hell together! Leave all those Sinners, Overlords and inferior imps to rot away under my glory!”

“We could be the most dangerous beings in Hell, Blitzo.” Striker leaned closer.

“Wow. That was a good fuckin’ pitch,” Blitzo whispered.

“Been workshoppin’ it.” Striker moved Blitzo’s pistol away with a hand.

Blitzo sighed and stared off to the side. “Y’ know what? Fuck it.” He grinned. I’m in!” Striker grinned too. Now he could use Blitzo to his heart’s content. No one would mess with him then.

Click.

Striker hissed as Moxxie appeared behind him, holding his prized rifle.

“Huh?”

Blitzo grinned. “Took you long enough, Mox! Ha ha! Wow, you should’ve seen your dipshit face!”

Striker seethed in anger.

“Wait…woah,” Blitzo began. Striker’s tail had wrapped around Blitzo’s knife as he held it behind him.

“Okay, cliché much?” Blitzo asked.

Striker punched Blitzo in the stomach before moving Blitzo’s pistol. The gun went off. Moxxie gasped as he blocked the bullet with the side of the rifle. Blitzo seethed in anger at Striker trying to use him to kill his friend.

“Oh, you daddy fucker!”

He clamped down hard onto Striker’s arm, the cowboy imp crying out. Blitzo elbowed Striker, sending him back. The two imps them fought and landed punches and kicks. A series of grunts were heard. Striker looped his arm around Blitzo’s arm and shoved him away. Blitzo crashed backward into Moxxie, sending both imps to the floor. Moxxie spotted the rifle and reached for it. Striker pinned down Moxxie’s arm with a boot.

“You dumb fucks lost the upper hand fast, huh?” he smirked, scooping up the rifle and aiming at them.

“Ha!” Blitzo declared. “You seem to have forgotten something, fucko!”

He moved his fingers to his lips.

Wheeoo-wheet!

He whistled several times. From outside, Loona’s ears perked up, but she continued tapping on her phone, ignoring him.

“Ugh, fuckin’ damn it, Loona,” Blitzo muttered.

“It’s a damn shame, Blitzo,” said Striker. “We might actually’ve made a good team.” He chuckled and aimed. “Ah well.”

“In your wet dreams, you honky-tonk goat!” Blitzo yelled.

He swiped his foot forward, tripping Striker. He got up and karate-kicked Striker away, causing him to drop his rifle. Moxxie grabbed it and growled. Blitzo then raced toward his foe and knocked his head with a vase. He landed hard punches at his face, while also swiping his tail at him. Black specks of blood fell from Striker’s nose and mouth. Blitzo used his tail to wrap around Striker’s waist, and promptly tossed him to the side. He landed in a corner with a yelp. He moved again, but Moxxie fired a warning shot near his head.

Striker remained silent as Moxxie and Blitzo closed in. Blitzo aimed his pistol at him, the bronze surface glinting.

“I still think it’s embarrassing,” Striker drawled to Blitzo, his gold sharp tooth glinting. “You’re wasting a lot of potential relyin’ on a weak little…”

Moxxie fired another warning shot, clipping off part of his cowboy hat. “You gonna finish that fucking sentence? Pard’ner?”

Striker just grinned in his defeat. “Vermin.”

Stolas, Moxxie, Millie, Blitzo…all were just vermin if they didn’t show him the proper respect.

“Who’s weak now, bitch?!” Moxxie mocked before a door slammed into his face.

“’Kay, I’m here,” Loona called as she stepped through the doorway.

Striker narrowed his eyes and used the distraction to slap Blitzo’s pistol from his hand. He retrieved the rifle on the floor before racing on all fours toward the open window. He grinned again at Blitzo.

“I tip my hat to you, one legend to another. Maybe you’ll get me next time, Blitzy.”

He grinned and leaped out. Blitzo aimed his gun again, but Striker had disappeared into the shadows. He stared at Stolas obliviously finishing the festival. Blitzo then hurried outside to warn Stolas of what had just occurred.

Blitzo skidded to a stop near the stage. Unfortunately, Blitzo saw the tips of Stolas’ gray tail feathers disappear through a portal back to his palace. The portal sealed and the sky closed overhead, revealing a plain night sky and no moon. The festival was over.

0 0 0

Somewhere in Wrath Ring lay a very shady motel. The sign had a border of round lights and a neon yellow cowboy hat on it. It read in bold letters “Hideaway Motel.” “Hideaway” was in white cursive, while “Motel” was in bold neon yellow with horns sticking from the “M.” “Vacancy” was in a red neon cactus. In movie theater style font below, it read: “The guy that tried 2 kill u def isn’t here.”

The windows were dark, broken and bordered up. Save for one room on the second floor that had a light shining from it. Lopsided broken blinds were in the lit-up window. Inside the room was peeling wallpaper and a bathroom with a sink and a broken mirror.

A long pointed imp tail hissed as the figure pressed a phone to his ear.

“So…is it done?” came the other voice.

“Huh,” came the drawling male voice. “I failed to kill the target at the festival.”

“I granted you that weapon. Just because I could afford it doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to get,” said the other caller. “You still have it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Perhaps you can prove me wrong about my assumptions of your kind.”

“Don’t forget how much money you offered me. And additional food.”

“You’ll only get it once the deed is done. Only the most infamous assassin is worthy of this job.”

