#money will show up from thin air he thinks

[hoosurdaddy]

A kiss is the price to pay.

Dark!eddie munson x f!reader.

Trigger warnings: power imbalance, objectification, non consensual tension, emotional manipulation. I warned you. Your own fault if you continue.

Note: I’m not taking requests. I am just bored and haven’t been on here since forever. Idk. However this was a request I got back in like 2022-2023 or something? So credit to you

The evening at the Hawkins Fall Fair was in full swing, the air buzzing with the usual sights and sounds: the dizzying flashes of carnival lights, the deep rumble of the Ferris wheel turning, and the mingling scent of popcorn and fried dough. You had been stationed at the cheerleader's kissing booth for hours now, tasked with giving out quick pecks to random guys in exchange for five bucks, all in the name of raising money for new uniforms.

It seemed harmless enough at first—just a bit of fun, right? But by now, your face hurt from plastering on a fake smile, and your patience was running thin with every guy who lingered a little too long, or tried to sneak an extra kiss when your back was turned.

You wished you were anywhere else. Anywhere but here, stuck behind this booth, giving out kisses like they were nothing. And then, as if to make things worse, he showed up.

Eddie Munson.

You saw him lurking near the back of the line, leaning against a game booth with that signature cocky grin on his face. The one that made everyone else keep their distance, like he was some sort of rabid animal. The "freak" of Hawkins High. You didn’t have to look at the other guys to know they noticed him too. There were a few snickers, a few murmurs, and a few boys visibly shifting uncomfortably in their spots.

Eddie wasn’t the kind of guy anyone in this crowd would expect to see standing in line for a kiss from the cheerleader. Hell, even you didn’t expect him to do it.

But of course, he did.

He sauntered up to the booth with his hands in his pockets, his wild hair falling over his eyes. The smile on his face was way too confident for someone who was supposed to be the school outcast.

“Five bucks, right?” Eddie said, his voice dripping with something between amusement and challenge. He pulled a crumpled five-dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it onto the table in front of you.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, five bucks for a quick kiss."

Behind you, the line of guys waiting to get their turn shifted, their patience clearly wearing thin. They muttered under their breath, clearly annoyed that Eddie had cut to the front.

"You're really gonna kiss him?" one of them scoffed. "Why don’t you just go make out with the school mascot while you’re at it?”

You could feel their glares burning into your back. It wasn’t like you cared what they thought—you weren’t the one who’d thrown down money to kiss Eddie Munson. But you could tell it irritated them. And that made you uncomfortable.

Eddie leaned over the table, his grin widening as he met your eyes. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too good to kiss me?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it—something deeper beneath the surface.

You tried to shake it off. “If you’re not here for a kiss, Munson, you can just leave. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

Eddie’s smirk didn’t fade, and he didn’t move away. Instead, he slid into the chair in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I’m definitely here for that kiss, babe,” he said, voice low and almost too intimate. “But I think you’re gonna give me a little more than what you’ve been giving the others.”

You narrowed your eyes, but Eddie’s gaze was already hard on you. "What do you mean, 'more'?" you asked, barely holding back your irritation.

He leaned closer, his breath warm on your cheek. “A kiss for a buck is too easy,” Eddie murmured. “I saved up all my money just for this moment. You’re gonna make it worth my while.” His eyes flickered to the guys behind you, and you could see the flicker of amusement on his face. “Or maybe you’re not into making it worth anything. If that’s the case, I guess I’ll just walk away.”

The sudden idea of letting him leave, of not having to deal with the awkwardness or his incessant teasing, made your heart race. You didn’t want to kiss him, not really. Not Eddie Munson. Not like this. But the idea of making the guys waiting behind you even more uncomfortable? That… didn’t sit well with you either.

Fighting back a sigh, you leaned forward and tried to make it quick—a peck, a kiss that would make him get his money's worth and move on. But as soon as your lips brushed his, Eddie’s hand shot out and caught the back of your neck, holding you there.

You tensed, trying to pull away, but he didn’t let you. The kiss deepened, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring it. His lips were soft, but his grip was firm, his other hand resting on the table as if to steady himself—or keep you in place.

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you couldn’t do anything but brace yourself against the table, feeling his tongue slip into your mouth. A part of you wanted to scream and slap him away, but another part—the part you hated—felt a strange pull, a dangerous excitement in the way Eddie kissed you like he was trying to own you. His fingers moved to your jaw, tilting your head, forcing you to take more of him. You could feel the annoyance from the guys in line building behind you, the tension thick in the air, but Eddie didn’t care. He was lost in it, dragging the kiss out, his lips moving with a rawness that made your heart race in a way you hated.

Finally, Eddie pulled back, breathing hard, his grin wide and unapologetic. “There we go,” he said, voice smug. “That’s the kiss I paid for. Definitely worth the five bucks.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you quickly wiped your lips, disgusted with yourself for the way you’d allowed it to happen.

“Get lost, Munson,” you spat, the anger bubbling up now, but Eddie just laughed.

“Nah, I think you like it,” he said, voice dropping low again. “You enjoyed it more than you’ll admit. But it’s okay, sweetheart, I won’t tell anyone.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Eddie turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, heart still thudding in your chest, hands trembling.

You didn’t know what to feel. Part of you was furious, disgusted by the whole thing. The other part of you—the part you barely recognized—was shaken, hungry for something more than just a kiss. You wanted to yell, to scream at him, but instead, you felt yourself quietly watching him leave, feeling like there was more to come. You didn’t know what Eddie Munson wanted from you, but you knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

A few hours later, as the fair started winding down, you began packing up the booth, ready to escape the night and get out of your own head.

But before you could even finish, you felt a cold hand on your wrist, pulling you back. Your heart lurched in your chest as you whipped around to see Eddie standing there again, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Did you think I was done?" he asked, his voice low, almost playful. “Not even close.”

Your pulse quickened, and for a moment, you froze. Something in his eyes had changed—darker, more dangerous.

“Eddie—what do you want now?” you snapped, pulling your wrist out of his grip, but he just stepped closer.

“I told you,” he said, voice barely a whisper, “you’re not getting away that easy. I don’t think you realize just how much you owe me now.” He let out a soft laugh, something unsettling in his eyes. "And trust me, sweetheart, I’ll make sure you pay up."

Your stomach twisted. You were no longer sure if you were angry or afraid. Maybe it was both. But one thing was certain: you hadn’t heard the last of Eddie Munson.

And that terrified you more than anything else.

[codexxgigas]

what's your bosses location i just wanna talk

😭😭😭 i don't think that'd change anything, he is delusional

[spider-stark]

A BOY'S FIRST PEST

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker thinks Per Haskell's daughter is a (very lovely) pest

Warnings - fem!reader, traumatraumatrauma, the woes of troubled youth, light mentions of blood and death, these bitches trauma bonded yo, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED WE DIE LIKE MEN

Word Count - 2.0k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Everyone knows Kaz Brekker put his own money into fixing up the Slat. 

He hired men to patch the leaky roof (though it still drips during a heavy rain) and put proper insulation in the walls (which keeps the house warm enough, even if it does nothing to muffle the noise of its occupants). He had all the doors fitted with working knobs (but easily picked locks) and ensured the kitchen was capable of making a warm meal (even if seriously doubted any of the Dregs knew how to cook). 

And while he would never admit it aloud, Kaz was also the one who made sure there were always clean linens in every room (albeit the cheapest Ketterdam has to offer) and spare clothes in every closet (sizes ranging from wafer-thin to barrel-chested). In keeping, he also takes it upon himself to keep the bathing room stocked with a steady supply of toiletries (because if someone uses his toothbrush again, he’s going to kill everyone in this place and then himself). 

Because of Kaz Brekker, the Slat was more than just a safe place to hole up. It was a haven, the closest thing many of the Dregs had to a home. 

But it did, of course, have one enduring problem. 

The pests.

Or, namely, the one pest—one that he could never quite exterminate (though the spider privy to the inner-workings of Kaz Brekker’s mind might argue the merit of replacing ‘could never’ with ‘would never’). 

Per Haskell’s very annoying (and very lovely) daughter. 

In the midst of Ketterdam’s hottest season, you find yourself lying sprawled on your back atop the dark sheets, clad in the skimpiest nightclothes you own: a matching set of black silk shorts and flowy, thin-strapped camisole. The air is thick and near stifling in the attic-bedroom, but you don’t mind it. You prefer being hot to cold, if only because the heavy weight of winter clothes makes you feel trapped, eliciting the urge to crawl straight from your skin. 

When the door finally swings open, you eagerly push up onto your elbows. 

Kaz doesn’t so much as spare a glance in your direction. He’s got one hand on his cane, the other shoving the door shut behind him as he limps toward his desk, guided by the bright moonlight spilling in from the muggy window. 

Your shoulders slump, huffing out a breath. “Seriously? You’re not even gonna greet me?” 

With his back turned to you, Kaz removes his hat and places it on the desk. He doesn’t look at you. “You’re in my room.” 

“Yeah—so I was actually thinking something more along the lines of hello,” you drone, lips pursed. “Y’know, that thing normal people say when they see their friends.” 

“We’re not friends.” 

A hand flies to your chest, as if struck by his words. “Um, ouch? Rude. For your sake, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

Kaz tugs off his signature gloves and tosses them next to his hat. “I can always repeat it,” he says, so impassive you can’t tell if it’s a joke. 

Knowing Kaz, you’re pretty sure it’s not. 

You push up the rest of the way, scooting down to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. It’s so much nicer than yours—the sheets softer, the mattress plusher, the smell so familiar and warm. 

If it were up to you, you’d sleep in here every night. 

And most nights, that’s exactly what you do. 

“Would it kill you to be nice sometimes?” you ask. 

“Not usually, no.” Kaz faces you, his weight leaned back against the desk, his cane propped against it. “But we both know you’re a special case.” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“Not at all.” 

Your bottom lip juts into a pout. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” 

Aside from the subtlest lift of his brows, Kaz’s expression remains vague and disinterested. “Regularly,” he deadpans, looking the image of austere melancholy. 

Your laugh comes so sudden it sounds like a snort. “I should’ve guessed,” you nod, forever unphased by Kaz’s forbidding attitude. 

This is the way things have always been between you. Ever since a surly twelve year old marched head-high into your father’s office to see if the Dregs needed a new grunt, oblivious to the girl beaming up at him from a lonely corner, weaving colorful scraps of thread into bracelets for the friends you’d yet to make. 

Kaz Brekker is dark and foreboding while you’re bright and bubbly; he’s rude and standoffish while you’re sweet and flirtatious. Some may liken your relationship to oil and water, but you prefer thinking of it as a carefully crafted balance—a yin and yang sort of thing. 

Kaz, on the other hand, would simply say you’re a thorn in his side. 

Fortunately for yourself, you’re not an easily offended thorn. 

The rickety floorboards creak as Kaz starts around the desk. His bare fingers trail along the varnished edge for support. His limp is always at its worst by this time of night, so you’re not surprised to see the flicker of relief that slips over him when he finally sinks into the chair. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe you work too hard?” Your voice teeters on the edge of concern, tracing idle shapes against the sheets with your nails. 

His answer is curt, and contradictory to the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “No.” 

Fumbling with his cufflinks—simple, unadorned things—Kaz rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Afterwards, he flips open the thick ledger laid before him, plucking up a pen and dipping it into an awaiting pot of ink. 

Kaz keeps track of the Dregs expenses in his head—a skill you’ve always found most impressive, since you can hardly do a simple equation without scratch paper. Still, he keeps the physical record for the sake of having something to point to in case someone’s ever stupid enough to claim Dirtyhands flubbed the numbers. 

As he works, boredom quickly becomes a chip on your shoulder. 

Your legs unfurl, bare feet stretching toward the floor as you slip off the edge of the bed. Every step is purposeful, traipsing toward him with a look that’s not so unlike a cat readying to toy with its favorite mouse. 

“Maybe we should take a holiday,” you suggest, your voice a soft trill. 

One part of you expects to be ignored, the other to be shot down. 

He lands somewhere in the middle. 

“And go where? His eyes remain focused on the ledger, dark brows drawn tight in concentration. You envision numbers flashing before him, adding and subtracting at the steady pass of the nib scratching against parchment. 

“I don’t know. Ravka, maybe?” 

“Ravka?” It’s like the word tastes sour on his tongue. “Why?” 

You stop just short of his desk, an answer instantly rapping at your mind. You quickly replace it with one that’s far less tragic. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Nikolai Lantsov with my own eyes,” you drawl. “Nina says he’s quite the looker, y’know.” 

Kaz sits up a little straighter, shoulders pinned with newfound tension. 

“Of course he is.” He seems to press the nib down harder, his disinterested tone bordering close to resentful. “He’s a prince—looking pretty is all they’re good for.” 

Your head tilts. “Well, he’s actually a king now, so…” 

There’s the briefest falter in the smooth motion of his jotting wrist. “I’m not taking you to Ravka so you can seduce the Lantsov bastard.” 

“And why not?” You reach for the tip of his cane, still propped against the desk, skimming a finger over the crow’s head. “You think I can’t do it?” 

The pen keeps on scratching, accented by the dull hum of the Slat’s perpetual motion—doors slamming, voices cackling. Your ego grows larger for every second Kaz stays silent, your satisfaction settling into a feline smirk. 

Simply, yet firmly, Kaz eventually maintains, “We’re not going to Ravka.” 

Your exhale is something over dramatic, laden with feigned disappointment as you huff, “Fine!” Kaz never looks up, continuing with the ledger. 

Abandoning the crow’s head, you swipe one of Kaz’s abandoned gloves off the desk, fiddling with the smooth leather. Still recovering from their civil war, you imagine Ravka isn’t an ideal travel spot right now, anyway. Not unless someone has a morbid desire to tour the sites where Saints met their often-grisly ends, that is… Besides, for all Nina’s praise of the Lantsov king, you’ve never actually had a thing for blondes. 

And yet— 

“I really would like to go someday.” Your voice is hardly a whisper. Your other answer—tragic and rapping—crawls up your throat in a hoarse admission, “My mother was Ravkan.” 

That persistent scratching finally comes to a sudden halt. 

For the first time since he entered the room, Kaz looks up. There’s not a hint of pity in his eyes, though they gleam with solemn understanding. Your lips thin, pressing his glove tight to your chest. 

In the winter of your fourteen birthday, you snuck into your father’s office and stole a full bottle of kvas. Dressed in clothes too light for the frigid weather, you sped up the crooked stairs to Kaz’s attic-bedroom, pleading until he begrudgingly agreed to join you on the moonlit roof. For a boy who claimed such an aversion to you, he was always doing things you asked—even if he’d griped the whole time. You both gagged after the first sip of hard liquor. After an hour or so, the full bottle had dwindled to just a drop, your tongues seeming to move with more freedom. 

Neither of you had been prepared for the way the carbonated joy in your chests fizzled to something stagnant. 

I don’t like being alone, you told him, fiddling with the frayed strings tied around your wrist, the friendship bracelets no one ever wanted. If I’m alone, it means I’m thinking, and if I’m thinking, it means my mother won’t stop dying. 

You told him of the endless montage in your head. How at six years old, a walk along the Stave in your favorite winter coat ended with getting crushed beneath the weight of your mother’s last act of devotion, shielded by a body crumpled and crimson, shorn in the crossfire of unexpected gang violence. When you fell silent, Kaz drained the last drop of kvas and told you about a coffee shop near the Exchange. About a sickboat and a boy named Jordie, about a frosty harbor and an impossible swim that left him unable to bear the touch of another’s skin. 

When neither of you had any soul left to bear, Kaz chucked the bottle off the roof. You don’t remember hearing it shatter, and maybe it never did. Maybe it hit some hapless pigeon and fractured his skull. Maybe it ceased to exist the moment it went over the edge. The bottle didn’t matter. Not to you. Not when Kaz Brekker reached for your wrist, leather-clad fingers gently tugging the bracelets off your wrist. 

Don’t make a thing of this, he told you, stuffing them in his pocket. You’re still a pest.

But it was a thing. A strange, beautiful thing—and both of you knew it. 

“Fine.” Kaz’s voice—the rasp of stone on stone—drags you back to the present. He sits the pen down beside the ledger, a strand of black hair swaying with the subtle shake of his head. “We’ll go to Ravka. You’ll seduce some sorry prince and live happily ever after in a gaudy palace. I’ll make my fortune snagging the Lantsov Emerald and use it to hire a proper bookkeeper. Deal?” 

Your lips twitch, still hugging his glove to your chest. “King,” you correct him. 

His eyes roll, but a flicker of something warm betrays his affection. “Pest,” he calls you, though it doesn’t sound like much of an insult. 

“I imagine the Grand Palace has fine exterminators,” you muse. 

“Then I suppose your marriage will be short-lived.” 

“Will you save me, then?” Your heart leaps with the question, how it slips from your tongue before you can grasp it. 

Kaz hesitates. Then—remarkably—smiles. 

“Maybe.”

a/n - you know what they say. a bottle of kvas is never just a bottle of kvas, amirite

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

anyways, i was procrastinating an essay and thought "lets write something with a somewhat ambiguous ending!" and voila, a boy's first pest is the product. now everyone say: lainie, go work on your original writing and stop writing so much fan fiction! (but i'm already thinking of a kaz smut drabble so) anyways, comments and reblogs much appreciated, i cry with joy every time someone actively interacts with my work so THANK YOU

[whosbloom]

Tate Langdon » Sweater Weather

day 6 of flufftober

⋆.˚ summary: the one thing he loves more than his sweaters is you

⋆.˚ fluff , alive!Tate, Tate being a lil cutie patootie , mutual pining , prob one of my fav fics so far

Tate was never one to share his sweaters, they were the one thing he always found comfort in. The warm feeling of the fabric hugging him was something he never wanted to share, especially when the temperatures dropped and sweaters began a necessity.

Though, that all changed when you came along.

Your friendship had started when you approached him at lunch, explaining you wanted to get to know him since he seemed to not talk to anyone.

He somewhat pushed you away at first, not wanting anyone pity for being a loner, but soon enough he ended up finding your presence comforting, even more than the knitted sweaters he wore on a daily basis.

You had discussed your struggles of dealing with bullying with him, reaching out and messed with the sleeve of his sweater. Usually he would have pushed you away, but he let you, enjoying the feeling of your fingers occasionally brushing against his hand.

If he saw you shivering he’d offer you a hug, engulfing you in his warm embrace, letting you steal the heat the sweater provided him.

And when the leaves would change color and fall on the ground, he found himself holding onto you a lot more, until he gave in and decided to give you the one thing he seemed to cherish most.

A striped green and black sweater.

“So, Tate, I was thinking that for Halloween this year we could hangout and watch some movies at my place? Then whatever candy my parents have left we can finish up.” You explained while walking down the street, one of your hands holding onto his arm, messing with the fabric of his sweater.

The cold air was bothering you, your thin shirt not providing any warmth once so ever. Of course that morning you didn’t think would be bad, considering it was rather warm when you exited the house.

He couldn’t tear his eyes off of you, hesitantly pulling his arm from your grasp and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you closer as he brought you along up the pathway of his house.

“You seriously need to invest in a jacket.” He mumbled out, an amused smile toying at his lips as he opened the front door for you.

“I don’t have the money right now, and my hoodies would have me sweating my ass off in the morning.” You chuckled lightly as you stepped inside, waving to Addy as you walked by her while heading upstairs.

He trailed behind you mindlessly, reaching forward and grabbed your hand, holding onto your fingers lightly.

“I could just.. give you my sweater.” He shrugged as you entered his room, causing him to let go of your hand and reluctantly tugged off his sweater, handing it towards you.

“Take it.” He said simply, ignoring your confused expression as you hesitantly grabbed it from him.

“I mean.. are you sure? This is like your favorite one, I don’t wanna just take it.” He shook his head at your words, patting your arm while walking to his closet, simply pulling out his beige cardigan and slipped into it, adjusting it slightly.

“I offered it. So please.. take it.” He glanced back at you, raising his brows.

You couldn’t help but smile, nodded as you were quick to put it over you. You adjusted the neckline as it was a little too wide for your neck, but you knew you could make it work.

You turned to him and showed it off, not noticing the way his gaze instantly softened as his own smile formed on his lips, stepping closer to you and pulled you into a hug.

“You better take care of it. I care about that thing as much as I care about you.” He mumbled out, his face buried in your shoulder as he kept you close.

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his torso, looking at him with an equally soft gaze. “I promise I’ll take care of it. This is now my favorite thing I own.”

He chuckled lightly as he lifted his head, his gaze meeting yours as a small blush formed on his face, seeing how close the two of you were.

“Y’know.. you can take a sweater whenever you need. And don’t try to protest.” He lifted a finger to silence you, raising his brows at you.

You rolled your eyes playfully and nodded, holding your hands up in a defensive manner. “Fine, fine. I won’t protest.. but won’t it seem like we’re dating if I’m always wearing your stuff?”

The utter thought of dating you made his stomach churn, his eyes slightly widening as he tried to figure out what to say.

“Uh.. is that such a bad thing?” He mumbled out, moving past you and sat on his bed, kicking his shoes off. “Well, it’s not. I wouldn’t mind, just wanted to know what you would think.”

You shrugged and sat next to him awkwardly, messing with the sleeves of the sweater one keep.

“Do you.. want to?” He glanced up at you, a hopeful yet worried expression on his face.

He was worried on how you would respond, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want you to feel the same way he did about the matter.

“We could try.” You responded nervously, knitting your brows together as you tried to process what the two of you were even discussing.

“Would you want to.. go on a date then? We could turn that Halloween idea into one.” He said looked away as he suggested that, patting his knees awkwardly and whistled to himself.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond verbally, simply moving closer and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his arm.

And that was all he needed for a smile to form on his face again, wrapping his arm around you and leaned his head on yours.

“I hope you know I’m never taking this sweater off now.” You smiled lightly as you nuzzled up against him, squeezing him slightly.

“Good.. I don’t want you to anyway.”

Tags: @lemoniiiiiii , @xrag-dollx , @jazz-berry (ask to be added!!)

[kirikeijii]

𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

Tsukishima x reader

Synopsis: Imagine this but it's you!

cw: fluff, not proofread

Somehow you tutored Tsukishima Kei, the smartest guy in your class with an average of 98.84 last year. You were always a helpful child, you'd teach anyone your teacher recommended but when you heard his name come out of your advisor's mouth. You were absolutely shocked. "The Tsukishima Kei needs tutoring?"

"Yes. . ." She said sitting on her seat slowly. Your advisor was very awkward with it. You then looked behind you with furrowed eyebrows to see the blonde sitting on a chair with a smile on his face. That smug look you sometimes hated. Well, you know how there's a thin line between love and hate?

Yeah, you were tiptoeing on top of that rope. Sometimes you felt like he'd actually be fun to hang out with. You felt like his close friend could rant to him and he would listen intently while giving advice. You just felt like he could be a vulnerable person if he wasn't an asshole all the time.

You turn back to your advisor giving her a faked-up, sickeningly, sweet smile. "Fine, but I want extra credits." Your smile drops into a poker face. "I- fine, extra credits on your upcoming project-" Your advisor crossed her arms before you cut her off. "Projects, Plural." You smiled at her again.

Your advisor looked behind you, pissed off. Like she was looking at Tsukishima for help but when the boy looked away your advisor looked back at you. "Fine, Projects." You weren't normally like this, but if you were gonna tutor the most stubborn, arrogant, asshole your school had to offer, you needed it to be worth your time. You smiled again at your teacher before dragging the boy out of the class to the library. "God, this better be a shit ton of money." Your advisor whispered.

"So, what are you struggling with?" You asked him with pure curiosity while picking up books from the shelf in the library, making the boy carry them all. "Just some. . . math. . ." Kei said with hesitance "Math?" You look at the boy one eyebrow raised. When you realized you had taken out many books, you tried helping him.

"No, it's all good," Kei said, smiling at you. The one you've never seen before because of how genuine it was. You looked away quickly feeling yourself blush. "Let's find some seats. . ." You said quietly, trying to get away as soon as possible. Soon enough you found seats by the library window.

The desk was a long one, with stools facing the windows. You sat down with a relieved sigh. "Where are you having trouble?" You placed your head on your hand, which rested on the long table.

Tsukishima's mouth hung open, dried up by the cool air the air condition put out. "Calculus. . ." The boy could see your eyebrows furrowing at his statement. Naturally, because it was 2 periodical tests ago and he passed both those tests even scoring higher than you. "I forgot. . ." he added.

You opened your mouth giving a small "ahh". You were still very suspicious of him but you couldn't care less. You were getting extra credits. This might be what you need to graduate top of your class or even your whole batch. "Okay, let's start." You opened the textbooks and started with what the boy remembered.

A few minutes later you could feel eyes staring at you while you yapped about the formulas. You continued for a few more minutes because the boy was humming with every formula you taught him but you could still feel his eyes on you and not the textbook that's when you got annoyed.

"Did you get it?" You looked at him and smiled sarcastically. The boy hummed again "Great. . . I think I got it, but just in case. . . Tell me the whole thing again I wasn't listening." He smiled slyly at you.

"Are you messing with me?" You groaned a little loud at what he said. The boy nodded his head slowly, unsure. "Show me your math exam, right now." You demanded. "I don't have it?" He looked around hiding his bag behind him. You narrowed your eyes at him stating you were serious. "Okay, I didn't fail my math test."

"Then what the hell are we doing here?"

"I wanted to hang out with you." He smiled at you, leaning his head on his hand. "We literally could've done that another way." You deadpan at him. "Yeah, but what's the fun in that? C'mon, I know a spot at the park. We could eat?" He raised his eyebrows.

A sigh came out of your mouth, indicating defeat. "what did you even hear when I started talking about calculus?" You asked when he choked on saliva randomly. Your eyebrows furrow when the librarian shushed the both of you on the way out. It honestly made you laugh at the boy.

A few years later in college, you asked him about it again, you figured he'd open up since you've been dating for 2 years now. Turns out all he heard was "blah blah blah, formula, formula, I'm so pretty and I like you but for some reason, I'm always upset at you."

The moment you heard those words you burst into laughter in your shared dorm. He knew you were never going to let it die, even mentioning it from time to time, even going as far as mentioning it at your wedding leaving him looking like a tomato in a suit.

ᯓ★ I love this trend so much but I also love Tsukishima so why not mix it. Thank you for reading! | Masterlist

[crguang]

imagine in kafka violinist AU, reader works in a classical music record store or maybe even an instrument store and kafka decides to check out the place and they meet after so long ☹️☹️

[ ok, i'm imagining it. this has no right being over 3,5k words but i swear sev and i do think of cute scenarios with them... sometimes. ]

“now i am stuck between my anger and the blame that i can't face, memories are something even smoking weed does not replace.”

//

She’s sixteen again, boredly waiting around with the back of her head against your locker and a biology textbook nestled in her arms. People walk by her impatient gaze holding hands firmly, complaining loudly so everyone shares their annoyance, half-asleep as they drag their feet across the school hallways, and she watches them pass her by in silent judgment. They are all so uninteresting, so mundanely boring, and her eyes soon grow hazy following the shift in her thoughts while she waits. She remembers the movie tickets she still has to buy behind your back before Friday, then tells herself she will have time to take the bus to the movie theater on Wednesday after class when neither of you have music practice. She knows you dislike horror movies, but she finds them funny and she really wants to see this one. You’ll refuse when she asks you to come with, then begrudgingly take her hand when she produces the tickets from her backpack because you feel guilty about her already spending money on an outing for the two of you. She forgot the leather gloves she loves so much this morning, too hurried to make sure they were indeed put in her coat yesterday evening, so she’ll ask for one of yours before heading to the bus stop. Despite it only being minutes away, you’ll absentmindedly throw it her way. She smiles to herself. Her head lowers and she takes a quick glance at the thin watch around her wrist: ten minutes until the final bell. You’re late. With a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat, she straightens up and adjusts the strap over her shoulder. She won’t stain her perfect attendance record because you missed your 7 AM alarm, she’ll demand explanations at lunch and enjoy how you avert your eyes from hers in embarrassment. 

You’re not sitting at the back of classroom 311B waiting for her with your lunch on your lap, and her lips curve downward into a displeased pout. You didn’t show today, then. She wonders if you got sick between last Friday and now and makes a mental note to come knocking on your door after practice, if only to make sure you’re still alive even if you’re moaning in misery. She drops her backpack on a chair, plopping down at a nearby desk. Her AP Maths homework is laid out on the surface and she spends the free hour getting ahead in her classes within the quiet room, her cheek lazily resting on her palm.

As her literature teacher expands on the use of literary devices in creative writing, she thinks she might bring something to your house later. You were weird Friday and you’re missing practice, she’s now sure you’re feeling unwell. Peach gummies should do it, maybe, you’re so easy to please. You still have that shitty drawing the both of you made together when you were eight plastered beside the album posters on your wall. She hates looking at it every time she comes over but you threaten to have it framed, so she rolls her eyes and ignores the glaring reminder of her attachment staring down at her mockingly. 

Kafka blinks rapidly and her vision instantly focuses on the fading tendrils of cigarette smoke swimming in the air in front of her. The roll is secure between her index and middle fingers, pointing towards the open back window of her sleek black car. She regains her bearings. Her gaze darts to the driver’s seat where Blade’s head leans back on the headrest, eyes closed and arms crossed as he awaits new instructions. Her lips stretch into a small smile at her ridiculous train of thought and she looks outside the window, bringing the cigarette back to her mouth. There’s nothing to see, only passersby and concrete buildings, the front doors of multiple stores aligned on the narrow street. She takes a slow drag and allows the tobacco smoke to sit on her tongue before exhaling softly. She calls it reminiscing during a moment’s reprieve, but that would require the act to be voluntary and peaceful. It’s happening more frequently recently, her mind escapes her for a few minutes as she smokes and it’s starting to defeat the purpose of her cigarette breaks. This weight you hold, impossible to forget, is now slowing her down instead of feeding her ambitions, and anything that is not actively serving her is unnecessary. These memories are unnecessary. They’re pathetic, the same moments rotate through her mind in a broken loop she’s unable to pull the plug on, yet so undeniably haunting. The lack of control over her own thoughts irritates her to no end, her fingers are tight around her violin’s neck, her right arm stiff and reminiscent of the first time she held one in her hands. Another breath past her lips and she makes up her mind. 

Kafka puts out her cigarette on the ashtray resting on the cupholder to her left. She reaches for a pocket mirror in her handbag and flips it open, observing the makeup on her features. Her lipstick has faded a little in the middle of her bottom lip, so she reapplies it carefully. It’s an alluring peach color, her favorite. She smacks her lips and smiles to herself as if to make sure there isn’t a crack in her impenetrable facade, then puts the mirror back where it was initially and sprays her signature perfume over her pulse points. Kafka shakes her head, carefully brushing the dark magenta strands of her bangs away from her cheeks. She sits in the car for another moment, bracing herself, then unlocks the back door.

“Be back in a few, Bladie.” 

The driver doesn’t flinch when the car door shuts firmly behind her. Kafka lowers her prized sunglasses over her eyes. The car is parked a couple of minutes from the vintage record store she’s heard mentions of prior to traveling to Europe for performances, the street is better explored by foot and having her vehicle positioned directly in front of the store while she pondered things would have attracted unnecessary attention. She strolls down the decorated street and its colored asphalt the way she had almost three weeks ago, taking in the local shops and restaurants. Though it’s the middle of the day, only a little past one in the afternoon, the place isn’t as crowded as it usually is when she drives by (twice a week, for three weeks now.) She checks out the window apparel of two clothing stores then decides to step inside another time. She makes it to the record store a minute later and stands in front of the large window offering a glimpse of its interior, an index finger rhythmically drumming against her thigh. It’s empty, save for a blonde woman with a purple streak dyed into her hair that she’s seen work the floor before. Kafka checks the small watch around her wrist. It’s around the same time she passes by on her way to practice. She pushes the door open and steps inside.

A small bell rings out, announcing her presence, and the blonde worker doesn’t even look up from the thick textbook laid on the register counter. She scribbles away, brows furrowed in concentration. Kafka ignores her in turn. Her fingertips trail on packaged vinyls as she makes her way to the jazz section of the store, taking note of the relative stillness of the space with only low radio music to fill the silence. Her heeled boots clack along the ceramic floor with every leisure step. She’s waiting, pausing in front of a particular record and turning it over in her hands, aware of the other person in the room. She listens deeply while she pretends to read the cover and the perpetual easy smile on her lips widens infinitesimally at the sound of cardboard boxes getting ripped open in the backroom behind the register. She glances at her gloved hands. Steady as always.

“Holy fu—!” The blonde worker exclaims in surprise then quickly collects herself enough not to swear, clearing her throat once. 

Kafka’s disinterested gaze lands on her. She closes her textbook with a thud and leaves her post at the cash register to stand in front of her in record time, a gleam in her eyes and a grin on her face like she just won the lottery.

“Are you Kafka? The violinist?” Her voice lowers conspiratorially and she slightly leans forward in excitement. 

Kafka tilts her head to the side in amusement. “I might be.”

The woman takes a breath and claps her hands together over her lips in a praying gesture. “You have no idea how much you just brightened my day, Kafka. Can I have a picture, if it’s not too weird? My phone’s in the backroom, I can go get it. It’ll be super quick.”

She’s promptly walking away before the other can reply, a bounce in her step. Kafka follows her figure until it disappears past the door. She turns back to the record in her hands, then puts it back on the shelf to continue browsing the aisle. She’s not looking for anything in particular but if she does leave the store with a few more records under her arms, she won’t complain.

“They asked for me personally?”

“Yep! Go, go, I’ll take care of this batch.”

Her ears pick up on the conversation happening in the backroom, the voices getting louder as they approach the front of the store, and her next exhale is audible despite herself; yours still sounds the same. She reminds herself that she already smoked ten minutes ago.

“But who are they?”

“I don’t know, a customer. Just go!”

“Fine, jeez…”

Kafka lifts her gaze to the backroom door the moment it’s pushed open and instantly meets yours. She’s taken by the sudden sunlight in the room, all of it on your features; softly tracing the curve of your nose and the bow of your lips, resting over your cheek like a warm palm, sun rays kiss half of you and hold you close in a way she’s no longer sure she remembers the feel of. If she could tear her eyes away, she would notice the afternoon sun reflected on every surface of the store, a detail previously overlooked. There are bags under your eyes and something so small grows into a striking detail because this is her first time seeing them on you.  Your hair is put away from your face today, different than it was last week when Blade drove past the place, every line and shadow is  presented for her viewing pleasure and she drinks them in during a suspended instant. You’re older. That fact shouldn’t surprise her, she feels ridiculous. Her hands are immobile in the air, two vinyls between them brought up for comparison, and her mouth unknowingly twitches downward, about a hundred words she refuses to say push each other to be the first out of her lips, but she keeps it tightly shut. Your eyes widen the next second— for someone who always closely keeps track of time, she doesn’t know how much has passed since your eyes first met— and Kafka’s lower to your bobbing throat. Your hand goes to your rapidly rising chest and you turn your back on her as if frightened. 

“S-Serval, are you sure you don’t need help?” The tremor in your sentence and your averted gaze pulls Kafka out of her thoughts. She almost rolls her eyes at your lame attempt to run from her. Again. 

“I’m sure! Everything’s good here!”

You lean forward and try to regain control over your breathing for a few seconds, shoulders tense, before you slowly turn on your heel to face her once more. Guilt. She recognizes it easily, it’s laced in the curve of your brows and your colored irises. You swallow another time, your hands limp at your sides, and look at her helplessly. Out of the kindness of her heart and against her petty wish for you to keep that haunted look on your face, Kafka helps you out. 

“…I’m hesitating between these.” She holds up the records in her hands.

You blink. It takes you another moment of silence to register her words, and when you do, you reluctantly begin to make your way to her. Your steps are short and slow like you’re walking to the gallows, Kafka can’t help the bitter amusement in her smile. She feels a strange sort of vindication from your behavior, her past hesitation now forgotten. She watches you get closer through the filter of her sunglasses. You stand next to her a polite distance away and glance at the vinyls she’s holding.

“…What are you looking for?” You avoid her gaze and take the records she hands you, instead reading over the album titles and songs. 

Kafka doesn’t look away from you. “Something… relaxing. Slow tempo, the kind you sway to.”

You put the records back on the shelf and reach for another, presenting it to her. “This musician’s good.”

“Mmm. You listened to it?”

“Not this album, but some of his other songs. His music always has the same theme to it, it might be the vibe you’re searching for.”

“What theme is that?”

She knows what it is, she already has a copy of that record at home. It’s a childish delight to witness your reluctance to answer, but she doesn’t care.

“Regret.”

Kafka lets the following pause stretch longer than necessary. She finally tears her eyes from your form to continue browsing the shelves, fingertips trailing over the numerous records neatly stacked one next to the other. She walks some steps away from you as she skims the artists’ names and tilts her head your way when you hold up a different album for her to decide on. She makes a show of pondering about it before asking for another option. She does this for a while, finds a reason to criticize every record you present to her and observes the rapidly deepening frown on your lips. It’s stupid, she thinks fleetingly, how easily you turn back into a child in her mind. You made that face whenever you missed a note in the middle of practice, too. You lifted your eyes in exasperation just like this after another one of her lame jokes, too. You often fiddled with the beads necklace on your collarbone back then as well. Kafka looks away. It's a silver dog tag now. 