Striker was lounging on a bed, an orange old fashioned phone in his right hand, while his left hand twirled the glowing angelic rifle. He beamed with pride. “That I am.”

“I’m not doing this out of kindness, imp. You’re a means to a greater end.”

Striker hid his distaste. He was willing to do whatever it took to get that money…and the potential fearful respect that came with being the one to kill the prince.

How satisfying it would be to see the living symbol of all the hardships of the denizens fall before them. Royalty itself would feel the pain that the Wrath imps had felt for years. If royalty could be killed…who knows how much more powerful Striker could become. He already envisioned himself leading the imps to a greater prosperous future. No more moments to be shoved aside like dirt.

Striker would be the rootinest tootinest cowboy in all the…

“Do not disappoint me again,” came the other voice, snapping Striker from his daydreaming.

“I failed. But don’t worry, ma’am, it won’t happen again.”

On the other line, slender clawed fingers drummed the table. “It better not!” Another hand slammed down on the table.

“I want this cheating prick dead!”

It was Stella Goetia, Stolas’ wife. Her glowing pink eyes radiated in fury, her white feathery face devoid of its usual regality. “I don’t care who you have to go through! Make it happen!”

Stella sat with her family at the dinner table at the palace. Plates of pancakes, meat and peas were in front of them. They sat in purple cushioned throne-like chairs. She bared her teeth at her husband, who stared at her in concern, a pancake hanging onto his fork. He held a book in his other hand at the dinner table titled “Imps in the sheets.” In another chair, Octavia was bobbing her head to some music. The imp butler peered over the table with worry. No matter what side he’d decide to take, he was probably screwed. Stella briefly worried that she had gotten caught, but neither one of them had noticed.

“Understood,” replied Striker before Stella hung up the rotary phone.

Striker twirled his rifle again. He’d go through anyone he could. Succubi, imps, sinners, the Seven Deadly Sin Ring rulers. Perhaps even fallen angels. He knew how smooth his words were. There had to be other enemies of Stolas and I.M.P. around.

Striker twirled his black rifle, which had a glowing eye, white crosses, six glowing white wings and a small white halo on it, another angelic weapon. “I’ll get him next time.”

He’d get Stolas, Stella, Blitzo, Moxxie…everyone who dared to cross him!

Striker chuckled darkly before turning off the lamp. His eyes glowed in the darkness as he emitted an ominous rattlesnake hiss.

#helluvaboss

1 note · View note

tatakaebomb · 3 years ago

Text

Top dog

ꕥ Pairing : Dr*g lord Bakugo x Reader

ꕥ Synopsis : When your first, harsh undercover mission goes wrong - the real game comes from the repercussions.

ꕥ A/N : I don’t condemn drugs btw - send requests through we answer all :)

All characters are over 18!

ꕥ Word count : 2.8k

ꕥ TW : Deception, oral sex, cream pie, occupation of three holes, MENTIONS OF DRUGS, intoxicants, intoxication, drug usage, alcohol usage, sadism, masochism, non con, dub con, sexual preying, sexualising, anal fisting, mentions of ass play, vulgar language, sexual indications, oral fingering, doggie, submission, dom! bakugo, bakugo mean af, degradation, punishment, mentions of authority abuse, sensitive, death threats, rape, infliction, violence (?), blood, thigh biting, gun play, gun fucking, gun fingering, degrading, misogyny, orgasming, mutual release, dumbification, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, probs more just don’t do drugs or be a dumbass, 18+

'He's in here ma'am. Straight through.'

Walking your way in you take in the beads and decor of the underground palace. Palace was a slight bit of an over-exaggeration. This place was home to thousands of intoxicants, things that can kill you with just a small sniff. It's home to where millions of assistant deaths were given at the hand of greed.

That's what your job was. To investigate this place. Working as a private investigator for 5 years now you we're definitely familiar with situations like this. Being so close to hand with poison had you numb to things like this, but the fact your meeting THE owner of the infamous 'strip' club. The ones you've been getting tips and hints on for the last year or so, the one you've tried so hard to track down and finally you've succeeded.

You were almost there those would say. Your persona anonymous to all, for all they know you were just a pretty woman named JJ who wanted to talk with the chief for a little 'help'. It was impressive how sneaky you were, like a snake almost. You could slither yourself in and out of situations with such ease. That's what put you here, you were only 23 and yet so determined, such a fundamental key to your job.

Walking into the room you were greeted with the arouma of the familiar drug of cannabis and rough sex. Something you've also became immune too over your years. Music beating slightly around the room as you caught sight of the beads and posters hanging from the wall. Dead animal skin merely touching under the souls of your louboutins, a large round sofa circling around the room with a wide mirror hanging on top of the wall. Didn't look like anything you were particularly familiar with, definitely looked like something someone who would run a chain of illegal strip joints would design.

' JJ right?' You heard the faint voice call behind you, turning around you were met with the face of a topless man, smoke pouring from his mouth as he took a draw from his spliff. Toned body relaxed under the lighting as his sweats hung low on his body. Arms slumped over the back of the couch as he took you in. Quiet, unknown form.

'Yes. Hi. You must be ba-'

'What do you want?' He rudely cut you off, pinching his spliff out as he threw the remaining paper on the table infront of him. Cruel, squinted eyes so suspicious over you, he doesn't understand why a woman as beautiful as you would want to visit him.