“What about this one?” Your tone is slightly more clipped than it was five minutes ago. She ignores it. “It’s a collection of ballads–- older New Orleans swing, soulful, soft. I’d say it’s what you’d like to listen to based on all of your critiques. You’d sway to that, right?”

Kafka takes the record and carefully looks it over. It’s a good suggestion and most of the songs on there are so far personally unheard of, on any other day she actually would have bought it. She puts it back on the shelf where you found it, then faces you.

“Maybe a decade ago. I might be in the mood for something more Romantic, actually.”

You pause, a little taken aback. Your thumb and index fingers take hold of the tag around your neck. “Uh… okay. I’d consider those ballads romantic, though.”

Kafka chuckles quietly. “The era.”

“…Right.” You turn away from her in embarrassment. “That’s another section, then.”

“Lead the way.”

Since she’s the only customer in the store at present, you can’t escape from repeating the same frustrating pattern as before: you suggest a record, it is “not quite what Kafka is looking for”, and she follows that comment with passive aggressivity so subtle that you would have been fooled by her harmless smile if you didn’t already know what she was referring to. Kafka can see your growing exasperation but you have different tells now, it’s all in the purse of your lips and the curl of your fingers at your side. The way you speak, your eloquence when expressing yourself and describing music and the knowledge you bring to the table allows her to fill in some of the blanks washed out by time and space. You’re becoming irritated and she is learning you through it. You work in a record store, you don’t question any of the musical terms she employs and you clearly know what you’re talking about when recommending diverse pieces to her. You haven’t given up on the medium, then. Kafka pushes her relief aside.

“What is it that you’re looking for in particular?” You ask, aggravated after yet another shot down from her and crossing your arms over your chest. There’s a crease between your brows but she notices your shoulders have relaxed significantly since you started conversing.

Kafka doesn’t even have to think about that one. “Violin sonatas.”

She’s not looking at you, pretending to read over the back of a record, but she can almost hear the grinding of your teeth as yet another moment of silence is filled by the pop music over the radio speakers. Though she can’t help the bitterness growing around her organs like mold, neither of you actually acknowledge knowing each other before this afternoon. What is left unsaid spreads to every corner of the store, suffocating fumes charged with your guilt and her hurt, and you both stand in the middle of it, stubbornly breathing in the toxic air. 

If anything, Kafka commends your efforts in attempting to maintain your composure. Your chest falls with a soft exhale and you return to the shelves, browsing the selection with her preferences in mind. She glances at her watch. She has a commitment in an hour, she didn’t think this would take as long as it had. She briefly remembers Blade waiting around in the car, probably dozing off behind the wheel until she returns. 

“Here,” you speak and her head lifts to look at the vinyl you’re handing her. “It’s a miscellaneous collection. If there’s an exact sound that you want, it’s likely there.”

“I already have this one.” A white lie. Kafka doesn’t take the record, instead raises her eyes to yours. “I thought maybe this store would have something out of the ordinary, given its local reputation.” Her gaze boredly sweeps over the empty store before settling on you again. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Enough,” you’ve finally had enough of her implications, she watches you put your foot down with rapt attention. “What do you want me to do, record my own shitty playing before you’re satisfied?”

Shitty? She almost scoffs, personally offended. The missing key to her art, shitty?

“Maybe. Would you run from that as well?”

Your features first twist in shock at her dry reply, then twitch involuntarily as you try to mask the hurt that laces the natural curve of your bottom lip. You blink, averting your eyes the way you so often do now, and Kafka pauses at your reaction, almost daring you to contradict her. Another awkwardly charged silence falls upon you both. You seem to have many of those. She’s tempted to break it with a nonchalant remark, but the words freeze on her tongue at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and trembling lips. She stands and stares as you bring a hand to your face, uselessly attempting to reign in the emotion drawn across the lines of it. By the looks of it, you try very hard but are ultimately unable to stop your throat from bobbing with every difficult swallow and your lashes from fluttering to keep the sting of your eyes at bay. You’re suddenly taken with emotion, and Kafka stares in disbelief concealed as apathy. You briskly walk past her and make a beeline for the register counter, using its surface to support your hands and turning your back on her again. The distance could not be clearer, this time dug by her own hands. She hears your shuddering breaths, watches the growing tension in your back and shoulder muscles, and a sensation she does not recognize stops her from uttering anything. You look small, you sound weak, and it goes against every thought she's had of you for the past decade. It goes against the space you occupy in her mind--- unrelenting, expansive, insisting. You are not the teenager she sees when she looks at you nor the quiet child she thinks of when she's had too much to drink, you are simply a crying stranger she has no right to unravel, and yet she finds it difficult to look away.

Kafka is uncomfortable, rooted where she stands, and for once at a loss of what to do. She's relieved from doing anything as the blonde worker from earlier, Serval, stalks into the room with a frown bending her lips. There's no trace of her previous excitement, she immediately rounds the register to place herself next to you and rests a kind hand on your back, murmuring concerned inquiries that you can only shake your head to. Serval faces Kafka with a perfected customer service smile, all past pretenses gone.

"You should go, I'm sure a bigshot like you has more important things to do in a day than linger here."

Kafka smiles. "I do." She adjusts the silk gloves over her hands and spares a last glance at your back. She reaches into one of her coat pockets, steps closer to the register, and slides a sleek card with a minimalist design toward you with two fingers. "If you want to put your shitty playing to use."

The entry bell rings out as Kafka walks out of the record store.

[cheollipop]

move

navi | taglist

pairing: pole dancer!choi san x club owner!reader (fem)

w.c.: 3.3k

tags: smut, ft. pimp!woo

song rec: 'move' by taemin

with his toned thighs wrapped around the pole, sweat glistening under the changing lights, you felt the urge to wipe the cocky smirk off the new hire's lips. but little did you know, choi san loved performing for a crowd.

warnings: this —in white— is san's outfit for reference (except tighter, cheaper-looking and with a different chain), mentioned mxm, reader has one drink but everything is consensual, switch!san (shorty give me whip-whiplash), mean!reader, she's a badass though, public sex, unprotected sex (👎), san has a nipple piercing, some nipple play (m), multiple orgasms (m), multiple creampies, some edging, overstimulation, a hint of breeding/impreg kink, voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, so much dirty talk, nicknames (sannie, pretty boy; miss, darling), I think that's all (?)

A/N: this is for my lovely, pretty, gorgeous, insanely kind, amazing, genius, and beautiful alyssa (@kitten4sannie) <3 I'm sorry this took over a month to get to ;; I really hope the wait was worth it though!! happy reading~ ^^

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞

Scrunching your nose at the rancid odour of sewage, your heeled boots clacked against the pavement leading to the guarded club entrance, digging into your coat pocket and fishing out a stack of bills to lay gently in front of the homeless man’s sleeping bag. You passed by him every night, his yellow grin a stark contrast to his surroundings—fetid air driving everyone in the area to hold their breath, disease-ridden rodents and pretentious high school dropouts with one too many stacks of their daddy’s money crawling around in the vicinity.

You walked past the burly guard at the front, watching his ninety-degree bow from the corner of your eye as you stepped into the club. It wasn’t the best area to run such business, but you got enough loyal customers—mostly rich men lying to their wives—to pay the bills. You supposed you should be thankful to your father for that, the wretched bastard leaving his only daughter to run this shithole.

You walked down the short hallway and into wide room, blues and purples illuminating the shiny tile and peeling walls as you carried yourself to the bar near the entrance. The rusted stool creaked as you rested your body weight down on it, ignoring the young bartender as she scrambled to make your usual drink, drops of expensive liquor flying over the bench before she dropped a decorated glass in front of you. Giving her a tight-lipped smile, you wrapped your fingers around the cup and allowed the bitterness to sink into your taste buds.

Sitting sideways at the bar, forearm flat on the surface with the drink loosely held in your hand, you focused your eyes on the man to your left, moving his body around the pole anchored in the middle of the room. Cheap, glittery fabric pressed into the skin of his toned chest, stretching around his biceps until a peak of his warm skin tone shone through the white. His thighs wrapped around the pole, the muscles bulging as he held himself up and rolled his body around the metal rod, a dainty belly chain loose around his narrow waist, head rolled backwards to stretch out the column of his freckled throat. You could tell he was trying to show off his rounded backside, but his movements carried a certain stiffness that made you scoff. The customers spread out on the seats surrounding the stage—a mix of older, unhappily married men, and younger, broke college students who couldn’t afford a fancier club—didn’t seem to mind as much, taking in his lousy attempt of an arch and the prominent bulge pressing against the thin material of his shimmering bottoms, ogling eyes zeroing in on the metal bar piercing his nipple as it occasionally brushed against the pole.

He lowered himself down onto the LED flooring on his tiptoes, maintaining the graceful stance as the song came to an end, feline eyes flitting upwards to bore into yours. He oozed confidence, the air around him almost unbreachable, and for a reason you couldn’t place your finger on, the cocky curl of his lips irked you, your eyebrow twitching in irritation at the shameless show of brashness.

Veiny arms circled your shoulders, a familiar rasp in your ear, “that’s the new hire I was telling you about. Pretty neat, don’t you think?” His dark brown locks tickled your temple, curved nose nuzzling into your hair.

You hummed in agreement, “Mm, good job, Woo. He’s pretty.”

“And tight, ‘tried him out myself,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, proud of his take on a job interview.

You reached back to smack his shoulder, a faint smile on your lips. “He’s a little too confident for someone who can’t even arch properly, though,” you critiqued, narrowing your eyes at the man now bent over in front of the small crowd, thick fingers wrapped around the pole while he attempted to move his stiff muscles.

“He’s not that bad,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, tracing over the man’s plump ass with his eyes as he played back the events from the previous night in his mind, the throaty moans and whimpers still fresh in his ears.

“Even you can do a better job than him, and that’s saying a lot.”

Two fingers pinched your upper arm through the blazer covering it, Wooyoung’s unamused huff blowing over the shell of your ear. “If you’re so displeased by his performance, why don’t you teach him how to do it yourself?” He pushed back the image of the man’s narrow waist and puckered hole, replacing it with the memory of the private show you’d put on for him the week before.

While Wooyoung was too busy fighting off the sudden tightness in his pants, you contemplated his words—despite knowing he’d spoken them humorously. Tightening your hand around your drink, you brought it up to your lips and gulped down the rest of it, pushing Wooyoung off you and standing up. He scrambled to find his footing, caught off guard by your brassy stride towards the center of the room, aiming towards the occupied chair right across the stage.

With a hand on the college freshman’s shoulder, you pulled him off the worn-down leather, sitting down in his place and watching him scurry away with a hand halfway down his pants. Redirecting your attention towards the handsome man in front of you, his gaze instantly locked with yours, and something in his eyes gave away that he knew who you were. His hips swayed with more finesse—still not up to your standards—and his expression contorted to mimic a state of ecstasy. He was trying to impress you.

You watched for a few seconds, until he bent down lower, the pathetic arch of his spine pushing the words off your tongue, “Choi San, was it?” your voice cut through the music. “It seems like Wooyoung may have spoken too highly of you. I’m a little disappointed,” you took pleasure in the slow erasure of his cocky smirk, his movements faltering as he took in your words, hints of discontent evident in your tone. “Stand up straight, pretty boy.” You leaned forward in your seat, resting your elbows over your thighs as you watched him hesitantly part from the pole to straighten up.  A smirk—a sign of power, perhaps—found its way onto your lips, “why don’t you grind on that pole for me? Since you seem so confident in yourself.”

Red tinted the shell of his ears, and you wondered how a few words could have affected a man like him so easily, as though he wasn’t standing in a room full of people ogling at his body, two pieces of glimmering fabric hiding him from their deviant gaze.

You could almost see the thoughts churning in his pretty head, dubiously reaching for the pole once again, standing behind it and beginning his decent into a full squat. Firm muscle bulged out of his thighs, oiled, tan skin reflecting the moving lights shining over his figure, his clothed bulge trapped between the metal and his abdomen. His hands remained above his head as he sunk lower, the cropped material of his shirt riding up to reveal more of his flushed chest. You watched him wordlessly, eying the deliberate brush of his nipple piercing over the pole, a muted ‘clink’ drowned under the music. Your eyes moved back to his face, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and his eyebrows drawn in, and when you trailed down his body, your lips only curled further: his half-hard length pressing against the scratchy fabric, a wet patch spreading through the material and shimmering alongside the glitter. You may be starting to understand Wooyoung’s strange infatuation with the man.

You pushed off the creaky leather, smoothing down your suit before taking a few steps onto the round LED flooring, standing next to the crouched man and watching him twist his head to look up at you.

It was known rule everywhere that the dancers were not to be touched, and you figured your next move would probably be setting a bad example in front of your customers, but your clientele consisted mostly of regulars, people who knew you to be the boss. People who knew you made the rules.

You reached down to grab his face, fingers digging into his jaw and angling it further upwards, “you’re too stiff.” Your lips curved at his attempt at pushing away, nose scrunched up in defiance.

“’m not stiff,” he retorted weakly, words muffled through the tight squeeze of your fingers around his face.

“What’s the matter, Sannie, did Youngie fuck you too hard last night? Can’t even arch your back properly?” You gave his head a firm shake with every rhetorical question, pouting your lips in faux sympathy. His cheeks heated up under your touch, the pretty pink bleeding down his neck and chest as your aired out his nightly endeavors.

“I can arch my back-”

“My club is gonna run out of business if you keep running your mouth instead of doing your job properly, pretty boy. My old man would be rolling in his grave if that ever happened. We don’t want that now, do we?” You watched panic seep into his features when you spoke your next words, “how will you pay off your debt then, hm?”

“I-I’ll learn how to do it, please just-” his fingers release around the pole and wrap around your calves instead, his knees falling to the floor by your feet while he pleaded. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

His touch wasn’t unpleasant, rough fingertips brushing over your clothed skin, squeezing gently while he squirmed under you. Your fingers eased around his jaw but didn’t let go, pleased to have a man of his stature in the palm of your hand, yours to maneuver and handle however you wished. “And what will you do until then? Learning takes time, and we’re short-staffed, you know.”

A dangerous glimmer lit up San’s dark eyes, a sense of danger churning in your gut. Skilled hands slid up your legs, past your knees and thighs to settle on the curve of your hips, nuzzling his face into your palm before speaking. For a reason you couldn’t exactly pinpoint, you allowed him to do as he pleased, as though you suddenly had your own personal, human-sized cat, brimming with affection it didn’t know how to express. Siren eyes blinked up at you, a smile loaded with playfulness and mischief directed at you.

“I’ll just make sure to put on a performance they’ll never forget.”

--

Antsy hands pushed open your unbuttoned blouse to slide over the heated skin, your dress pants tossed and abandoned over the chair you’d been sitting in, lace panties dangling off the ankle resting on San’s shoulder. His glitzy top scratched against your skin, forming a blister you were too busy to care about as San’s body pressed against yours with his belly chain forming indents into your navel, his cock pounding into you to the steady beat of the music blasting through the decrepit speakers, a distant whirring disrupting the audio.

You slapped his hand off your chest, a warning look in your eyes and a pathetically despondent one in his, reaching for your hand and guiding it to his own chest, a silent ‘touch me instead.’ It was fascinating how quickly San’s cocky persona vanished once he got his dick wet, his face contorting—eyebrows furrowed and his eyes lidded—while you pulled on his piercing, rolling his nipple under your thumb and reveling in the tight moans rolling off his tongue.

“Fuck, ‘m close,” he mumbled, readjusting on his knees, the tight material of his bottoms low on his thighs restricting the movement.

“Already?” you teased, sucking in a sudden breath at the new angle, his cock curving into your g-spot through his relentless thrusts, his previous rhythm lost in his overflowing lust. “What a waste of a pretty cock, can’t even last long enough to make me cum.”

You noted the rose bleeding into his ears once again, his hips stuttering and a throaty moan leaving his lips as he emptied inside you, his hot seed spreading warmth through your lower belly. You laughed as he lowered himself onto you, hovering over your torso while he rolled his hips into your cunt, riding out his orgasm with airy moans and tightly-shut eyes. Paper bills fluttered in the air, some sticking to the sweat beaded on San’s back while the majority landed around your tangled bodies.

You were about to get up, words of beration forming on your tongue, but San took a few breaths and drove his cock further into you, grinding his length between your dripping walls until it chubbed up once again. It caught you off guard, his eagerness to perform, to prove himself to you, to fuck you dumb in front of all your customers.

The slow pace he adopted wasn’t enough, but the deliberate drag of his cock over your g-spot nearly sent you spiraling, the leg perched up on his shoulder shaking with every thrust. “Ngh, do you like being watched, pretty boy?”

San’s bashfulness was nowhere to be found, replaced with a pleased smile and a quick nod to his head, “Mm, I do,” his fingers kneaded the flesh of your thigh, his other hand pushing down your right leg to further open you up for him, driving his cock into you twice before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “what about you, Miss? You’re the same, aren’t you? I can feel your cunt squeezing around me every time you look at the perverts watching us.”

Your limbs felt heavy, something in your stomach convulsing at his words. “Watch your mouth-”

Calloused fingers slipped under you to tangle in the hair at your nape, tugging sharply until your neck craned at the force, your next words dying on your tongue as he began pistoning his cock into your needy cunt, a broken cry ripping through your chest as his cockhead pressed into your sweet spot repeatedly.

“You want them to watch how I’m gonna fuck you full? I’ll give you all I have, Miss, every last drop, until you’re all swollen with my cum,” he rambled, soft lips pressed against your temple while he hammered into you, sending you barreling towards the edge.

A tingle spread through your limbs, the edges of your vision darkening, and you prepared to freefall into a numbing orgasm, but San’s hips suddenly slowed to a languid grind, his lips stretching menacingly against your skin.

“No- fuck, I was so close-”

San interrupted your complaints, “tell me you want it.”

Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance. It was as though he was holding your orgasm for ransom. “Don’t be a fucking asshole, I’m still your boss-”

“-and I’m the one fucking you stupid,” he retorted, that vexing smirk on his face once again, and you wanted to punch it away. You’d assume abusing an employee would bring bad rep to your club, though, and you couldn’t afford to lose any customers. So you settled on glaring at him, attempting to roll your hips but huffing when San’s hands anchored you down to the floor.

“C’mon, just say you want it. I’ll give you whatever you want, Miss.” He lowered his voice down to a whisper, “all of it, just for you.”

The deep baritone of his voice, the words flowing smoothly off his tongue, warm hands splayed over your hips, occasionally squeezing at the flesh at the end of every sentence, his musky perfume mixed in with the tangy scent of his sweat engulfing your senses. Your walls pulsed around his cock, sitting  thick and heavy inside you while you squirmed under him, the skin of your cheeks heated under his gaze as he awaited the words he wanted to hear. After a few minutes of his relentless stare-down, cat-like eyes boring into yours with incessant demand, you gave in, muttering the words under your breath and breaking eye contact.

Just when you thought you could breathe again, his deep chuckle echoed in your ear, the pleasant sound preferable over the music playing in the background, but his words sent a wave of cold sweat seeping out of your pores, “No, no. Say it louder for me, darling.”

You huffed in exasperation, the smell of alcohol swimming in the air between you. Shutting your eyes to relieve yourself of the sight of San's sharp jawline and arched eyebrow, you missed the way his gaze flitted upwards to meet with Wooyoung’s—the man now sat in the chair to the left of the stage, palming at the obvious tent in his pants.

San gave a harsh thrust to egg you on, the shot of pleasure shooting up your spine at the gesture enough to push the words off your tongue, “just fucking give me your cum already, ‘want it all inside,” you slurred, voice breathy with hints of desperation.

San didn’t waste any time before picking up his pace, pounding into your heat with urgent want, as though he was a starved man at a banquet. It was as though he’d lit your nerves on fire, the pleasure so intense your mind went numb, nails digging into San’s biceps as he pulled moan after moan out of you. “Hnnngh! L-like that, yeah-”

There was no build-up to your orgasm, and you found yourself tumbling down a steep cliff into a valley of ecstasy, lips forming an ‘o’ while San guided you through it. With your back arched off the ground, your blouse damp and stuck to your slick back, you clung to the fluid drag of San’s throbbing cock between your fluttering walls, the sound of skin-on-skin following the beat vibrating through the speakers.

San’s fingers dented your skin with enough force to promise blossoming bruises, his breath laboured as he began to chase his own high after you’d ridden out yours, fucking into you like a madman, “’m almost there, Miss, ‘gonna make sure you’re nice and full of me,” He groaned near your ear, the sound melting away the tinges of overstimulation jolting you away from him, his tight grip keeping you in place to buck his hips into your used hole. “So full you might get pregnant- ngh!”

Driven to completion by his own words, San’s throaty moans drowned out the melody strumming in the background, spurts of hot cum adding to the white painting your walls as he milked himself of every last drop. It seemed like you were the one who had fucked him stupid, barely-coherent, babbled praise flowing into your ear as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

Your knee dug into your chest, and you stared at the lace still hanging off your ankle where it sat on San’s shoulder, pins and needles pricking at your muscles from the prolonged position. But you didn’t complain, simply basking in the afterglow while San’s chest rose and fell into yours. You could see the flutter of paper bills in your peripherals—more than you’d ever seen before on a slow, Thursday night—barely any of them reaching you as the men tossing them had their dominant hands preoccupied. Your eyes moved sideways, meeting Wooyoung’s, already staring back at you with a knowing smirk on his pouty lips.

Through the thick haze of the orgasm still clouding your mind, your muscles twitching with its remnants as San’s cock spasmed pathetically between your flooded walls, two loads streaming out of your stretched cunt, you realised just how much Choi San enjoyed performing for a crowd.

And just how much you could profit off that.

reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!! ^^ apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Winner Takes All

Pairing: Javier Peña x seductress!reader

Words: 3.7k

Summary –  As a con artist, you’re always looking for your next victim; tonight, it's Javier Peña. He falls for your game, but somewhere along the way, you fall for his good looks and charm. Although he's been seduced, he has a few tricks up his sleeve as well and leaves you more than satisfied for the night.

Warnings: 18+, adult content, smut, lying, stealing, gold-digging, alcohol

Main Masterlist

Having just finished scoping out the lounge, you sit at the bar occupying the entire back wall of this particular casino. Like every other casino on the Las Vegas strip, this one has a similar dark and smoke-hazed ambiance.

The opulent, golden chandeliers above only emit the dimmest amount of light, and the rest comes from the flash of machines and table lamps at blackjack tables and the occasional flickering neon sign hung around the room.

"Pomegranate martini," you order when the bartender acknowledges your presence. He nods and turns to the ceiling-high shelf of alcohol and glasses to begin concocting your drink.

As you wait, you sigh and turn back to look over the room. Like most Saturday nights, you've done well for yourself. Each unsuspecting victim has played right into your hands, per usual. You see similar easy pickings in this room, scattered among the card tables and slot machines.

Drunk older men, the ones slurring their words and pawing at every beautiful woman they see. Obsessed with spending money they shouldn't and flaunting the gambling prowess they think they have in hopes of seducing a younger, much sexier woman to be their arm candy for the night.

You play along, assuming your persona as a doting, sexy, air-headed seductress. It's a fine line you walk, carrying yourself with enough dignity and elegance to attract the most wealthy targets while not appearing too keen and clever to hurt their tiny little egos or have them suspect you of being a swindler.

Although that's exactly what you are.

A seductress, a vixen, a succubus, or whatever term is preferred. You don't feel guilty; you actually think you're doing them a favor and saving these pompous assholes from some other girl who goes for the long con, marrying them and divorcing them only to steal half their life, pretending actually to care for them.

Instead, you keep them company for the night, laughing along to all their stupid jokes, pretending you might sleep with them even though you know you won't. They often are too wasted to get it up in the event of hooking up anyway, but you don't care; you never sleep with them. Suckers.

The bartender places your martini glass in front of you, and you thank him, flashing a smile and handing over a generous amount of cash. "Keep the change," you say, sultry and low, the same voice you've used on all the other men tonight. He winks and walks away, but not before his eyes drag across your body, a flash of desire sparking in their depths.

You're used to it, especially tonight in your favorite black silk gown with a high slit that falls to your mid-thigh—the fabric clings to your frame, showing off your figure. The top's deep v exposes the perfect amount of cleavage and the smooth expanse of your chest adorned with your favorite thin, silver, diamond pendant necklace. Paired with your dangling silver earrings and jet-black stilettos, you must admit, you look stunning.

By now, it's nearly 1:30 am, and you're bored of drunk old men staring at your tits and bragging about who knows what, words slurring, and hands wandering.

Tonight, you want a challenge, some entertainment, and maybe even some real flirting. You've already snagged a few nice watches, been treated to a Michelin star meal, and have an enormous wad of cash in the purse slung around your shoulder. You look too good not to let yourself indulge a little tonight.

You look around the bar, searching for your next plaything. Your eyes drift past countless clusters of drunk men on bachelor trips, sugar babies hanging off the arms of a few wealthy-looking older men, and numerous unremarkable strangers.

Then, you spot a dark, tanned, gorgeous man. You watch him excuse himself from a blackjack table and strut to the opposite end of the bar. He walks with smooth confidence, obviously not plastered like most other patrons by this time of night. His tall frame leans against the bar, elbows bent, causing his muscles to bulge against the buttoned shirt he wears.

He motions to the bartender, who takes his order and reappears shortly after with a cigar. You watch the man take the cigar between his plush, pouty lips and hold it there as he lights the other end. He inhales, then tips his head back and exhales the smoke slowly, exposing his tan, muscled neck and chiseled jaw.

Him. That's the man you choose to take from tonight: his money, his attention, maybe even some pleasure.

The trick is to let them come to you. Make them feel like it's their idea, like you're the prey, and they are the ones who picked you and not the other way around—a little game of cat and mouse.

You sit up a little taller and cross your legs, your body facing forward toward the bar, but you turn your head ever so slightly. Gazing curiously at the cigar between his fingers, you tilt your head and throw on the best set of doe eyes you can muster. Then you wait.

Hook.

You wait a few moments as the man takes another drag of the cigar and exhales. He finally notices your eyes on him. His eyes glance in your direction, and before you can tear your eyes away fast enough, you make eye contact briefly. You'd been "caught" staring.

You offer up a shy, barely there smile and lower your eyes to your drink as you allow a feint blush to spread across your cheeks.

Although you are now staring at the contents of your martini glass, pretending to be embarrassed, you can see the man analyzing you out of your peripheral.

He does a slow, steady sweep of your body from head to toe. Dragging his dark brown eyes across your skin, drinking you in, and apparently liking what he sees, he quirks a brow and smirks a little to himself.

Line.

You pick up the martini glass before you, long, delicate fingers wrapped around the stem, and bring it to your lips. Slowly, you tilt your head back to finish the last bit of your drink, exposing the long swath of your neck, and swallow.

Oh no. A beautiful woman, alone at the bar, with nothing left to drink. How terrible. It sure would be nice if a handsome stranger across the bar came to your rescue.

As you set your empty glass back on the bar, out of the corner of your eye, you see that man has the same idea, and he walks your way.

Sinker.

What a sucker, you think to yourself. It takes everything in you to clamp down on the chuckle that wants to slip out. He struts up to you and sits on the barstool next to you, cigar still smoking between his fingers.

"Hope you don't mind," he says, velvety and smooth. Up close, you have a better view of his sultry eyes and the full mustache perched above full lips.

Oh. That's nice, you think to yourself.

"Not at all," you respond, then tease, "Actually, I'm curious. Do you smoke those to look pretentious, or do they taste better than they smell?"

A glint of something sparks deep within his dark eyes, a challenge, and he lets out a small, breathy laugh. "Both."

"Finally, an honest answer," you smile playfully.

"Let me get you another drink, and I'll tell you anything else you want to know, sweetheart."

"Deal," you agree, "thanks..." you pause, waiting for him to introduce himself.

"Javier or Javi if you want. And you are?"

"Alessandra," you answer, one of your go-to fake names. You can never be too careful playing games like this.

Javier buys you both a round, then another. Both of you flirt and tease as the night goes on, and you find the distance between you much smaller before long.

"So, can I have a taste or what?" you ask, staring suggestively at his lips.

His eyebrow quirks up immediately, and his mouth begins to open, but before he can respond to what sounds like a filthy proposition, you motion to the last bits of his cigar. He pauses, eyes darkening, and he clears his throat.

With a voice more strained than before, he answers, "I'll give you anything you want, Hermosa.

He extends the cigar between the two of you to hand it off, but instead of taking it into your fingers, you wrap your lips around the unlit end. Inhaling, you raise your eyes to make contact with his; as you hollow out your cheeks and inhale, you swear you hear a growl rumble in his chest.

----

You don't remember exactly how it happened after that, but here you are, back pressed against his hotel room door. One of Javier's hands kneads your hip while the other fumbles with the key card, trying to unlock the door and usher you inside. His body presses against yours, smothering you in his warmth, and his lips travel down your neck hungrily. Finally, the door unlocks, and he pulls you inside.

The door slams shut, and in a frenzy, you begin tearing each other's clothes off amidst kissing, moaning, and groping. Your hands have fistfuls of his dark, gorgeous hair as he slips one strap off your shoulder and then the other. Your silky black dress falls to the floor, and you peel off your delicate lace thong.

"Fuck," he breathes as his eyes sweep down your naked body. Javier's hands travel up your waist, across your stomach, and palm at your breasts.

He squeezes one gently as he takes the opposite nipple into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it, drawing out a whimper from you. You relish the feeling before he releases it with a pop and sucks the other one into his mouth, running his tongue over it as well.

When he's done, he drags his tongue from your nipple, up your chest, along your neck, and ends at your ear, his nose and mustache tickling you along the way. Your legs tense, and your insides pulse at the sensation.

Hungrily, you unbutton the rest of his shirt, finally exposing his toned, golden chest, and toss it onto the floor. Javier wraps his arms around you, leading you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees contacts the mattress, he gently lowers you onto your back onto the plush surface.

You move to flick off your black stilettos, but Javier kneels between your legs, and with a hand on your ankle, he stops the motion. "Keep those on for me, baby."

Your stomach flips at the sultry command, and you obey, relaxing against the mattress. Still knelt between your legs, Javier's hands rub up the back of your calves, over the top of your thighs, and stop in between them, just below the apex.

He spreads your legs apart, revealing your soaked, glistening cunt. "Goddamn," he moans, so needy it sounds almost painful," let me taste you," he begs. "Please."

"Yes, Javi. Please," you pant, body writhing with desire at his hot breath tickling against your core as he begs you.

His grip on your thighs tightens as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed so he can lean forward and bury his face in your cunt. He begins with a slow, broad swipe of his tongue up your center, gathering the slickness and moaning into you.

Your head throws back, and a groan escapes from somewhere deep in your chest. His tongue swipes back and forth between your folds, and above, his pronounced nose presses against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure rolling through your body. He eats you, slow and steady, almost agonizingly, as he takes his time, tasting you and feeling you.

You squirm beneath his hands. "Please," you pant, "more. I need more."

"Is this what you need, baby?" he asks, taunting, as he pulls his face away to replace his tongue with his middle finger. When you look up between your legs, you meet his gaze, wild-eyed and heavy with blown pupils that stare down at you. He traces his finger down your center, then finally plunges it inside you, eliciting a high-pitched whimper.

"Yeah, that's right," he purrs, " feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes" is all you manage to breathe out.

He continues, extracting more and more of your slick until it drips messily down his finger and across his palm. His pace quickens when he adds his ring finger, adding new pressure and sensation.

By now, you are begging for release; a light sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your muscles feel liquid. As if he can sense it, Javi crooks his fingers, finally hitting a spot inside you that has you barreling towards release.

"There it is," he purrs, soft and tender. "Come on, baby, give it to me."

Your heart pounds like it wants to escape, and your breath comes out jagged and labored. The only response you have for him is the squirming of your hips and the clenching of sheets in your fists.

Then, to push you careening off the edge of release, he pumps faster, harder, and brings his mouth to your clit, coating it in the warmth of his mouth, and sucks.

The band snaps. Your back arches off the bed, and your head rolls back. Unrelenting, he massages you through it, extracting a trickle of warmth that coats his fingers, lips, and mustache. Your insides pulse and a tingle reaches every fiber of muscle within you.

Finally, your muscles relax, and you lay flat against the bed, panting. Javi stands and leans over you, observing. His pupils are blown wide with lust, and his chin glistens with your spend.

He leans closer and whispers, "I could watch you do that all night."

"I'd let you," you answer before closing the distance between you with a kiss. You can taste yourself on him, mixed with the hearty tang of a cigar. It causes something to begin stirring inside of you all over again.

"Is that right?" He smirks.

You're hungry for him, eager to taste him like he tasted you. Dragging your hands down across his chest and down his abdomen, you finally reach the button of his jeans.

"My turn," you say as you undo the button and begin to slide down his jeans and briefs all at once. His hard cock springs free, dripping with his own juices. The sheer size of it has your mouth watering. His member is thick and long, with a prominent vein running along the bottom to this dense, heady tip.

Javi kicks his jeans and briefs onto the floor while you trade places with him. Now, he sits perched on the edge of the mattress, fully naked, thick thighs spread so you can slot yourself between them on the floor. You kneel between them, ready to worship.

Knelt before him, you look up to meet his lust-filled stare, his eyes dark and needy. You reach up toward his rock-hard member erect before you and graze a finger across his tip, featherlight.

He whimpers, a filthy desperate sound as you caress his tip, making his cock twitch as you gather his precum on your fingertip and swipe down to the base of his cock.

You smile, a smug, filthy grin pulling up the corner of your lips, "Sounding desperate up there, Javi," you tease him.

A growl emanates from his chest, surely about to put you in your place, but before he can, you lean forward and flatten your tongue against the base of his cock before licking a slow strip up to his tip.

He releases a hiss from between clenched teeth when you circle his leaking tip with the pad of your tongue. Then, without warning, you open your throat and take him all the way down to his base. You gag around his massive length, saliva dripping inside your mouth and coating him in slick.

"Jesus,” he moans somewhere above you, “fuck."

After a moment, you release him, taking in a big gulp of air. "So big," you praise him as you finally wrap a hand around him and start to pump his shaft, already slick with the mixture of your saliva and his precum. It squelches in your grip, a perverted sound that only eggs you on.

With one hand pumping and applying pressure, you take his tip back into your mouth again, sucking and swirling your tongue around him.

Javi leans forward and places his hand on the back of your skull, gently praising you, "Goddamn baby, love your perfect little mouth wrapped around my cock."

You work him with the combination of your hand and mouth for a while, drawing out groans and watching him squirm beneath you while you bob up and down.

Using your free hand, you reach up to cup his balls and give them a gentle squeeze, caressing them in your hand. A guttural sound leaves Javis's open mouth as he gathers your hair in his hand and yanks your mouth from his painfully hard member.

You grin at him, sinful, and eyes heavy-lidded with lust as a mixture of his juices and your saliva dribble down your chin.

"I'm going to fuck that grin right off your face," he threatens.

And he does.

He positions you on all fours on the bed, heels still on, poking outwards as he climbs onto the bed behind you. He rises to his knees, slots in between your legs, and enters you in one fluid motion, thrusting so hard that your heels fly off and clatter to the floor.

His large, rough hands gripping your waist and pounding into you, the smack of his pelvis against your ass, along with the squelching of your wet pussy filling the room.

You whine out in ecstasy, only spurring him on further. The length of him reaches the further depths of you, blurring between pain and pleasure but never crossing the line; it hurts so good.

Between huffs of breath and a clenched jaw, he taunts you, "Your tight little pussy was begging for a good fuck wasn't it?"

His filthy words only send you careening further into pleasure. Your legs begin to shake, alerting him that it won't last much longer.

"Fuck yes," he reaches around, and his fingers circle your clit until you cry out and a second orgasm rips through you.

Ravenously fucks you through it. His thrusts speed up unrelentingly as he finally chases his own high, grabbing your neck from behind and pressing your face into the pillows.

At the last second, he pulls out, leaving your hole gaping and throbbing but already missing the way he filled you. He releases his spend on your back, gripping his cock and pumping out every last drop.

Then he does the unexpected.

You hear Javier shuffle to the bathroom as you lay face down on the sheets, still recovering from the exertion. Moments later, he returns to you with a fresh washcloth, first wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes and the slick gathered around your mouth; then he cleans the inside of your thighs and your back so gently compared to moments ago.

"You all right," he asks, voice softer and kinder than it was in the throes of passion.

"Great, actually," you smile up at him mischievously.

He leans in and kisses you on the shoulder, then tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ears, "Stay as long as you'd like."

You go to the bathroom and freshen up; when you come out, he's sprawled underneath the sheets and shoots you a lazy smile, waving you forward to join him.

You slide into bed with him, and Javier holds you against his body underneath the sheets, rubbing his hand up and down the smooth contours of your body until, before long, he falls asleep.

You lie with him for a while, oddly finding comfort in the sleepy breaths that escape his lips and tickle the hair on the back of your neck. However, once you're sure Javi is asleep, you carefully extract yourself from his arms and tip-toe around the room to gather your clothing and redress.

If you're honest with yourself, you almost feel guilty about what you must do next. But it's back to your usual business now.

Quickly and quietly, you find Javier's wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, which you'd stripped off him earlier and discarded on the floor.