Bakugo may be infamous but he's certainly not stupid. Anybody he knew him knew this, and from your research - You knew this. It was so hard to act normal around him, you felt your composure slipping, from the name you expected nothing but a sleazy old man, like ones that you've had before but he was a whole new persona. A young, attractive man. You don't really see many of those in your job sector.

'What?'

'You heard me. I don't usually get customers like...you...unless your here to get on your knees then you can leave.'

Abrupt words caught you off guard, what a dick?

You ignored it though. Something you learnt to do well whilst you've been in this area, ignore it until you get your result.

'Nice place you got here. Decorate it yourself?'

'Didn't you just hear me? Fuck ya' want.' Getting up he shrugged his arms off the couch. Body moving to greet yours as he peered you down. Dark diluted pupils staring into yours whilst his furrowed eyebrows indicated to you enough you needed to know. This guy was someone you needed to be wary around, no wonder he was so hard to trace, he was on the smarter side...

'I think it's clear why I'm here why else would I be here?' You replied, sass coming out of your tone.

Your tongue couldnt help but swipe at the bottom of your teeth as you once again observe the room. No pictures? No photographs. Nothing? Your finger reaching over the swipe at the dust on the table infront of him, you playfully pinched it, dragging your fingers against one another as you watch the particles float in the air. Small smile carving on your lips at the sight.

'Easily amused are ya? Sit down. Bimbo.'

Sighing, you trailed to the couch. Seeing how he shrugs his hand into the drawer and pulls out a small bag. A carrier contained with more than enough evidence, so close to your eyes. The music seemed to get slightly louder as the faint noises of moans and whines in the other rooms acquainted your ears. You had to ignore it though, what did you expect from a sex and strip club.

Your hands were placed neatly on your lap, eyelashes innocently batting up at him as he made his way over to you. Figure moving to sit next to you, slumped body still taking yours in. You felt uneasy at his staring.

'This what ya' want?' His fingers lazily clutched on the small pouch, swinging it in the air as your eyes attached on it. How can people possibly consume something as...drowsy as that.

'How much do I owe?'

'Needy bitch I see...'

His arm lazily hooked around your waist as he pulled you closer, your glasses almost falling off your nose at this point. Skirt hiking up your thigh and your shirt lowered enough for bakugo to catch sight of your cleavage. You knew you shouldn't have to subject yourself, but it makes it easier for disreputable men to trust you this way.

Bakugo didn't though, he knew you had ulterior intentions. How would a woman of your demeanour really go to someone like him? A drug lord you could say.

'Answer my fucking question and it's free of charge, okay?'

His breath lingered of liquor. Distasteful touch almost edible on your own tongue, your face so close to his that your heart race started beating. The pit of your stomach filled with nerves.

'Yeah...that's what I want.'

'You wanted a gram, right?'

'Yes...'

'Don't ever fucking lie to me again.'

The pitch in his tone lowered, teeth clenched and aggravated at this point, the grip on your waist tightening. You were shocked from his response, at this point the guy would be putty in your hands, your job should be pretty much done by now.

For the first time in a while you felt nervous. You felt trapped almost, you had never been put in a job so serious and for you to fuck it up so soon would be nothing that surprising to your company.

They thought of you as a good-for-nothing. A young, dumb girl, wanting nothing but a little male validation and praise for such hard work. Your grades clearly cheated for, you probably sucked off your teacher or paid people for it. The excuses you've heard through in through out. That's why when this mission came you were so keen on it being yours, you thought it would be a piece of cake. You underestimated it big time.

'What are you on about?!'

'I don't ever get customers like you. Do you know how hard I am to get hold off? Nobody fucking comes in here for a gram and is happy with it...'

His lips closed towards yours. Your body intrinsically leaning back, eyes widened and lips parting, throat slightly getting dry as you realised how bad you fucked up. You didn't even think that through...

'I- no I-'

'Nervous are we? What happened to the sass? Who do you work for. If you just tell me now I'll let you go, wouldn't wanna ruin the life of a woman so precious and perfect as you would I?'

His harmless flirting had you swooning slightly, eyes throwing daggers into his as you watched the way he got off to seeing your vulnerable form. His hand still pulling you towards his body, your breasts almost touching his chest. Palms sweaty and knees getting weaker at the feeling of him so close, you couldn't bear it.

Without thinking you patted your back pocket, only to your surprise it was empty. Gun holder left unarmed as your heart began to quickly pace.

A hearty laugh escaped the man infront of you whilst your eyes glanced over only to see the pleasure of the gun being cocked in his hands. His gaze observing the trigger and clutch. Fingers playing with it with ease, his other hand tapping at your waist.

'Aren't cops meant to be smart, blew your cover there a bit didn't you...y/n...'

A gasp left your throat subconsciously, he knew who you were all along. This could get you slaughtered, how did he know? Who told him?

'How the fuck do you know my name?!' You worry.

'Why's that the root of your problems? You just attempted to pull a gun on me. Your bravery is almost respectable I'll give you that...but for that..-

His lips quickly hovered over yours, gun placed to the side of your head. Your eyes swelling up with tears, heavy panting fanning his lips, smirk risen on his upturned mouth in despite.

'-you gotta redeem yourself.'