Typically, you'd take the entire thing, leaving nothing behind, not even its empty carcass, but you decide to play nice this time. After all, Javier may have just given you the best two orgasms of your life and was a gentleman after the fact, cleaning you up and cuddling you in bed. You must admit, he fucks hard and aftercares like an angel; what a man.

With your heels in your hands, you sneak out of his hotel room. In the purse slung over your shoulder, you have an extra couple hundred dollars from Javis' wallet.

It was an excellent payday, especially considering you'd left him $20, his leather wallet, and even the nice watch he had resting on the dresser. After all, you'd genuinely enjoyed your night together, so you decided to be kind. Plus, you'd seen some police bade in his wallet, so you decided not to piss him off too bad.

The hotel room door clicks closed behind you, and you walk down the hallway. When the elevator dings, you enter the carriage and press the button to carry you to the lobby.

Just before the doors slide shut, you hear a voice, the same one that has been purring in your ear all night, yell, "fuck!" as he realizes he fell for your game.

Javier Peña just got swindled. But hey, at least you’d given him a good time, and something tells you he’s probably paid even more for a night with a woman before. It’s only fair that you get the same, right?

You're still smirking when you leave the casino lobby and disappear into the crowded street.

[bbanghiitomi]

TAKING MY TIME

pairing: pham hanni x fem! reader

trope: strangers to lovers! fluff! slowburn!

the orientation hall is filled of students around your age, crowded and filled with chatters among students and classmates. you sat alone in the corner as you wait for the orientation to end, it's smart really, how you genuinely thought walking away from your classmates and picking a seat away from them was a good idea. good thing you brought a notebook and had the motivation to listen and list down notes of what was needed before the assigned work for students was announced.

the next thing after the announcement is the list of students at every department in the city hall, it could be anywhere, it was random and you could be grouped with people who you didn't know.

that wasn't the worst part, you were capable, it didn't matter what the people around you couldn't and could do; it only mattered to you that you are able to do a lot. the thing is this is a requirement to complete the school year, working on a department as a trainee to gain experience, spending hours to complete the given time and getting nothing in return but a certificate...

so you had no choice, it would have been nice to work on a tech company but you didn't want to spend 8 days in front of your computer and then 2 days of staring at the thin air and having to pay a lot of money just for the experience.

the easiest way was the hard way.

there are different departments around the city, it could be the department for the agriculture, department of the fire and safety management and more, but the worst of them all had to be the council for the children and the traffic department.

well, working on an office and taking care of kids isn't as bad as walking on mountains and rice fields or standing in the middle of the road while it's blazing hot.

you just weren't fond of kids.

being assigned for the council for the welfare of children leads you straight to a local kindergarten around the city and that means you'll have to teach and take care of kids.

you have nieces, yes; but you never took initiative to take care of them. you've been a sole hater of kids, at least that's what you claim to be. you didn't know how to work your way in it if you ever got assigned in that department.

on the other side of the orientation hall, is a girl who hopes to be assigned at the council for the welfare of children.

pham hanni.

she's excited, she looked forward for this new experience. yes, it's tough, it's going to be very hard but wouldn't it be worth it? she thinks so.

as the orientation continues, hanni made sure to list everything that was needed, no time to wait and just sit there, she needs to be assigned at the kindergarten department.

"is everything crystal clear students?" the principal asks, looking at the students ahead of him as he stands in front. in unison, the students answer: "yes, sir."

the screen in front of the hall shows lists of departments, the principal prepares to announce the group of students working together.

you expect that there would be 10 of you but no, as the third department was announced, you instantly freeze on your seat.

"council for the welfare of children, pham hanni and jeon y/n." the principal requires students to stand up when their names are mentioned, you immediately scramble to stand up, hearing snickers behind and just on the other side is another girl.

"okay who's pham hanni? raise your hand." the principal says, the short girl raises her hand with a huge smile on her face. you turn your head to look at her, you couldn't make out her face as she had her back facing you.

"how about jeon y/n." you raise your hand reluctantly, the principal nods and hanni turns to look at you, before you immediately sit down.

"so those are the people you'll work with, pham and jeon will be immediately deployed in the city's kindergarten to teach and help kids. remember to print out forms and checklists and place them in a brown envelope."

it wasn't supposed to be this bad, you stand in front of the school's office as the adviser allowed you to use the photocopy machine for the forms you'll need.

you didn't notice hanni behind you, approaching. "uhm hey." she says, you look behind and see her, holding two daily time records in her hands.

"uh, hi... can i do something for you..?" you ask her, she smiles and awkwardly looks around the office as she hands you a daily time record. "i had an extra one of this so, i was planning to give it to you." she says, you slowly take it from her and place it on the table, not really putting out that much of an expression as you nod.

"thanks..." you only say before busying yourself with the machine again. hanni sighs and laughs sheepishly, embarrassed by your lack of enthusiasm for her presence. "you're printing our forms already?" she asks, you nod and continue to face the printing machine.

"yes, ms. kim allowed me." hanni blinks her eyes and remembers that you two are required to get your parental consent signed by a law firm office for a notary and she decides if she can ask you to come with her,

"uh, you want to come with me? get the notary for our parental consent..." in all honesty, hanni was taking this whole work immersion requirement seriously, like she's actually getting a job. she wants to get to know you and get comfortable with each other even if the real work is just 5 days.

after that, you don't have to talk to her again.

yet you try to entertain her so she won't get her feelings hurt. "okay." you say as you face her and put the papers in the brown envelope with her and your name on it.

you both stand outside the law firm office, waiting for your papers to be signed by the lawyer. hanni peeks at your every now and then and regrets it when she sees you looking back at her.

but she can't help herself but just look at you, cautious whether you're bothered by her.

"hey, you're parental consent is ready." you tell her as she shoots up and looks at you. "w-what?" she asks, you stare at her, emotionless. "your paper is ready." you tell her, hanni immediately takes her pouch and grabs her money as she enters the office to pay for the notary service.

you follow next and take yours before making your way before her back to school to pass the paper to the adviser.

"aren't you excited?" hanni asks as she walks behind you, you look just a bit behind and back to the front. "not really." you answer her, hanni nods and figures you're probably not a big fan of school requirements.

you feel bad at your lack of enthusiasm, but it's just how you are. "how about you?" you ask, hanni's face lightens as she hears you ask about her. "yes! i really want to work at a daycare or kindergarten as a teacher, don't you think kids are great?" hanni says, you shrug at her question.

"not fond of them. but you do you, they'll probably like you a lot." you tell her as you stop walking to let hanni catch up. hanni looks at you as she smiles and nods her head. "i hope so." she says as she walks beside you.

first day.

the first day is as bad as you knew it is gonna be, you wake up early in the morning and forget to make lunch, you make your way to a local convenience store to buy a half-ass double cheese pepperoni sandwich and run to catch up to the bus on the daycare department.

entering the office, you look like you didn't get enough sleep. hanni watches as you walk inside and place your bag on the floor and immediately eat your sandwich with your brows furrowed and eyes still closed.

"y/n? are you okay?" she asks, you take deep breath and look up at her and sigh. "yeah, i'm okay." you tell her and even before she says something, she gets cut off by the supervisor who asks her to come see the kids.

meanwhile you're left in the office with a stack of paper to arrange and nametag designs to work at.

hanni's assigned job is simple, just entertain the kids... the supervisor and teachers obviously prefer her over you and they like the job she's doing. and here you are, dumped with papers to work at, with two hours of sleep catching up to school and no lunch packed.

hanni enters the office again as the kids are back to listening to their teacher, she sees your slumped figure, printing and designing nametags.

"it's lunch already, have you brought yours?" you sigh as you hear her voice and look at her. "no, i didn't pack anything. i'll buy after this." hanni grimaces when she sees the pile of paper in the desk and the time, you're not gonna make it on time with all the stack of paper they gave you.

"but lunch is about to finish, are you sure you can make it on time?" she asks. "yeah, i can if you give me some space." you tell her without even sparing her a glance, hanni looks away and sits at her assigned desk, watching you work.

hanni sees the door open and it's the supervisor. "oh pham! the kids are about to go home, what about saying goodbye to them?" they say as they look at hanni who smiles at them. "yeah i will! just waiting for the teacher to signal me." she says.

the supervisor looks at you and takes a peek at your work. "seems like you're not finished yet." they say and you try your best not to click your tongue in annoyance. "what do you say pham? we can eat lunch at the cafeteria." the supervisor offers but hanni shakes her head and looks at you. "i'm okay here." the supervisor nods and leaves the office.

it's clear you aren't in your best mood, about to finish as hanni waits.

"you can leave you know?" you tell her as you continue to arrange files. hanni shakes her head. "but, i want to eat lunch with you." you chuckle, not looking at her direction. "i can't i'm eating outside." you say, hanni watches as you finish and brush yourself and leaving the office.

hanni sighs as she looks at your now empty desk, and puts the lunch she made in your desk before going to the cafeteria to eat lunch with the supervisor. she knew it's a bit late now and you're probably not going to be allowed to eat outside so she leaves her lunch to your desk incase you come back.

turns out, hanni was right. you stand in the empty office, starving and your pride's about to wear down, now you feel guilty for pushing hanni away and you can't help but rub your temple before sitting down and sighing.

"why am i such an asshole..?" you mutter to yourself before eating the food and thanking hanni in the back of your mind.

after your shift with hanni was done, hanni checks up on you to see if the lunchbox is in your desk, it wasn't there and hanni has no idea where it went, she's starting to think someone else took it from your desk.

the day ends with hanni the backseat of their car, looking out to the window wondering where you are.

second day

hanni doesn't sense any difference on you as you sat on your desk and did your usual work, the kids' class hasn't started yet and hanni cannot find the courage to walk up to you and ask about your day, you seem occupied in your own little world.

hanni sighs as she leaves the office and proceeds to do the work assigned to her, leaving you alone in the office.

after a while, it's lunch again, your were able to finish half of your work in time and when hanni is about to leave and eat lunch in the cafeteria, you make your way to her desk with the lunchbox from yesterday, placing it on her desk.

"is that..?" hanni trails as she looks up at you from the chair she was sitting on, you take a deep breath as you nod. "yeah, it's your lunchbox." you mutter as you watch hanni take the lunchbox and notice that it has a significant weight on it, hanni watches as you make your way out of the office but before you open the door, she calls out to you.

"y/n! where are you going?" hanni asks, looking at the lunchbox in her hands. you look at hanni and raise your eyebrows. "canteen, i'll eat lunch." hanni walks up to you and smiles. "let's eat lunch together."

you can't understand why you feel this way, you sat across hanni on the table and stare at your lunch while hanni is eating hers, you've eaten a good amount of it and as you sat, you can't help letting your mind wander of until hanni notices.

"what's up y/n?" she asks, you look at her and blink your eyes before shaking your head. "nothing..." you mutter.

luckily, your assigned work was finished sooner than you expected and you got the chance to watch hanni help the teacher inside the classroom, being able to see hanni's mature and loving personality, you can't help but notice how well the kids get along with her, you can sense that they'd get attached to her really quick.

after hanni was finished, you agree to accompany her to the bus stop, wherein she'll be picked up by her dad and you'll take the bus.

"so... you made the lunch?" she asks, you stare at the road, seeing the vehicles pass by and you nod. "yes." you woke up early to cook the lunch, which you usually never do, it's a weird routine and you can't get yourself used to it.

hanni smiles as she shrugs. "it's good, i didn't know you could cook." she laugh and it brought you to smile as well. "rarely." you comment and hanni nods.

it was awkward until you see her father pulling up and hanni bids goodbye before getting inside the car.

third day

as hanni waits for your arrival, she can't help but think that you only have two days left with her, the day hasn't even started and she's already sad thinking she probably won't see you often after those five days.

it's an ordinary day, aside from the humid air, hanni can't help but notice your awfully cheerful behavior.

"uhm, good morning y/n!" hanni greets you and sees the smile in your face when you look at her, hanni feels her cheeks warm up and she tries her best to maintain eye contact as you nod your head. "hey, good morning." you tell her as you take a seat, hanni notices that you're bringing a lunchbox, you're own lunchbox.

hanni can't help but smile as the day went on.

it's the usual, there's nothing new as you sat on your desk and did office work while hanni is taking care of the kids and helping the teacher, she's made a name for herself amongst department employees. they all like her.

and you're just there. it's not like it matters to you, you're all cool doing your own thing in your own word. today is a good day, after a long time of waiting, you got your results for your college entrance the same time you arrived home yesterday.

hanni is so ready to ask about why you're so happy.

lunch came, you and hanni decide to go to the same place at the canteen where you are now bringing your own food you cooked yourself. hanni doesn't know how to not look at you, every second, she finds herself stealing glances or just staring.

you don't even notice until hanni speaks.

"uhm, hey you look so happy today... mind if i ask you why?" she says, you raise your brows at her and nod. "yeah." you shrug, it's weird. usually when someone asks you why you're like this, like that, you get annoyed but... with hanni it's different.

"you look so happy today, i mean it's not like you aren't everyday but you look extra bright." hanni laughs under her breath and looks at you, you continue to eat your food as you nod. "uh yeah, i passed my entrance exam and i'm getting my priority program." you tell her, hanni blinks her eyes and is in shock.

well you're smart but she didn't think you'd be able secure a slot before everyone does.

"where?" she asks.

"seoul national university." hanni opens her lips, she's surprised, amazed.

"you're smart, smart." she laughs. you shrug and smile, and hanni feels something funny inside her stomach. "thanks."

as hanni sits in the backseat of their car, she can't help but picture your smile, it's just... so nice to see. hanni sighs and puts her hands on her face before sighing deeply, causing her parents to check if she's fine.

fourth day

after three days, you manage to finish all the papers and work assigned to you, and you were left with nothing anymore. hanni watches as you sit on your desk, tweaking on your laptop and you look bored.

hanni still has to take care of kids and she wonders what you'll be doing in the next day, last day.

she sighs and walks out of the office and she's surprised to see no teacher in the desk, she looks around and walks back to the office to ask the supervisor. "uhm, where's ms. kim?" hanni asks with a smile, the supervisor looks around and sighs.

"oh i forgot to tell you, she's absent for today and tomorrow. sick leave." hanni nods and slowly turns away to look at you as you stare at the window of the office. hanni blinks her eyes and looks at the supervisor again.

"should me and y/n teach together?" she asks, the supervisor looks up from their phone and shrugs. "do as you please."

"ah! no... hanni, i can't teach." you mutter as hanni pulls you out of the office to the classroom and looks at you with a smile. "come on! it's okay, the kids need someone to teach them and it's going to be okay..." hanni looks at you with a smile, relaxing her shoulders.

both of you stand in front of the classroom and you look at the door before shifting your eyes to hanni and sighing. "alright." hanni cheers and hugs you, wrapping her arms around you as she rests her chin on your shoulder.

"uh..." you mutter as you tap her lower back, hanni lets go and laughs sheepishly. "sorry, i'm just so glad..." you nod and open the door for her.

hanni passes a lesson plan to you as she gives you a reassuring smile, making her way in front of the class and telling them to lower down their voice. "everyone! hey, ms. kim is not present today so... for the mean time me and my friend will teach you all today." hanni looks at you as she smiles brightly, you feel tense as every kid looks at you.

"uhm, good morning everyone." you awkwardly wave your hand at them, hanni walks over to you and takes your hand to the front and introduces you. "everyone, this is jeon y/n. she's my super smart friend and she's teaching us math today."

you nod and try to put out an awkward smile, which worked, miraculously.

during the time with the kids, everything felt natural, you slowly feel the tension inside you easing away as you talk to kids. it's weird, how hanni's presence not only comforts kids but you too, a girl the same age as her. you learn not to take things so seriously, finding the right way to talk to kids, it feels different, weird...

hanni packs up her things with a huge smile on her face, she can't even wipe it off even with you staring at her, you exit with her and to the entrance of the building, a storm shows up.

it's raging and violent, the rain is loud as it pours down the cold pavement.

you bring out an umbrella and notice the dark skies, you look at hanni as she stares at the skies, it's raining and she didn't bring any umbrella. you stare at your umbrella before offering it to her. "here, you can use mine." you tell her, hanni looks at you and shakes her head.

"no y/n, i can't just take it when you're gonna be stranded here." she tells you, you can't refute what she said, it's true, you're seriously gonna be stuck here if you insist in letting her go first.

so instead, you pull the umbrella out and reach for her hand. "let's go." hanni doesn't hesitate as she takes your hand and run off to the bus stop wherein her parents were waiting inside their car. hanni lets go of your hand and smiles at you before she offers you a ride home. "let's go, my dad can drive you to your house." you laugh and shake your head.

"it's okay, i'll wait for the bus." you notice the hesitance on hanni's face as her parents wait.

"seriously, it's okay... go now." you tell her as you give her a smile and hanni hears her mother calling out for her before she hurriedly got inside the car.

as the car accelerates, hanni peeks through the window of the backseat to see if you're doing okay.

without realizing, she comes home still thinking about you.

fifth day

"ugh... now i have to make my portfolio in less than a week, i have to catch up to lectures..." hanni sighs as she slumps on her desk, the door opens and you come in, carrying your lunch that you made. hanni looks up and notices the calm expression on your face, she can't but smile.

"uhm, hey." hanni calls out to you, you turn to look at her and smile. "hi, good morning." you simply mutter before turning to work on your portfolio, hanni smiles and leans on her palms, her elbows are propped on the surface of her desk.

hanni looks towards the door of the office and to you. "hey, are you ready to teach again?" she asks, you look at her and nod. "yeah, i think i'm ready." you answer as you close your laptop and look at hanni who smiles brightly stands up.

"okay? then let's go."

"ms. jeon!" you look at the kid who called your name and crouch to his level. you raise your brows at him. "hm? is there something you need help at?" you mutter, he looks at you and grins, you don't exactly know what's on his mind as he looks at hanni.

"do you call ms. pham hanni or honey?"

you stare at the kid as his other classmate snicker, with no idea what's so funny about it, you shrug... they both sound the same so, how will you know the difference?

hanni shakes her head as she laughs and leans on the kid's seat. "hey knock it off, ms. jeon is about to go back to the office." hanni says as she smiles at the kid, feeling her cheeks redden.

you look at her and speak. "they're the same thing." you tell the kid, causing his classmates to all shout in surprise, they were screaming and cheering. hanni looks at you with wide eyes and red face. you shrug as you pick up the kids' papers and leave hanni standing and flustered.

the kids are having their recess and they seem to be enjoying, you watch as one particular kid struggles to peel his oranges and walk up to him to help him peel his oranges but as you do so, hanni takes one of the oranges and only peels half of it before she gives it to the kid for him to peel the rest.

you look at her for a brief moment and she look back at you, there's an awkward silence as you peel off another orange and she stops you midway.