His lips latched onto yours in force, your body attempting to throw him off as he pushed you lower onto the couch, tears swiping your cheeks whilst the taste of his alcohol ingested tongue latched onto yours, saliva slipping past your lips down your throat whilst the gun at the side of your head was pushed harder into you. You didn't know what to focus on right now.

'Resist and your getting fucking murdered, got it.'

You remained still, body shocked in fright at what's going on. Chest heaving up and down in sheer fear.

'DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?!'

Frantic nodding to your head had you paranoid, eyes doing their hardest to connect to his.

A harsh slap to your exposed thigh made you gasp, his nails gripping into your skin as you winced at the feeling of blood drawing slightly from it.

'I like when my women use their words. Say it.'

'Yes-'

'Yes what?'

'Yes...daddy...'

His lips tucked up once again, teeth glancing out slightly for your eye to catch sight on his diamond tooth, the piercing on his tongue rimmed around the crown of his teeth in excitement for how submissive you looked.

The gun moved to prod at your underwear, rubbing up and down your clothed cunt, your back arching slightly unconsciously at the feeling of the glock, bakugo observing your every move.

'You like that hm? Wow. You really are filthy.' He chuckled at his comment, your scared eyes never once leaving his. The thrill of his sadist mentality really being at the root of his mind right now. He wanted to ruin you. Wanted to show you whose really boss. Wanted to prove to you to NEVER fuck with him.

Adjusting you he slipped your legs on the side of the couch, his body kneeling down. Teeth biting down gently at the skin on your thighs, nearing towards your root, a clenched hiss escaping your lips as you could do nothing but deal with it.

His fingers prodded between your legs, moving your underwear aside. Eyes catching on the way you already have slick coating up your fold. Menacing feeling running through his blood as you whimpered at the thought of what he's gonna do next.

'So excited to just ruin you...' was the last words you heard before you felt his tongue quickly delve inside you, hard metal ball ringing around your g spot as you moaned, hands moving to cup your mouth to try not scream at the sensation. Body submitting to him even though you know this is so wrong.

You could feel his grunting, the way he breathed you in even whilst being so deep inside you. He was enjoying this more than you, the wetness of your body slathering against his lips as he needlessly made out with your pussy. Taste so divine to him, your body thrusting slightly against his jaw.

'M- gonna cum-' you whined, glasses pushed off to the side of the couch as head rolled. Legs closing against his neck at the feeling of him.

Quickly, you felt his tongue being joined with something else, the gun accompanying him, pushing against Your clit at the same time as him. Motion harsh yet so tempting. Cold material sending shivers up your body as you once again felt your blood run ice. Fear pulsating through you but you chased the need to cum.

'Yeah? Fucking slut...' he snickered. His tongue lapping at you again as your moans began to get louder, the gun prepping at your fluffy spot whilst your eyes flashed white - being pushed to the back of their sockets as you finally released over his face. Juices gushing over him as he drank up every last drop.

You felt fucked out your mind, emotions rambling all over the place.

Bakugo stood up, your eyes latching onto the way his cock strained at the sight of your terror. Lazily, he swiped at the state you made on your own gun. Watching how your slick shined off his fingers whilst he played with it infront of your eyes.

'Put your mouth to good use hm?'

His fingers neared towards your lips, darting inside your mouth as you temptingly sucked on his fingers. Hand gripping onto his wrist whilst he pushed it so far back you felt the restrain. Gagging noises slipping from you, tears once again dripping from your face from the surprise.

He quickly ripped off your shirt,hiking up your skirt onto your waist whilst your heels were the only thing left on you properly. Your hair lazily draped over your face whilst your body was flipped over. Ass pushed towards katsukis crotch, hips banging you slightly, his hard on making your eyes widen at the sheer feeling of him.

Rapidly your hair was yanked, face pulled back to meet his as he got harder at the sight of your swelling eyes, mascara and lipstick ruined, breasts sat pretty covered in water. Bra discarded to the side somewhere whilst he took in your state. You were an attractive woman none the less, he really scored jackpot with an idiotic dish like you - no need for his gun to have all the fun.

'Mm- please...' you drag out your pleads. Katsukis digits wrapped around your throat, squeezing down on your box whilst his humping got faster, clothed cock slapping against your cheeks.

'Beg for it slut.' He commanded, pace increasing faster.

'Please daddy please please please- wan' you so bad-'

'And I'm meant to be punishing you right now...'

You felt a long rip tear inside of you, loud screaming poured from your throat as your cunt was filled, loud slapping and sloppy noises occupying the room. Your ass hitting against his hips, skin mesmerised to his eyes whilst he watched the way it jiggled up and down. You could feel him getting even harder inside you, the gaping of your ass cheeks so mesmerising to him as you were spread and fingers pushed deep inside. Quickly you felt all three of your holes occupied. His palm almost touching your tongue from how deep he was shot inside your mouth. You could do nothing but drool and cry at the feeling of being so full. Stomach easily showing the way his cock bruised your cervix. His fingers pushed harshly inside your ass as he neared closer and closer to his edge.

'Fuck- your so fucking tig- m gonna cum-'

He pounded faster, rate increasing. Your cheeks glowing pink and vision black. Orgasm almost achieved just a few more hits to your G spot would have you gushing once again.

'Mmm....' You moaned aimlessly around his digits

Quickly you felt him release inside you, his cock stil relentlessly pounding into you as the way you screamed over his fingers turned him on further. Head falling back to just fuck his orgasm out. Soon after you followed, shared juices from the two of you mixed together. Your body slumped forth from the removal of all his inserts. Weak and tired figure under bakugos eyes. Your makeup stained cheeks were perceived from even behind you, your hair a state and once clean, neat clothes now thrown somewhere you couldn't care less about.

'Fuck-' you coughed out. Body heaving quickly to try catch your breath and recollect what's going on.

Sperm leaking out of your hole, your ass hole still spread from the feeling of his fist recklessly pounding inside you. Your drool marking the couch under you. You truly were fucked silly.

'Don't give up on me now. I still got many ways for you to redeem yourself...'

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booksanimeandtea · 2 years ago

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Imma be hated for this but I stopped caring months ago so

T43ehyung is a snake. and a lying bitch. there is a plan as to why he keeps mentioning Jk, jk here, jk there...he does NOT mention anyone else, and certainly not jimin. think about it, once we got taejin (lots of fs during concerts), vhope (really they did spend lots of time together, eating out, giving e/o gifts) and of course we were sold the vmin are soulmates shit, maybe they were, I doubt they still are, wooga squad are his real friends. they have never mentioned e/o outside of work. we also got some joon x v during dynamite era, again fanservice during dynamite performance but that was that. then suddenly (or not so suddenly, certainly soop and hybe had a huge part in tk becoming close again) but again more strongly since 2021 we started getting a looot of tk content and t4e being all over jk...if you think I forgot about soop2 well you are gravely mistaken, I didn't. that cringe kitchen scene? forcing jk to cook for him and then hugging him? to then showing us him cooking some breakfast for jimin? like bitch??? that infamous vminkook live where he actually asked the staff to bring him jk (he ASKED THE STAFF I repeat) and then jm appears and afterwards jk too, and you all have to watch v watching jk all the fucking time, no wonder tkks said jm was the thirdwheel...and then harry styles concert where ofc as soon as he saw hobi was filming them, he had to hug jk and sway while singing, in no other pictures I've seen they were THAT close...then we also got a lot of tk fanservice during the different US concerts, US exactly, not korea, US! why? who knows, and jk was happily complying too mind you...to then all the anon has listed (I also have to add how he ruined new years eve in 2020 by posting a tk selca, act like he was the second owner of Bam, implied a tk subunit for Christmas that everyone was sure of it, Chuseok live 2022 where he did everything he could to be all over jk, like he kept on leaning on him and jk kept leaning away LOL)

there are lots of reasons and not only (possibly) him wanting to hide till he can that he's dating Jennie, a rival for Army, from a rival band and company...nope, what he wants to hide is that he's straight as a ruler, and not on the rainbow side, tbh he never hinted that he's gay or queer, rather he has made homophobic remarks on different occasions and towards jm, but he is so good in fanservicing fans that fans believe he's gay, even more than people who are so much queercoded! he's like HS in this sense...they were in a group, women shipped him in a delusional way with another band member while he was/is dating women and built a career over this...V needs tkks, needs jk, needs fake ot7 armys, he doesn't care about the mess he creates, he doesn't give 2 fucks about the hate others receives because of him, hate that we know they know, he think about himself, he's scared of fans losing interest in him, you see he's not that talented, he's not a good dancer, he is an ambassador yes but what his impact for celine? have you seen big news outlets or even little talk about him? no, exactly.

he needs all of this. he won't let it go soon, he'll keeps doing this and I hope to be wrong, but it can get worse too...and it already is...the worst part of this is...why jk has not noticed this..or if he did, why he doesn't say shit! that's what hurts the most...

tbh they are boring together when on live or on screen, people only scream about their faces (debatable, I think handsomeness resides in soemthing more than pretty, bitch-resting faces tbh) they are the most overrated ship ever. like even taegi are more entertaining to watch...

The End.

it’s interesting seeing taekookers talk about how “taehyung is exposing his relationship with jungkook” yet if you look at it all written it, it’s actually extremely weird, all of this comes from him within the last year, and i’m sure there is things forgotten, if this was jimin doing this to jungkook he would be torn to pieces, the fanservice narratives would be spread every single second, especially with how one sided it is

april 2022:

- talks about a “trip” he took with jungkook but then shuts up as soon as jungkook arrives

- as soon as jimin sat on floor during vhopekookmin live, grabbed jk and pulled him close to him

may 2022:

- festa video, grabbed his leg and grabbed him to pull his close to him

june 2022:

- did live saying would get tattoo with jungkook

- uploaded a fake tattoo minutes after jungkook posted his real one

- posted photo of jungkook on his story during a music show recording

october:

- busan live, as soon as jimin touched him, he grabbed him and put his arm round him

november:

- live saying he was going to game with jungkook

- next day at airport said he was going to be coming with jungkook(?)

january:

- 4 minute live and mentioned jungkook

- another live, said he was gaming with jungkook

february:

- made jungkook do a instagram live with him

- did a live randomly name dropping jungkook

march:

- live stream randomly mentioning jungkook

- comments on jungkooks post randomly minutes after the jikook interaction about ramyun

april:

- car live mentions doing karaoke with jungkook

- starts a live randomly in jungkooks house seconds before leaving

- live where he mentions jungkook randomly, says he told him a song, mentions him about 10 times

- another live randomly mentions jungkook after the premiere

may:

- posts random tk selfie 3 weeks after the premiere

The most interesting part is the increase with how often it has happened since all the Taennie leak, meanwhile they continue to wear the clothes from the leaks, and post even more photos showing things from the photos which we haven’t seen before, meanwhile he at the same time is feeding Taekookers even more.