"uhm..." you look at her hand around you wrist and hanni smiles at your before letting you go.

"just leave half of it to peel himself, he'll learn." hanni shrugs and smiles at you, you do as she says and place the half peeled orange on top of the kid's lunch box and watch as he peels the one hanni peeled for him until there is no orange peeling left.

hanni looks at you and sees the way your eyes look at the kid. "when you give a man a fish, he has a meal for the day. if you teach a man how to fish, he gets a meal everyday. you get it?" hanni smiles at you and you can't help but smile back as you nod.

"i do." you mutter, hanni giggles and tucks strands of hair behind her ear.

hanni looks at her phone after she finished eating her lunch, five days in and she hasn't asked you about your socials, it's like she's totally missed out a lot even when you look like the type to have a dead social media account.

hanni looks up to see you eating and begins to wonder if she can ask for your number in order to contact you.

"uhm, y/n?" she asks as she sees you finishing up. you look up to hanni and raise your eyebrows at her.

"can i ask for your number?" she gives you an awkward smile, in return, you stare at her and take her phone as you type in your phone number.

hanni looks at your contact number and smile to herself, she looks up at you as she sees you standing up. "i'll message you later, just for you know? for the portfolio..." hanni mutters as she stands up and follows you to the office.

the kids all look sad finding out this will be the last day of hanni and you working together, hanni comforts the kids by promising to come back every now and them for the kids. she crouches to their level and says her goodbye, while you stand behind hanni and waving your hands lightly.

hanni slumps her shoulder when the classroom door closes and you look at her, knowing she's sadden that she won't come here again tomorrow. you walk up to her and place a hand on her shoulder.

"they really liked you, hanni." you say, from your observation by how sad the kids were knowing that hanni won't be back as soon as possible, hanni smiles at you.

"aren't they cute? i wish i can stay longer." she says, you nod and bring your hand down. "i know you do. let's go home." you tell her as you give her a small smile and walk towards the office, hanni nods and follows.

the walk to the bus stop is silent, hanni wishes she can be here for a little longer, talk to you about more stuff more than school, but she can't even find the perfect topic.

you see hanni in a trance, staring far away and you can't help but laugh. "hey, you know it's not the end of the world now, right?" you stop in front of the bus stop, her parents aren't here yet.

hanni looks at you and laughs, embarrassed by how emotional she can get.

"sorry, it's cause... i still want to do a lot more stuff." hanni says, she sighs. you nod and look ahead. "yeah, i know. it's not over yet, maybe next time let's talk about it and visit." hanni looks at you as you speak, she blushes and laughs.

"i guess you're right."

maybe it really isn't the end of everything, rather it was just the beginning, it's too early for her to slump and be sad about things that are just the start of everything, there's so many things to look forward for.

hanni is thankful that whatever sort of destiny brought her to you, maybe she's more than thankful that she can look back again and smile at the trivial things.

as hanni gets inside their car, she can't help but look back at you, seeing the way you look at the car as she waves her hand goodbye to you. the drive home feels like a path to hanni's realization that maybe she must have been in love or fallen in love, that has to be it.

she doesn't know where or when but she knows, surely, she knows to whom these feelings are for.

[queers-gambit]

My Date With the President's Daughter

part one: Blue Bunny

prompt: your father finds out about Tangerine in the worst way during a charity gala before marauders try to rob it.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 6.3k+

note: a little Disney Channel throwback in the title anyone?

warnings: use of Irish names that DO NOT dictate race, more Mafia antics, short smut / interrupted smut (you'll see), NSFW i think, mature content, cursing, chaos and violence, weapons: guns and knives, blood. dead bodies, reader's a Daddy's Girl, abrupt ending, slight angst, more hurt and comfort i guess, author still has no idea what this plot is - revoke her internet access.

The theme of the gala that night was inspired by the Palace of Versailles; regal, royal, glittering and so very, very gold. It was held at one of the most expensive hotels in the city, the entire building rented out in preparation with three different caterers and expensive bottles of alcohol being served. The gala was THE place to be - most people vying for an invitation, everyone who was anyone in attendance; dripping in designer clothes, shoes, and jewelry that sparkled in candlelight.

Every single year for the past 25 years, your legendary father hosted a large charity event that your mother was project manager of - meaning she chose the themes, decor, and the invite list. Only elite persons (both in the public and private eye) with deep pockets were invited, knowing they'd cut a large check if they wanted your father to stay out of their business territories. So, in honor of the richer-than-rich attendees, your mother used grand and golden decorations; creating a tastefully regal atmosphere for those who didn't actually have a drop of royal blood in their veins.

You father, Fallon, meaning "leader" in the ancient Celtic language, looked as handsome and dapper as ever; his tux dry cleaned, steamed, ironed, and tailored, paired with clean and shining dress shoes that had a bright red sole. His hair was slicked back, tattoos on his neck visible from the swept-back style.

Your mother, Maeve, whose name meant "she who rules", looked like she had just walked off a runway. Her dress hugged her slender and impressive figure, the material shimmering under the soft lighting. Her heels were high, hair pinned off her neck to show off bright diamond earrings that matched the thin chain of glittering gems around her collarbones, the sparkling tennis bracelet, and the absurdly large wedding ring on her finger. Her face was lightly painted with make-up, always a woman who didn't need much - if any at all. You prayed to age as gracefully as she.

Your brother, Oisín - pronounced [Oh - Sheen] - meant "little deer"; a cheeky but shy lad at the ripe age of 10. He wore a matching tux as your father, and had an emerald broach pinned on his lapel to indicate he belonged to your family. His au pair was supposed to be watching him so you could mingle with donors, but Oisín didn't stray from your side; a wee hand holding the material of your expensive dress on your hip to keep himself from getting lost.

The gala was crowded. Large event room stifling, requiring the air be turned on. Perfume assaulting the senses in a clash of scents.

The trademark "cha-ching" sound effect echoed in your mind as you shmoozed a few guests into their donations; impressing your brother by how easy you made it look. You thanked each donor with a pretty smile and fluttering lashes, floating around the room to meet other investors; giving them your family's charity's mission statement and explained where their money would go. Most of the people in this room were seedy criminals - similar to your father - and the other few were corrupt politicians who were nestled in the criminal's pockets.

By no means was the night boring, but this was work for you; all business, no pleasure.

The decor your mother chose had a lot of glittering gold details; a few imported busts and statues, an entire wall full of sculpted grass to mimic the Palace's own garden designs; artwork hung in thick, intricate frames, bright crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The event hall was specifically chosen for the floor-to-ceiling windows, sculpted shrubbery planted around the room; banquet tables covered in white cloth and chairs made of white plush - complimenting the detailed golden accents. It was gorgeous, you were impressed by your mother's attention to detail.

You wore a dress made of fine silk, the pretty green hue complimenting your skin tone; hair left down, pinned at the sides, showing off the dangling, expensive earrings your father gifted you on your 18th birthday. You, too, wore heels that forced you to walk taller and with calculated steps; rimmed eyes darting around to ensure there wasn't any shady business transpiring. But when surrounded by people who made their living by being sketchy, it was hard to clock each and every movement; being why your father had hired a very specific (and loyal) security service.

With several checks in hand, you visited your father's banker, a mute man named Bradley, and handed them over for safe keeping; your brother able to practice his sign language. Bradley was happy to reply, your entire family versed in multiple languages, and showed the young lad his process of collecting and documenting the donations. After tallying your new checks to the grand total, he used British Sign Language to inform you and Oisín of the updated tally generated so far.

"Why does Daddy need to do this?" The young lad asked, holding your hand tightly; not being a fan of social interactions - especially to this magnitude.

"To keep business moving squeaky clean," you answered softly, smiling at a few who passed you. "Money makes the world go 'round, don't it?"

He sighed, "Do we know all these people?"

"We do, they're Daddy's associates," you nodded, "and you best believe, they all know us. See, one day, you'll learn their names and what businesses they provide, how Daddy keeps them all employed."

Oisín looked uncomfortable, wondering, "Are they dangerous? Like the guys that came for Christmas?"

You came to a halt around the edge of the room, caressing his head while being careful not to muse his hair out of place. "They're all dangerous, in their own way, yes, lovie. But," you lowered into a squat so you could look your brother in his eyes, "you'll learn, Daddy's much more dangerous. So, we host events like this t'keep everyone happy and in line, you see? It's a power play."

He nodded, glancing around the room of adults. "Do I have to stay the whole time, though? Mommy said I could invite Darrel and Kevin - they're over there," he pointed towards one of the round tables, two of his classmates laughing with their mothers standing off to the side. "And I'm hungry!"

"Oh, you're a hungry lad, is it?" You smiled, watching his head bob. "Well then, in that case, we should feed you, huh? C'mon," you straightened and offered your hand, which he took gratefully. "We'll get yah fed, sweetums, and you can hang with your friends, yeah?"

"Daddy won't be mad?"

"No, I'll tell him you did really well tonight, helping me collect donations," you winked, leading him to one of the catering tables. You made up his plate with different options, carrying it to the table his friends, Darrel and Kevin, were sat at.

The boys - who looked adorably dapper in suits and bowties - greeted your brother happily; letting you set his plate down and greet the mothers kindly to thank them for their attendance that night.

"Oh, Miss!" Your brother's au pair, Lisa, hustled up to you, "I'm so sorry, I lost track - "

"No, no, 's fine, you're all right, deep breath, love," you assured, squeezing her upper arm. "Having a good night so far?"

"Oh, it's magical, Miss, innit?" She beamed, looking around in wonder. "Never been before despite working for your family all these years, I'm grateful for your mother's invitation tonight."

"Oh, we're very happy to host yah, sweetheart," you smiled. "But, uh, you mind keepin' an eye on Oisín for me? I've gotta work a bit more. He just wants t'hang with his friends, think he's a bit tired."

"Of course," she rushed.

"I'd wager you can take him t'bed after Daddy's speech, hmm? I know he'll want Oisín here for that, at the very least."

Lisa agreed, mingling with the other mothers as you pecked Oisín's head and told him to behave, that you were gonna go back to working the gala; which he at least acknowledged before being sucked back into a card game with Darrel. You didn't mind the blow off, liking the idea that he had as normal of a life as possible - a farfetched idea considering your father ran the bloody Irish Mafia and all. He's attended three different schools since he started his educational career, so you were content to leave him with his friends; letting boys be boys.

After making another deposit to Bradley, you visited one of the modern and unique glass bars (one of three stations) while feeling somewhat dejected by the night's missing guest. But speak (or think) of the Devil and He shall appear.

"You weren't kiddin' when you said your family goes all out for events like this. Jesus fuckin' Christ," a familiar, accented voice crooned; a body saddling up to the bar beside you. You first saw his hands clasped together on the bar, recognizing the golden rings and single bracelet, smirking as your eyes lifted to meet that of Aaron - or Tangerine.

"You're late," you mused, locking eyes with the bartender and holding up two fingers; indicating you now wanted two of the drinks you ordered, him nodding.

"Sorry 'bout that, love, yeah, no, Lem and I got caught up in somethin', had ta deal, then get cleaned up for yah. Figured you wouldn't want us walkin' in here with blood on us."

"You'd be right," you hummed, red painted lips stretching in amusement as you both casually leaned on the glass bartop with your forearms. "Doesn't matter, you're here now - thank God."

"That bad, huh?"

"Not like previous years," you admitted, sending a glance over your shoulder at the group of milling socialites. "Since Daddy inducted The Agency, some traction's picked up believe it or not. Seems like a lot of people like the idea of contract killers for hire and investing in the Black Market. Seems like you lot really up the ante, don't'cha?"

"Ah," he smirked, "you're welcome, then. Happy t'be of service."

"I'll only thank you when you make a donation to the cause."

"Yeah?" He smirked. "Well, you got anywhere private for me to write a check, then, love? Can't have anyone knowin' I'm charitable, got a reputation to uphold, know what I mean?" Then he leaned in real close, lips ghosted against your ear and making a shiver shoot down your spine, "C'mon, doll, 's been 3 weeks since I've seen yah."

"I know," you sighed, "but we've been busy tonight. Plus, Daddy would kill you - like, actually kill you - 'cause he's listed you specifically for me to stay away from."

"And yet, here you are, naughty girl, huh? Disobeying orders?" He smirked and put a space between you for the sake of appearances, two glasses of whiskey set before you. "Your Daddy's been preoccupied all night, love - don't think he'd even notice if we pop out for a bit. 'Fraid to admit but if I don't get you alone soon, I might actually lose my shit, darlin', honestly."

"Aaron, sweetheart, my family is hosting this event and we're responsible for collections," you deadpanned, but smirked, "'s a bit inappropriate to abandon such an important night by sneaking off."

"Can't tell me you're not tempted."

Now, you full-on grinned, "I didn't wear panties for a reason."

"You fuckin' tease," he growled over the rim of the crystal glass. When he tasted the whiskey, he hummed in shock, looking at the amber liquid, "Fuck me, that's nice."

"My family may or may not own several distilleries. You're drinking an exquisite, 15-year ol' whiskey, love." You took your own sip, casting another look around the room, finding your brother first, still with his friends before locating your parents. They were pleasantly distracted by an ambassador, making you grin at Tangerine, "C'mon."

"Hey?" He wondered, quickly setting his half-drank glass down as you snatched his free hand to quickly lead him away. He smirked and casted a look over his shoulder, instantly meeting Lemon's eyes - finding him laughing at the pair of you, toasting his drink at his brother in impression as if he knew what you two were up to.

Thanks to Thomas the Tank Engine, Lemon definitely knew what you two were doing - being excellent at reading people.

You lead your lover out of the event hall, checking up and down the empty hall and missing the way one of the security guards clocked your escape. You lead Tangerine into the large, private, unisex bathroom; shoving him against the closed door and instantly latching onto him in a deep kiss.

He was fully prepared, catching your hips; hissing a breath in through his nose, releasing a gentle moan out of sheer relief. When you pulled back, he grinned, "Got no idea how much I fuckin' missed yah, darlin'."

"Missed you more," you whispered in a rush, arms wrapping around his neck as he simultaneously began backing you up. It was a hungry kiss; heated, passionate, teeth clanking from impact, both attempting to make up for lost time. Ever in-sync, both your mouths opened to push your tongues against one another; exchanging saliva and the taste of expensive whiskey.

"C'mere," he panted after having backed you into the sink counter, seizing hold of your silken hips and hoisting you upwards. Your mouths were never far apart, joining together once more now that you were sat at a vantage point. Your hands shoved his navy blue suit jacket from his shoulders, it being set aside to the other end of the counter while you worked on his belt. "Never goin' this long again," he mumbled into your kiss, pushing the material of your dress up to let your legs spread wider in accommodation. Your lover rushed, "Jesus, fuck, feels like forever, don't it?"

You nodded as his hands pushed under the bunched material to grip the plush meat of your thighs; giving a gentle massage before sliding them higher until he met your bare hips. The cold counter bit into your exposed flesh.

"Oh, fuck me, you really didn't wear panties?" He groaned, glancing down as he lifted silk from your lap to catch a glimpse of your bare cunt - ready to greet him.

"Had a feelin' you'd show up, you just can't stay away, can yah?" You smirked, cheekily licking his lips as his belt clattered open. "Thought you'd might appreciate it," your chuckle was swallowed by his moan as the zipper of his trousers sounded almost shrilly to your over heightened senses. "Just need you close, so fuckin' close, please, missed you, baby - "

"No idea how much I've missed you, love, fuckin' hell," he rushed, reaching into his briefs the moment you had loosened the waistband of his tailored trousers to take hold of his cock. "This ain't gonna be nice an' easy, love, yeah? All right?" He checked, feeling you slide to the edge of the counter.

"Didn't think anything else," you grinned, gasping lightly when the head of his cock swept up and down your slit. "Plenty of time for that later, just need you fuckin' close - closer than close."

"Feel how fuckin' wet you are already? Goddamnit - "

"All for you, baby, c'mon, don't tease - "

In a single motion, Tangerine sheathed himself in your warmth, grinning in mischief, "Huh? Sayin' somethin', weren't yah, doll? Go 'head, finish your sentence, 'M listening."

You only chuckled, hands holding his neck and bicep in vice grips to keep yourself anchored as close as possible to him. "Three weeks without yah, and you wanna provoke me?" You whispered, feeling him begin to thrust in agonizing movements.

"Wouldn't be me if I didn't, huh?"

You chuckled breathlessly - gasping when, suddenly, the bathroom door burst open. You were facing that way, looking up from Tangerine's shoulder, only to discover your worst fear. "Holy shit! Daddy!?" You squeaked, Tangerine jolting and cursing in a hushed tone as he instantly yanked out of your wet warmth.

"Oh, you betta be fuckin' kiddin' me," your father seethed. "The fuck is goin' on here!? What the fuck are you goin'!? Who the fuck is that - is-is-is that who I think it is?" He growled, your lover fumbling to tuck himself away and pull his trousers back together - not moving from between your legs in an effort to preserve your modesty. But he had turned slightly to give your father a glimpse of his face, making your Daddy snarl, "Oh, bloody fuckin' hell! You serious? Fuckin' Tangerine, is it? You lost your mind, girl!?"

"Daddy, please," you warbled nervously, tears of anxiety gathering.

"Get the fuck out here - now! Boff of yah's!" He commanded in a roar, stepping out of the doorway.

"Oh, holy fuck," Aaron breathed, latching his belt and looking at you with wide eyes. "Well, was nice while this lasted, huh? Gonna miss yah, pretty girl - "

"The fuck are you - "

"He's gonna fuckin' kill me, sugar," Tangerine frowned, your dress falling gracefully into place when you slid off the counter. "Your father's gonna fuckin' kill me, Goddamnit," he pulled his suit jacket back on. "Think I can make it out that window?"

"He already knows it's you, runnin' now won't help," you sniffled, shaking your head and moving for the still-opened door. "You didn't think to fucking lock the door? Jesus fuck, Aaron..."

He followed after you, meeting your father in the empty hallway outside where the gala was in full-swing. He looked enraged, jaw clenched and wide eyes ablaze, looking the both of you over in disgust. "You out of your bloody mind you stupid girl? Huh?" He demanded, "I told you - very clearly - you weren't to fuckin' see him again."

"Daddy - "

"And this is how I find out? Huh? That my daughter doesn't respect my authority or listen to my words? How the fuck do you think people would react to that? They see you disobeying and get the idea to do the same."

"I'm not yours to command - "

"You're my daughter!" Fallon barked in anger, "My only fuckin' daughter, which means, you are, indeed, mine to command - just like everyone else in this fucking organization! You understand? My word is law - "

"This isn't just some petty fling, Daddy, that I'm engaged in to pass the time! I'm in love with him!" You blurted out, eyes widening when you heard your own words and watched your father's face fall.