This is all just going to end up negatively on him, because one day he is going to have to reveal he is a heterosexual man.

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felassanis · 2 years ago

Text

- Unwinding The Ties

Freyr x Original Female Character

Warnings: Smut +18 ONLY

Vali. A name once, her name. But now it was more of a command. Uttered to instruct, to demand. She hated hearing her name from the lips of her supposed family. The ones who looked at her with scorn, with confusion. Odin with his expectant stare, always watching her like an owner waiting for the dog to perform a trick. She loathed the way her name sounded from him.

But not with Freyr. She longed to hear her name spill from his lips. Heavy on his breath, a curse and a prayer. Her name has never sounded as sweet. Hands slide through her hair pulling her away from his lips before he can suffocate.

It was just another way to rebel against her father at first, her and Freyr. It started with long walks through Vanaheim. Carrying herself through the forests with the same self-importance and entitlement as her father. Not only to get away from the dull everyday of Asgard, but to prove to herself that not only could she do anything she liked, but that she had the balls to.

And to prove that the All-Mighty Odin couldn’t control her movements, and the wise god was none the wiser to her ventures.

And when she met the Vanir prince, who had initially been hostile to her, she realised she could spite the All-Father even more. Freyr and her saw in each other the same pain that only victims of similar experiences can. Both of them were missing something Odin had torn from them. Both wearing the scars of his cruelty. His burn marks, and her adult form. This silent understanding made them fast friends.

And so she slipped them intel on Aesir movements to help him with the war. And by doing so advancing her silent rebellion against the All-Father.

And sleeping with Freyr? The All-father’s daughter with the prince of the Vanir? It brought a smile to her face.

Soon, it became more than a simple beneficial relationship. Soon Freyr saw an Aesir working against her people, and respected her. He saw a daughter immune to her father’s infamous manipulations and admired her.

When she would slip through the realms to his humble camp, he’d insist she stay for food and drink. Welcome her presence at the campfire and encourage her to sing and dance with the rest of his people. She was more than a tool, and that had been a first.

Vali had never been a child for more than a day thanks to her father. And so never developed that fantastical idea of romance that forms from hearing stories and that sticks with you until you mature. Building up expectations and hopes that will soon be crumbled by the reality of men. She had been stuffed with the experiences and intellect of an old, wizened man. And so she saw people as pawns. As means to an end.

Perhaps that was the only reason she was not so quick to bend to the whims of her father unlike her brothers. In many ways, Vali was Odin. And only Odin knew what a fraud Odin was.

Freyr changed that. He gave the experience she had always lacked yet unknowingly craved. Human connection.

“Vali,” He whispers into her skin. His nose nudges at her chin to look up, to which he immediately trails a journey of kisses along her jawline. Suckling on the skin. “Don’t go yet,”

“Hmm,” She notes the smile pressing into her skin as her hum vibrates in her throat and against him.

“I mean it,” A light nibble on her neck. She knows his game by now, luring her further into him by doing everything she likes. To stall her return to Asgard.

“And if Odin realises I’m gone? How do I explain my absence?”

Freyr’s arms snake round her waist, letting her know he really has no intention of letting her slip away. “You’re wiley enough to come up with a story,”

At this point, the warmth travelling through her has lulled her into complete laziness. She wants nothing more than to push Freyr onto the floor, knowing that if she left for Asgard now she would be unbearably cold.

“I was taken hostage by an impossibly charming Vanir,” She starts. “He had me trapped by force. I could not hope to get away,” Her arms shimmy to his elbows, pulling them so his arms tighten around her. “Then…he interrogated me relentlessly for an hour…”

“Not all night?” He pulls away from her neck briefly to shoot her a knowing smirk. A smirk which sends a shock of excitement through her.

“My, my. Freyr of the Vanir is not easy on his prisoners, is he?”

Freyr laughs, a sound she wishes she could bottle and take home. “That’s my girl. See? How could Odin see through that?”

Upon hearing her father’s name again, a wave of frustration spurs her next movements. She struggles out of Freyr’s iron grip. And the look of worry on his features is quickly broken when Vali pushes on his chest. Sending him on his back and huffing on impact, with her hurriedly straddling him.

“Enough about Odin. I come here to get away from him…”

Freyr puts a hand over his heart. Feigning offence. “Not for any other reason?”

“Well…” Vali leans over him, her lips but a hair’s width from his own. “There might be other reasons. But suddenly, my memory is so…hazy?”

Fingers snake behind her neck, nails lightly digging into the nape pulling her to close the gap between them.

“Let’s jog your memory then, sweetheart,”

They’re lucky Freyr’s portion of camp is removed from the rest. Hugging the edges as Freyr liked to be the first line of defence should they be attacked.

That was her Freyr, always thinking of others. That extended to the bed covers as well. He was no selfish lover, always tending to her needs before even letting her think about touching him down there.