"Beg your pardon?" He seethed slowly. "Have you gone mental? Finally fuckin' lost it? Huh? You must be outta your Goddamn mind if you think you love this silly fuck! He doesn't love you back, Y/N, you're just a coveted prize because you're my daughter - it's a thrill to men like him! Women like you, you're just trophies! There's no authenticity - "

"With all due respect," Tangerine interrupted boldly with anger lacing his words, "but you've got it all wrong, sir. Your daughter is the most important person t'me - outside my bruva, of course. She's not a trophy to collect, she's not a dainty object for me to store onna shelf - she's not a notch on my belt. But you're right about one thing," his arm extended around your waist, "she is the most coveted prize - but that's because of who she is, not who her father is. She's my prize, yeah, because she's the end goal men search their whole lives for and for whatever reason, she fuckin' chose me. I consider it the greatest honor - "

"You got some fuckin' nerve, don't'cha?" Your father growled. "You know what, lad? Since it's evident my daughter doesn't take me seriously, maybe you'll be smart enough to heed my warning. You leave her the fuck alone or - "

"I can't do that, sir," Tan refused, "'cause like it or not, I'm mad for her. Absolutely stupid for her. I love your daughter past words, don't even think I've ever loved someone 'cause bein' with her feels so fuckin' different in comparison.

"That so?"

Tangerine nodded, other hand shoving into his pocket to toy with the cool metal of golden brass knuckles. "There's nobody in this world like your daughter, sir. Bein' in love with her is like euphoria, yeah? Makes me think back and realize how wrong I was about my feelings for anyone else 'cause of how I feel for her. I say there ain't no way I've ever loved anyone else 'cause I've never felt this way before - I've only felt this type of love with your daughter. Yeah? She's fuckin' everything to me, so, with respect, I can't stay away. I won't."

"Yeah? Yeah? Fuckin' fine. All right, sure, let's see if The Agency has anythin' t'say about this, huh? When I pull the plug on this deal, I'll be sure to tell your employers why and let them deal with you for ruining this business partnership."

"Daddy," you gasped, rushing when he turned for the event hall's doors, Aaron following swiftly. You caught the metal doors when your father yanked them open and strode into the room, doing your best to catch him before he did anything too rash. "Wait, wait, Daddy, please, just listen, listen to me - I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"Didn't mean for what? Me findin' yah fuckin' in the bathroom like a desperate whore?" He snarled over his shoulder, the thick crowd slowing him.

"Well, yes, but I also didn't mean to fall in love with him! All right? But you know better than all of us that it's not a choice, it just happens! Look at you and Mum - "

He rounded on you, Tan at your flank, opening his mouth to scold you when something caught his eye behind you. You didn't have time to question him as rapid shots filled the air, a telltale sign of an automatic gun being fired in the crowded room. You flinched slightly, Tangerine instantly grabbing your waist to cover your body with his; turning to locate the threat, only to discover a gaggle of men in all black wearing ski masks and duffel bags on their shoulders.

"Friends of yours?" Tan snipped at your father, keeping you low as the crowd shrieked in panic - all trying to escape, still being shot at. This caused the seedy individuals with guns to take a stand and shoot back at the intruders, creating mass confusion and limited advantages.

"Bruv!"

"Brian," Aaron panted, people bumping into one another as they panicked in a flood of bodies. He looked down at you and then to your father, Fallon, only to find blood blooming under his white button up. "Oh, fuck," his eyes widened, gunshots still sounding, "right, we gotta move - can deal with everything else later. Here, here, here," Tangerine plucked a cloth napkin from a nearby table and shoved it over your father's wound to help staunch the bleeding.

"They got the doors, mate," Lemon shook his head when you noticed your father's wound. Luckily, it didn't appear to be in a fatal location, his hand holding pressure as the security detail were being gunned down. "The fuck do we do now?" Lemon asked over shrill shrieks.

"What we do best," Tangerine answered, pushing your father into action and brandishing his gun. "Stay close - "

"I'm not leaving without my wife and son!" Your father growled.

"Lem!"

"On it," he agreed, disappearing into the swarm of people.

Your lover kept you close, shoving through the crowd to lead towards a set of heavy metal doors. Several men stepped in your way, Tan sneering, "Right, fuck this." He opened fire.

You squeaked in shock when a different body tackled Aaron from the side to knock him out of sight, your father keeping a hold on you as straggling bodies dropped around you. "There he is!" You heard over the confusion, locating a set of men surging towards you.

There was nowhere to go, leaving you to physically block your father in a bid to protect him - not needing to when Tangerine intercepted the two threats. He didn't have his gun anymore, lost in a stampede of feet on bloody marble floors, opting to use his fists and brute strength against the robbers. The brass knuckles helped.

You had to admit, it was the perfect night to attack considering how much money Bradley was keeping track of. Plus the fact that everyone's guard was down made tonight the perfect opportunity for marauders to act against your family.

However, in a sea of confusion, you were separated from your father's side; losing him amongst the people and feeling a tight hand seize your upper arm. "I got the daughter!" The man in a ski mask informed through the visible comms system. "Moving for the south wing, bring the van around t'the alley."

"Aaron!" You begged, trying to wrangle free but discovering your strength was nothing compared to the 6'3'' goon's. "Aaron! Aaron, please! Help!"

"Shut the fuck up," the man snapped, backhanding you and never releasing his grip. A single trickle of blood oozed from one nostril as the man's ring split your bottom lip. "Fuckin' move!" He barked at you in a thick accent, "Move, bitch, let's go!"

"What do you want!? Please, just - just tell me! I can give you whatever it is - please! Fucking let go!"

Another enemy joined you, sneering, "Oi! The fuck you doin'? Don't damage the goods, fuckin' idiot, we gotta keep her in decent shape for the ransom! Fallon ain't payin' if his daughter's been assaulted - "

But a gunshot boomed and the other man's body jolted before falling flat on his back - dead with a hole in his forehead. You tried to capitalize on your captor's shock, unsuccessful, feeling blood splatter on your back from a different fallen body. You saw your father under the wing of his security, his own gun being used in defense, begging, "Daddy! Daddy, help!"

The one night you don't ensure your thigh holster's filled, of course this happens!

Fallon was only able to watch as Tangerine fought his way up to you struggling in the bulky man's grip; impressed when one contract killer engaged another. "Oi!" Tan barked, "Hands off my girl, yah fuckin' lunatic!" He threw several punches, the goon forced to release you to defend himself. Fallon watched as Tangerine waited until you were freed and a step to the side before opening fire again - killing the man who dared touch you. He realized that Tangerine had waited until you were clear to take the shot - feeling impression plant in his gut. Yet there was no time to dwell as intruders circled him.

"Oh, my God!" You whimpered, bodies left in growing pools of blood; your dress dragging in the tacky substance to paint abstract swirls on the shining floor; trying to avoid being swept up in the streams of panicking people. Your name was barked, another hand grabbing you, but this time, it was Lemon - sprayed in enemy blood.

"C'mon, doll, I got'cha!" He promised, being engaged by another robber. You sobbed in shock when an arm caught you in a headlock and forcefully drug you backwards; heeled feet scrambling in an attempt to keep up and avoid falling over.

"Lemon! Please! Fuck's sake!"

Breathing was hard to do in a headlock, dancing black spots blurring your vision slowly and your heart hammering in fear. A machine gun sounded again. The bicep tightened, dramatically limiting air.

"Fuckin' get off her, arsehole!" Recognizing Aaron's voice was a sheer relief, gasping for air when the arm constricted around your neck released suddenly. However, the momentum made you stumble to the ground at the same time for the goon's dead body to drop right next to you. His wide, dead eyes stared unseeingly at you, forcing a shiver down your spine and for your stomach to knot.

"Jesus Christ, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God," you panted, scrambling when blood spread closer.

"C'mon, love, c'mere, c'mere," Tangerine grunted, hauling you to your feet and protectively keeping you to his side. Being in front of you now, you could note the blood on his button up, how the robber's own punches had bruised and bloodied his face; figuring you looked somewhat similar. "Right, listen please, need yah t'do somethin' for me, love," he kept a sharp eye out for other threats as he tugged up one of his trouser legs. He pulled out the gun strapped in the holster, handing it to you with the instruction, "Shoot first, answers later. Yeah? Hey?"

You nodded and accepted the weapon, unlocking the safety. "I have to find Mum and Oisín," you worried, men and women screaming as the brutal fight continued.

"Just stay close, love, 's fuckin' madhouse - FUCK!" He snapped, aiming and firing at a man racing for you two. "C'mon, we gotta move, gotta get you out of here - right to the fuck now - "

Your gun sounded, Tangerine watching another robber drop only feet away. He pushed you through the people, both with your heads on a swivel; working in tandem to clear the banquet hall of robbers and direct survivors to get out. Your curly-haired boyfriend held one of the robbers by the neck and repeatedly punching his face into a pulp after the other man had attempted to snatch you, too.

Nobody came remotely close to you again, not when Tangerine was on guard; protecting you, defending you, killing for you. The skin on his bare knuckles had split open, but Tangerine didn't even notice; he just moved on to the next threat.

Soon, the gunfire ceased, leaving a ringing in survivor's ears, and after a quick look around the room, Tangerine confirmed the threats were all eliminated - but so were several guests of the charity gala.

You gasped in guilt, hand slapping over your mouth when you nearly tripped over Lisa's body; bullet holes shredding her flesh.

"Bruv," Lemon panted, approaching the two of you and making Tan flinch. "Woah, hey, easy, 's just me," he held his hands up, your lover sighing in relief and keeping you sheltered behind him. "You two good?" Brian asked, sheen of sweat coating his skin.

"You hit, love? Hey?" Tangerine looked down at you, keeping one arm around you and his body at a protective angle. "Shit, your face - your fucking face, sweetheart, look at me, look at me, lemme see," he frowned, holstering his gun to take both your cheeks in his hands and look for other injury.

"I'm okay, promise I'm not hurt," you panted, hands trembling. "Are you two?"

"I'm good," he nodded, eyeing Lemon. "Yeah?"

"Good, yeah, I'm good," Brian confirmed, "but I got some bad news. Looks like they got the banker. I can't tell if they made off with the money or not."

"They couldn't've, we only accepted checks tonight," you explained. "No cash, no assets to steal."

"Take it that's not public knowledge," Lemon sighed. "Probably thought they could rob y'all blind in one move, thinkin' tonight would have cash donations."

You sniffled, "You seen my family?"

"Uh," Lemon looked around, nodding, "yeah, your dad's over there."

Peering around Tangerine's form, you located your father slowly stalking around the room; taking note of the dead bodies left behind, survivors clearing out into the hallways. Fallon made his way up to you three, your voice trembling, "Daddy? You all right? Where's Mum and Oisín?"

"They're safe, with the paramedics," he reported, instantly taking you in his embrace. "Ah, fuck, lost sight of yah in this mess, had me worried, girl."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah," he whispered, caressing the back of your head, "don't apologize, you ain't do nothin'." He took a breath, keeping you caressed to his shoulder, "Gotta admit, felt a helluva lot better knowin' your man had your six." You pulled back slowly, watching your father sigh and nod at the Twins, admitting, "Thank you for protectin' my daughter, don't know how t'repay yah."

"Wasn't nothin' to it, sir," Tangerine assured, adjusting his suit jacket, "just wanted to protect my woman."

"I saw," he nodded. "You boys okay?"

"Yes, sir," Lemon nodded, Tangerine doing the same.

"Very good... Then I think I owe you an apology," your father told Tan, shocking you - not knowing the last time you ever heard you father admit to an apology.

"Not necessary, sir, I understand," Tan deflected, skin glistening in a thin sheen of sweat, blood dabbed around from the robber's fists, "I'm just relieved your family's safe."

"No, listen, I was wrong," Fallon admitted, "sayin' all that shit to you - about you. You know, makin' my assumptions, goin' based on rumors. You've got a bit of a reputation, I was just tryna protect my daughter from gettin' her heart broke." He sighed, shaking his head, "Can protect her from damn near everything - except the complications of her own heart; the woes of a relationship."

"I understand, sir."

"But seein' you tonight, fightin' for her, fightin' to get back to her... I was wrong," Fallon sighed, offering his hand. When Tan shook it, your father offered, "For what it's worth, you've got my permission to... Continue whatever this is. Any lad willing t'put themselves in harms way for my girl is all right in my books."

"I appreciate that," Tangerine sniffled, meeting your eye and smirking slightly. "Your daughter means a lot t'me, swear I won't make yah regret givin' us your approval."

Fallon sighed, nodding, "Yeah, all right, good. 'Cause she's precious to me, you know? I'll fuckin' gut you if you hurt her."

"I believe it," Tan sighed, a single twinge of nervousness to his tone, "but you don't gotta worry, sir, right, 'cause last thing I want is t'hurt the woman I love. She's precious to me, too."

"Right, good, uh, well... Thank you, both, for helping tonight. Would've been a fuckin' bloodbath without yah."

You frowned, gazing around the marble floors, "Still a bloodbath, ain't it? Half our men are dead, several investors... Daddy, who the fuck were these men?"

"That's what I'm gonna find out," he growled, his surviving personnel taking note of the event-room-turned-battlefield, slowly starting to move bodies. Little known fact: the hotel had an industrial size furnace in the boiler room - somewhere your father could burn bodies without the police being tipped off.

"Th-They said something about a ransom," you told the trio in a trembling tone, "about ransoming me back to you, Daddy. Said you wouldn't pay if I was injured, so they shouldn't rough me up."

"Hey," Tan whispered, pulling you into his side securely, "don't gotta worry 'bout that - know there's nowhere for anyone to hide you that I wouldn't find."

Fallon actually liked that sentiment, watching you nod and for your lover to hold you securely and placing a kiss to your forehead. So, he asked, knowing the answer, "Can I trust you to take care of my daughter, lad?"

"Absolutely."

"Don't make me regret this."

"Not in this lifetime, sir."

"Good. I'll find you lot in the mornin', get gone."

After a brief reunion with your mother and brother, learning they were uninjured and safe, you boyfriend finally opened the door to the hotel room you two had been assigned. Lemon was right next door, and when you entered, your luggage was left on the bed for you both. It was quiet as you both cleaned up and prepared for bed; silent tears trickling down your cheeks, mind replaying the night's events over and over and over... Like a never ending nightmare.

In the shower, you sat on the floor with arms tight around your knees, Tangerine sitting with you as warm water cascaded; cocooning steam around you. Blood washed off in waves of pink, circling the drain; your boyfriend gently massaging your body with a washcloth, discovering a scattering of injury - some still open and weeping. He was forced to blink back tears when your neck revealed a significant bruise; considering it a reminder of his failure to protect you, not knowing you felt the direct opposite and knew, if he hadn't been there, things would've been much, much worse.

When you joined Aaron in bed, the silence continued. Your heads laid on plush, stark white pillows; on your sides to stare at one another with hands clasped together between you. No words were needed, no explanation or thanks necessary, neither feeling the need to speak on what happened that night. Tangerine let go of your one hand, slowly reaching out to caress your cheek and jaw, fingertip tracing soft lines; shuffling closer to rest his cut forehead on yours.

In the dark of the room, over the sounds of the humming air conditioner unit, Tangerine whispered, "I love you, doll."

"I love you, too, Aaron. Thank you for... You know, tonight... All you did."

"You being safe, in my arms, is enough thanks."

"I-I'm glad you were here."

He nodded in agreement, "So am I. Don't know what I'd of done if I wasn't - if I had t'hear about this later... If they had succeeded in snatching you. Might not have been able to forgive myself."

"Good thing we don't have to know." Your eyes danced between his, admitting, "I don't think I want t'go without you, love. I don't think I feel secure unless you're with me."

"Yeah?" He smirked slightly, "That your way of sayin' you wanna spend more time with me?"

"Might be my way of sayin' I wanna spend all my time with you," you whispered, tears glazing your eyes. "And Daddy approves, so we don't have to sneak around anymore, right?"

"Right, get yah all t'myself," Tan agreed softly. "We'll talk in the morning, sweetheart, yeah?" He stretched slightly to peck your lips, encouraging, "Get some rest, Bunny. 'S been a helluva night."

Tangerine made you feel safe, he protected you and killed for you - so while you were unsure how sleep would find you when your mind was plagued with replaying chaotic memories from that evening, you let yourself relax.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[yaut-jaknowit]

Could you write Male yautja x male reader. I would like for the reader to be very quiet, always has a look of anger on his face etc. a bit aggressive because he grew up alone in a remote place and the Yautja finds him and decides to humor himself and capture the human, but he end up falling for the human because he doesn't back away from a fight. And now the Yautja has to show the human that he actually cares, having some trouble because different romantic gestures, and also kinda begging for forgiveness but very subtly

Ways to Fall

Pairing: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 4512

Summary: Everyday is the same. There's no change. In a small town, there's nothing new. If something does magically happen, within the same hour, everyone knows about it. During a normal day of nothing happening… you are snatched out of thin air. When met face to face with your captor, he doesn't kill you. Count your lucky stars.

Author Note: Thinking about this is such a funny idea. He kidnaps a human for entertainment only for it backfire horribly. He falls in love with said human and now he can't get rid of it.

Masterlist

Ao3

With towns in the middle of nowhere, there’s nothing much to see. It’s always the same old, same old stuff you see every single day. Yet, the little money in your bank account doesn’t allow you to strive away from this place you’ve grown up in. You’ve grown to resent your town.

Everyone knows everyone. There’s nothing you can get away with. Mrs. Whittney saw you sneaking out one night and boom, grounded for three months. It taught you how to become incredibly sneaky and how to plan your late night adventures.

Even into your adult age, you had nothing to get you out of here. Your folks and others tell you to cheer up, smile some more, and be happy. How in the hell can you be happy if you’re stuck here? You scowl at everyone who gets within a twenty-foot range of you. Because, how dare they think they can get close to you? Nothing they can do to make you happy unless its to help you escape here.

On your break, you walked out to your car to get away from your coworkers. They were truly pissing you off today. Nothing was going right. Is it so hard just work a simple shift this early in the ass crack of dawn? Clearly, these people can’t even tell left from right, up from down if there was a sign right in front of them.

Before you could reach your beater car, an arm wrapped around your waist and yanked you back. A huge palm easily covered the lower half of your mouth, preventing you screaming out. You jerked an elbow back only to let out a muffle yelp when it met metal. A hiss sounded from behind the palm from the pain growing. Yet, the adrenaline dumbing into your system had you kicking and throwing elbows despite the discomfort.

Whoever was holding you barely even flinched and took each hit with stride. They began to haul your squirming form away from your car and the building. All you could do despite struggling was watch as your freedom got pulled out from underneath your feet. The last attempt to get this person off of you was to chomp down on their hand as strong as possible. The hand didn’t even flinch as your teeth dug harshly into their flesh. Yet, they didn’t even pierce the thick skin that covered their hands. You could feel a strange, rough texture on your tongue. Nothing natural.