Her robes come off quickly, leaving her chest bare with only slithers of her skin covered by the myriad of chains and rope that dangle from her neck. Freyr’s hands languish over her stomach, over her ribs, trailing an agonisingly slow trail until they come to where she desires them. Fingers rubbing over her budding nipples as she sighs into his mouth. Her necklaces clinking against his adventurous hands as she licks at his bottom lip telling him what a good job he is doing already as her fingers dig into the dirt beside his head.

Before Freyr opened her eyes to it, sex had never been a point of fascination before. She knew what it was of course. Yet any enthusiasm was eclipsed by her father’s attitude. Rotten by the idea it merely served as reproduction, as a means to continue his line.

All of his attitudes were ingrained into her. Attitudes Freyr was slowly unwinding…

Freyr loved her with the devotion of a worshipper. Gazing upon her like art, touching her like she was woven of the finest silk, lapping at her like wine to be savoured and devoured…Her one and only worshipper. The only one she would ever need.

“Freyr,” Vali whines as too much attention was on her breasts and not enough on the pooling heat that was between her legs. She pulls away and Freyr gazes upon the jewellery adorned along her chest in amazement.

“Yes?” He says breathless. Still not meeting her gaze as his hands continue to fondle.

“Don’t act coy now…” Her cheeks flush over her embarrassing whine. Her hand clasping over the one that has her breast in his palm. He was going to be mean, wasn’t he? Satisfied that he had been successful at convincing her to stay. Well, she could not have that.

“I’m no mind reader, Vali,” He leans forward. Kissing the valley between her tits. “Tell me what you want,”

I'm glad you are not. She thinks briefly, before shaking those thoughts out of her mind as Freyr bites her other breast. Abusing it with tongue and teeth.

“What I want?” She gives an experimental roll of her hips. Feeling his hardening member just as she expected. It made her chuckle that the God of fertility would become hard so quickly. Fitting she supposed. “Silly boy, you know what I want,”

He groans into her, biting harder out of impulse which rips a whine from her throat and a hand snapping to his head.

“What’s the saying? All good things come to those who wait?” He murmurs.

“I have one for you too, since when have you known a God of Revenge to be patient?”

Her hands clutch his long chestnut locks and pull him forcefully away from her chest. Her skin throbs from pain that would burn blue come morning, yet she loves the way her flesh burns from the scrape of his teeth and the suction of his lips. A delicious kind of pain.

Vali looks down at him, her eyes hooded with the same intensity she reserves for battles she knows she’ll win. At first, he simply remarks on his handy work with a smug grin. Staring at her chest like an artist reviewing his work. Until he finally looks up, caught under the gaze, his smile shifts from pride to excitement.

“Is that what you want?” He tilts his head. “Revenge for making you feel this way? This good?”

She rolls her hips again hard, feeling his cock twitch underneath her, answering his question.

Perhaps the rest of Freyr’s company could hear her shouts as Freyr’s lips land on her sex as soon as they rid themselves of their clothing. How she croons loudly as his tongue finally entered her after tackling the many layers to his attire. But she doesn't care if all the nine realms heard her. Sex was blissful, it was raw and intense and damn it if she was going to restrict her journey of it by being silent.

Freyr seems to agree. Lapping at her sex more intensely as if her cries were not loud enough. As if his efforts were not appreciated enough. His hand stroked her inner thigh tenderly, while another pressed against her stomach. Keeping her from writhing away from his attentive mouth.

“Fuck!” She thrusts against his mouth as her eyes squeezed shut. Solely focusing on the alien yet pleasurable feeling of Freyr’s tongue entering her over and over and over again.

“That’s it, come on…” He encourages softly. Turning his attention to her clit. Sucking diligently while wrestling her bucking hips with the ease of a man merely enjoying a meal.

When she opens her eyes to peer down out of curiosity, she is not ready for the sight of Freyr down there. Hooded eyes watching her intently as he eats her out. Nor the complete bliss in his face as he registers her awareness. She was taken aback by the expression, that she alone was the one to make him look like that. And soon her thighs clamp over his head, fingers scratch at his scalp, and finally heavy waves of ecstasy befall her. His mouth is still working with her as she rides out the high.

Freyr removes his mouth from her once her body stops writhing, wiping his lips with the back of his hand he starts making his way to her lips. Peppering kisses here and there and nipping along her stomach and chest along the way. Happy at how dishevelled and content she looked beneath him. He gives her lip one kiss, the tip of his nose lightly brushing hers.

She catches her breath, cradling his neck lovingly as she pecks his lips back. “Not bad,”

He snickers, bumping their foreheads together. “Not bad? Is that it?”

“What do you want? A review?”

“Couldn’t hurt. I barely get compliments anymore,”

She grins up at him, feeling bold and slightly guilty, she draws her hands downwards till they land on Freyr’s shoulders. His skin is hot and glowing beneath her fingertips like a molten furnace. Slowly she pushes him onto his back with her above him like they were before.

She likes it this way. Peering down at him when he is in the throws of passion. She watches him organise battles and missions all day hunched over that damn war table. The weight of his world on his shoulders. Vali wants to take control away from him, allow him to simply enjoy this without worrying about taking over.

She reaches down; taking hold of him and stroking slowly. “I can think of something better than compliments,”

Freyr’s breath come quickly now. “Hah…so can I,”

A few pumps, enough to get Freyr to roll his head back in pleasure, and she starts to line him up with her entrance. Merely stroking herself with the tip for the moment, just to elicit a few whines from his beautiful lips, before sinking down on him.

She’ll never grow tired of that feeling fullness he gives her. Like a piece slotting into the right place, like he was scratching an itch she didn’t know she had. She pants as she takes him all the way, smiling as Freyr’s hand grabs at her hips to steady her yet this be over before it truly begins.

She gives him a moment, and when he finally looks up at her, she’s taken aback by how beautiful he is. Sure, Vali noticed Freyr’s beauty when the two of them met for the first time. She noted how he seemed to personify Vanaheim, with his natural grace and easy charm, his untamed hair adorned with feathers and beads from the land. But this was a different sort of beauty. It was one only she was allowed to witness; of his parted, puffy lips and blown out eyes. His dishevelled hair like a halo around his head. It was unique to her, allowed only to her. And therefore so much more valuable than the beauty of an eclipse.

She begins to move, keen to watch every expression flash across his features. Freyr huffs, trying hard to maintain eye contact yet his head kept rolling back from the pleasure as if manipulated by a magnet. Skin slapping on skin in a delicious symphony

“Freyr…I-” She can feel her abdomen clenching with ecstasy as she huffs. Building up like a hot ball in her stomach as his member thrusts in and out of her at hurried speed. She’s set on unwinding with him yet he seems to be unwinding her faster than she can comprehend. As if her body has a mind of its own, slamming her hips down all the faster as she chases that high.

Freyr gets other ideas however, wasting no time in securing her waist in his arms as soon as he senses her closeness. Tossing her over easily onto her back like she weighed nothing while still moving inside her. She yelps in surprise yet is very quickly muffled by his lips melding against her. All the while he keeps a brutal pace deep inside her.

“Fuck!” He sobs, burying his face into the crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. Doing everything in her power not to scratch at the rippled skin from his scars.

At this vigorous pace it isn’t long before Freyr’s hips stutter into the cradle of her hips, his movements rapid and messy as he breathes hard into her neck. One slow glide of his cock however, and Vali’s cries are finally dragged out of her again. A strangled cry as she comes, feeling her limbs shake and her walls clamping down on him. Serving to tear the waves of pleasure from him too at the feel of her.

He moves in and out of her, pumping slower and slower until his weight collapses on her. The smell of sex and nature is all around them blending into a rich smell as their breathing slows down. And Freyr finally finds the strength to roll off her and lay beside her. His arm came up to twiddle with a strand of her hair, still needing to maintain contact somehow.

“Whoo…that was…” He swallowed thickly. They both stare at the canopy of trees looming overhead, eyeing the trails of stars that exist between the leaves. Their only witness to their love.

“Amazing,” She finishes, feeling her body completely drained and satisfied. Each time they do this serves to be and more invigorating, only fueling her desire to keep laying with him. If only to chart the parts of him she has yet not experienced.

Freyr turns his head to gaze upon her. “Still thinking about going back to Asgard?”

She meets his gaze. Suddenly feeling the urge to sleep for a thousand years. “No…not tonight,”

It was clearly the answer he wished to hear. As a great big smile creases against his freckled cheeks. The hand that had been loving fidgeting with her hair glides to her cheek, caressing her as he moves to plant a kiss to her lips. When he pulls back however, that smile is surely replaced by a look of contemplation. Which unwinds into hesitance…

“Good, I want you to remain. I hate seeing you go back to that maniac…not knowing if you’ll return,”

“He needs me,” She answers nonchalantly.

Freyr frowns, shaking his head. “You say that like it’s meant to reassure me,”

“It means he has no intention of getting rid of me-”

“While he needs you,” Freyr sighs. “That’s what I’m afraid of. The day when he doesn’t need you anymore…”

She knows he has a point. Odin’s children were less like family and more akin to tools; assets part of a grander scheme. Cogs easily scrapped when they stopped working…

“For a God of fertility, you’ve got shit pillow talk,” She muses, hoping he’ll work with her to change the subject.

Freyr looks down. “Well, we haven’t got pillows. Just the nice hard ground,”

“So I’ve noticed,” She makes a show to stretch out her aching limbs.

“Never say I don’t spoil you,” He shoots her a guilty look before propping himself on his elbow to peer over her. “When this is all over, I’ll take you somewhere nice,”

“Nicer than the forest ground? Impossible,” She snorts. Moving her hand to his chest, hand over his beating heart. Charting shapes across the freckled skin, careful not to linger on the burn marks. “I’m not a flowers kind of woman. The forest floor, the war table, in a tent…hell if you wanted to try the trees I’ll do it. So long as it's with you,”

“You’re right. Your pillow talk is much better than mine. Maybe they ought to make you the God of fertility,”

“After your performance, I see why they call you that,” She smiles.

---------------------

Vali is a real god from Norse Mythology, having been a babe for only a day before Odin aged him up. He is the one who punishes Loki for killing Baldur, personifying vengeance in this regard. I thought he was an awesome character considering how very metal he is in the mythology and how he is not present in God of War.

I have essentially genderbent this deity and made her my own character. Though I explain her situation briefly in the fic, I thought putting a note here would also be required. I hope you enjoyed the fic!!

#God of war #God of war Ragnarok #Freyr #Freyr GOW #Freyr God of War #God of war Freyr #GOW Freyr #Freyr x reader #fanfic #Felassanis Writes #GOW fanfic #GOWR #GOWR Freyr

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