But, you didn’t let go. The last thing you were going to do was give up. You were going to fight until your last breath. The person kept moving with long, powerful strides.

Mechanical hissing hit your ears. It reminded you of a noise you would hear from Star Wars. Your brows furrowed together while attempting to piece together the puzzle with little information.

In the empty parking lot that sat adject to your works lot, you could spot the strange outline of something. It was hidden, camouflaged but the area within this weird shape was wobbled. Then, you noticed a ramp had touched down on the asphalt and led into the hidden object. You screamed louder, bucked harder, kicked wildly.

All attempts came up empty handed. You were carried up this ramp into a space you didn’t know what to call. It was open with a few closed doors to others parts of this… place. A place you were trapped in.

Whatever had you continued to carry you over to a door that opened for them. Once the entrance was sealed shut and effectively trapping you in here. The person finally dropped you down onto your feet. You were unsteady for a moment before spinning around and backing away. As the space was created, you come to notice nothing else stood in the room. Like you had been kidnapped by a ghost.

Your guard didn’t fall. Not when you felt the heavy, sharp gaze of someone watching you, observing from the shadows from where they hide in.

Once looking in front of you for a moment longer, you come notice a shape. Similar to wherever you’ve been dragged to, this thing was camouflage, hiding from you. “Come out and face me, coward!” you shouted with your fists up, name calling the thing. Its head tilted. Lightly tinking of metal hitting metal sounded but that was all you got in reaction.

“Are you too scared to reveal yourself? Afraid you’re going to get your ass whooped by me?” Call it a dumbass move, but you kept talking shit. You didn’t know what you were facing. Nothing you knew on earth could camouflage, not the way this thing in front of you. You didn’t want to call it but this couldn’t be something from earth.

Alien or not, they just kidnapped you. You weren’t going to let that blow over so easily. You kept your fists up in defense and ready to be on the offense.

A scoff sounded from your throat when it didn’t move from its spot. “I can fucking see you. Just show yourself so I can beat your ass and get back to work,” you snarked, irritated that nothing seemed to be getting it to listen. Then, a realizing thought struck you. Maybe it didn’t understand English or any human tongue. Well, that makes this a whole lot better.

“I’m guessing you don’t even understand me.” You rolled your eyes and finally crossed your arms. “So if I ask what you want with me, you’re not going to know what I just said.”

The hidden creature began to make a strange ‘hrr’ like noise repeatedly… Like it was laughing! You bristled and began to march towards the moving blob. One of yours fingers pointed at it. “Are you fucking laughing at me, punk?! You think you can just kidnap me and then laugh about it and get away with it?! Seriously? Come on,” you growled and thumped a fist on your chest. “Come on then. Fight me, bitch.”

Maybe you were digging yourself a grave with each insult thrown at the laughing creature. Who knows. But what you do know, you weren’t going to allow it to continue without doing something about it.

The laughing came to a stop. The silence of the air caused you to tense up. Before your very eyes, the blob began to take form. Its bubble like transparency started to wane into existence. A humanoid form appeared before you yet its head shape wasn’t something you’ve ever seen before.

A mask of metal covered its face, similar to a helmet.  Dark, deep set eyes sockets blankly stared directly at you. Despite the drop of terror that fell down your spine, you stayed defensive with an angry face. Your teeth are bared, arms still crossed over your chest. Its lumbering size didn’t deter you from staring death in the face.

This beast was massive, easily towering over your tense form. Rippling muscles bulged underneath metal armor adorning its red, scaly hide. A fishnet of sorts began at its neck and ran down its torso, out to its limbs, and stopping there at the joints. The thin wire allowed for you to have ample opportunity to peek at its dark red skin, marred with too many scars to count in the little time offered to you.

“It that all y-ack!” you were cut short when a muscular hand secured around your throat and picked you up. Your nails instantly reach to claw at what flesh you could tear at. Their dullness slid over the thicker flesh of the humanoid.

In the face of death, you continue to feel that boiling rage deep inside of you, clawing to be let loose. Anything to show this thing a piece of your mind for kidnapping you. In that moment, you threw any logical thinking to the wind.

One of your feet sprung out and hit your target head on. Bone covered by thin tendons met the bottom of your shoe… but the desired affect failed to occur. The satisfaction of hurting it in a common weak spot melted away when it stayed standing tall. Internal, you cursed yourself out. Whatever it had planned for you it would have no issues of performing them. Not when it took a painful kick to the knee and didn’t even cringe at it.

That enraged you even more.

Laughter bubbled in the back of Ahtaal’s throat He saw the way you tried an old, known trick to injure him. It felt like a youngling had just kicked him! This was just humorous in itself. His mandibles chittered behind his mask. The way you refused to give up, to back down, to submit yourself to someone stronger even every way of the word. He relished in the way you bite back at him, fought him in ever step he made. It made his blood sing with the need to hunt.

All Ahtaal wanted to do was humor himself. A nice way to entertain himself before he prepared for a hunt. Why no capture the clearly unhappy human?! It’s clearly exciting his day by the minute.

The chuckling he created angered the male in his grasp. Even with its throat within his mighty hand, the little thing continued to kick and claw for its freedom. A prey desperate to live. Ahtaal could almost feel pity.

Almost.

Ahtaal set it back down on the ground once he noticed its movement were beginning to slow. He knew it was just a temporary toy for him to mess with. That didn’t mean he wanted to kill it straight off the get go. No, like anything he hunts, he wanted to take his time. Stalk his prey before he pounces. Even if it takes him weeks to find the perfect moment to make the finishing blow.

The ooman back peddled so quickly it nearly tripped over its own two feet. With luck, it stayed upright. Its back met the far side of his trophy room. The only place he thought was best to keep his new pet safe for the time being. His ship small but useful until a moment like this pops up.

From his spot, Ahtaal tilted his head and felt his tresses slid off of his shoulder and free hung. The trinkets he’s decorated the thin strands tapped against one another. A tinking noise echoing in the air. He watched at the ooman kept its back attached to the wall yet a glare set at Ahtaal. As if all this was his fault!

Okay… maybe it was. Who wouldn’t steal an ooman out in the open, needing a form of entertainment before his next hunt. And this male was just stomping along in an empty lot, by itself. Like it was asking to be kidnapped by him. So, Ahtaal wouldn’t just pass up an amazing opportunity thrown at his feet.

He stalked forward, each step silent on the metal floors of his spacecraft. Behind his biomask, he rumbled deeply, a taunting call. He relished the way the ooman’s legs trembled under their own weight. But the steely glare had yet to fall from its alien feature. Another rumble sounded from him while consuming the space between each of them.

Your fists tightened, nails biting into your palms as waited for the perfect moment to strike. Fear may have entered your blood stream but you refused to let it control your actions.

Life has sucked in so many ways. Never having control over anything in your life. This here, was the tipping point of it all. If this beast means to end your life in this very spot, he’s going to learn you won’t go down easily. Until the beat of your heart stops and the air leaves your lungs, it will taste the rage of your childhood.

Met with bloodied fists.

It crowded you into the wall, palms flat against the sturdy metal against your back. Trapped with nowhere to run. As much as you looked like an animal backed into a corner, you were ready to swing at the first sign.

One of its hands peeled off of the metal and grasped the front of its metal, soulless mask. With precise movements, it was pulled free. You choked on the air in your throat and nearly started to keel over and die.

Your mind instantly screamed alien. This was in fact an alien without it or anyone else trying to confirm or deny that fact. You were frozen to the spot and stared directly into dark eyes with a hunters prowess weaved into them. This thing was going to kill you, you knew it by just the single emotion within its gaze.

In an instant, you rocketed your fist and met the underside of its chin. Pain exploded in your fingers at the improper punch and strange angle they struck at.

The humanoid’s head is whipped back at the force of your punch yet it stays in your space. It slowly lowered its face back down towards you with an evil glint in its eyes.

Biting claws dug into your neck, your cheek shoved harshly against the warm steel wall. The fingers secured around a vital airway prevented you from gasp due to their tight grasp. The whites of your eyes blaring evident as you stared at the creature. It lowered down with its mouth next to your ear.

Fangs caressed the shell of your ear in a teasing manner. A whole-body tremble wracks through you. It rumbled once more. The air vibrating with the sound. “You quite are a feisty one, ain’t cha?” A dark voice filtered into your ears. Your mouth dropped for gasp but found yourself unable to suck any air in. “I sure love when they fight me. Makes my blood sing with the hunt.”

There wasn’t even an opportunity to swallow down the lump building between the fingers squeezing you to death. Blood was restricted from reaching your brain. For a moment, you believed the lack of blood and oxygen was making you loopy. That the alien before your very eyes didn’t just speak to you.

Then, the heat of its body trapping you to the wall was ripped away. Your knees bruised on the unforgiving floor underneath. Pain radiated from the newly strained area. Your lungs choked down all the air possible before coughing violently when spit accidently slipped through. For a long time, you gulped down oxygen and tried not to choke.

Once the fit was over, you tilted your head up to look up at the beast. Its metal mask had been attached to its belt, off to the side. This thing had only showed off a hint of its strength, letting you know what it could do to you.

That only increased your anger at not only it but the situation. One thing after another. That’s all it’s been. Nothing new. Nothing has changed.

You wiped the back of your hand against the drool dribbling from your blue lips. “Is that all you got?” you snarked off to death’s face.

The same ‘hrn’ing noise sounded from the beast in a laughing manner. The smirk on your face was wiped off. You snapped to your feet with a fist heading once more to its alien face. Unprotected and vulnerable all over again.

This time, it rose a fist and caught your offending limb. Large, lethal digits curled over your entire hand and bent it slightly backwards. A show of dominance that forced you back down on your knees before it. Only then did it release you and let you stay on the ground. With an amused huff, it spun on its heels and strolled out of the room it left you in.

Despite its flare of dominance over you, it didn’t harm you per se. You stared down at your hand then back to the closed door it had walked through. All you wanted to do was bash in its skull with its own arm.

Without the overbearing kidnapper at your throat, you sat against the wall. Finally, you observed the room it had locked you in. Only for fear to freeze every cell in your body.

Skulls of animals lined the very walls you were trapped in. Each one looking deadlier than the last. Human skulls were within the mix. A trophy room. You gasped and covered your mouth with a sweaty palm. This room will become your resting place.

On the other side of the door, Ahtaal relaxed against the door. Never in all of his years has this happened to him. Not from a creature much smaller than him. One that had to know the dangers of facing off something bigger than it. Someone who was able to pop their head off of their shoulders with little strength used. He purred lightly and took in the ooman’s scent.

Now, he didn’t want to release the creature, let alone kill it. He wanted to keep it. There was untapped, untrained talent buried inside of it. Ahtaal wanted to unleash it, reveal this revelation to the universe. He wanted hunt with this ooman.

When the next rotation started, Ahtaal made his way to the trophy room. A waterskin and bowl of ooman safe foods held in his palm. Over the course of the night where his thoughts rolled around for hours, he came to a conclusion: he wasn’t going to kill you. The potential in you would go to waste. He wasn’t going to let that happen if he could help it.

Above the door, the sensors read his presences and promptly opened. At first, he doesn’t spot you and nearly becomes concern. Only to hear the tall tale sign of sprinting feet.

Off to his right, you are bolting towards him with ratchet too big for your hands. Amusement fills him. He simply reaches up and snags the weapon before it could strike him. You grunt and tried to rip it from his grasp but Ahtaal’s strength easily outweighs your own. The red alien laughs his humor in your face and plucks the impromptu weapons from your hands. A reminder he should’ve checked if his cabinets and drawers were locked before locking you in here.

Yet, the Yautja was proud at the fact you had thought of ways of using your surroundings to cause harm. He purred lightly to himself before pushing further into the room.

You stumbled backwards at the advancing alien, raging at the fact your attack failed. It just simply stood the ratchet straight from your hands. Like stealing candy from a baby.

In its hands, you took note of the items it held. A strange bag filled with liquid and a tray… with food. Your stomach took the moment to rumble a hungry cry. Heat blanketed your cheeks, knowing it had been little less than a day since you last ate. Plus, the need for a bathroom was growing stronger. But, your dignity cried at that fact.

The only way out shut behind its lumbering form, head tilted to the side as it observed you. You hastily pulled your glare into place with a burning rage. The beast chittered and offered you the items. Instantly, put up your fists in defense and eyed the beast closely. Any movements towards you would end with a fist heading towards its elongated skull.

It shook the items like that would entice you to reach across a line of danger. You up turned your nose despite the growling hungry in the pit of your belly. Whatever its plan was, you wouldn’t follow. Not when the empty eyes of hunted skulls watch the scene unfold before them.

A huff sounded from the alien before it shrugged and set the items down. It spun on its heel to walk out. You gnawed on your bottom lip for a second before lunging out. “Wait!” Instantly, the beast caught your limb in the blink of an eye. The grasp wasn’t tight but firm. It held your hand high above your head, keeping you on brink of your toes.

“I wasn’t attacking! Dumbass… I just need to use the restroom,” you mumbled into the quiet, tense air. It was a horrible feeling to have to request such a thing yet with no bathroom in sight, you had to suck it up. Anything to stop yourself from pissing your pants.

Hopefully, the creature understood what you were asking. Did they even have a bathroom? Or anything similar? If not, you were plainly screwed down to the bone. For a moment, you prayed to any god that could hear you.

“Hum, there are better ways rather than that,” it chittered to you in a teasing tone before releasing its hold on you. When you thought you were in the clear eating and drinking whatever it brought, the creature jerked its head down. “You must eat and drink beforehand. Then, I shall take you.”

You bristled and pointed a finger at him. “I sweat to god if you don’t take me to a fucking toilet right now, I will piss on the skulls.” Your hands shot out at your sides like a grand display. “Everywhere!” That was a threat you weren’t kidding about. You could care less about whipping it out and peeing on everything. If it worked to get you to the toilet quicker, who were you to complain.

One of its strange mandibles quirked up in an alien smirk if you were reading it correctly. A purr-like sound vibrated from its throat. “Feisty,” it commented then jerked its head to the door behind it. Your gaze hardened, body ready to fulfill your threat at a moments notice.

“Alright, hold back on the reins. I’ll take you.” It stepped to the side and motioned with an arm for you to take lead. The entire time you stomped up to the door, you glared at the creature. Once the metal slid open and revealed part of its home you hadn’t gotten to see before, it motioned over to a door on the other side. This space wasn’t wildly open but was larger than your average hallway, yet empty.

A huff was sent towards the beast before you marched over to the closed door. It refused to acknowledge your presence. Right as you were about to spin about and rage at the creature, you felt its body heat caress against your backside. Your shoulders jerked up.

The door opened and revealed something you were expecting: a bedroom? With a massive bed in the middle of the expansive space. More skulls adorn the walls, filling the room with death. You shuttered yet scuttled into the room in search of the bathroom.

Attached to the room was an en suite bathroom. You immediately raced over. Relief at your fingertips.

What ensued was something you wished never to repeat to another living being. You shuttered while returning to the giving space. The food it had offered to you was still on the ground, lightly steam with heat. You snatched it off of the ground and went to the far side wall. Your butt meets the warm metal of the floor.

It’s lumbering form followed you into here yet stayed a respectful distance away. With one eye on the beast, you worked on opening the bag and obtaining whatever fluid was stored inside. At this point, you could care less what it was. If it was fluids, that’s all that mattered to you.

As you untied the knots, you pulled your attention up to it. “So… what’s your name?” you questioned and broke the semi-peaceful air. The alien sat down against the wall in the same manner as you. An arm thrown on top of its bent knee. “I should at least know that since you decided to kidnap me.”

Dark eyes watched you peacefully. “Ahtaal,” he easily revealed to you. Your eyes narrowed for a moment before you felt the knots give way. The bag was opened. You were swift to gulp down lungsful then swiped the back of your against the droplets that had escaped.

“Ahtaal,” you tested his name on your tongue. “And what’s the reason behind kidnapping me? Since, clearly, its not to kill or else you would’ve ready done that.” During the time he was gone, you had placed the pieces together. If he wanted you dead, you would’ve been so with your skull joining the other humans on the wall.

The red alien filled his lungs with air, chest expanding with the movement. The gears in his large head seemed to move with each thought. “You are… unique. You have talent I wish to tap into. Unusual for ooman to possess such a skill. It would be a waste to kill you,” he answered smoothly. You scoffed at his words and rolled your eyes. Talent? Skill? What was this buffoon going on about?

“And are you sure you nabbed the right person? I’m not anything special. I work in fast food and live paycheck to paycheck,” you denied his claim. A sharpness entered his consuming gaze. He jumped to his feet and marched over you. Despite knowing this alien could crush your skull between his fingers, you steeled your glare and even moved towards it.

He stopped and towered straight over you, straddling your extended legs. You refused to back down in the face of danger. The deadly tip of his claw pointed at you. “That. That right there is what I’m talking about. You have to know that I could kill you with little effort and yet here you are, facing me down. Others may call it stupidity, but I call it bravery.”

Your glare faltered for a second. If you didn’t know better, the alien was complimenting you. Yet, you reeled your walls back up. “What happens if I don’t want to be here? Are you going to let me go?” Was there an escape from this?

If you hadn’t been watching Ahtaal so closely, you would’ve missed the way his shoulders drooped just a centimeter. He shook his head. “I cannot. My honor code doesn’t allow those who have seen me to live. I’m not willing to kill such potential.”

“So, we are at a standstill.” The water bag was set down on your lap. Your arms crossed firmly over your chest.

“So it seems,” Ahtaal agreed simply then took a couple of steps away from you. “For now, I will gather you some supplies before we head off. Is there anything you would like, unable to depart with?” The way he offers it would nearly be sweet if the severity of the situation didn’t way heavy on your shoulders.

His words finally hit you. “Depart? Where are you taking me? Where are we going?” you snapped and brushed over his second question.

A grin fell over his features. “Space.” Then, he spun on his heel and left you to the loneliness of the skull filled room. Your jaw dropped, terror entering your veins.

“Space?!”

[guppybibi]

It's Showbiz, Baby.

𖦹 pairing: Kita Shinsuke x fem!reader

𖦹 word count: 1572

𖦹 content: reader is an actress, just an intro- not much happens. kita’s older sister is a big fan of Y/N, and i mean a HUGE fan.

𖦹 notes: i'm not sure how long this will be, i will (hopefully) be posting this on AO3 soon:3. Kita has an unnamed older sister and younger brother, which i do not know the ages/names of so i will be making it myself!

✧. ┊    Part 1

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Everyone needs some time for themselves; we're all just humans after all. However, that felt impossible for you, a well-known and appreciated actress. The paparazzi was always at your tail whenever you went out; flashing lights are all that you see behind those heavily tinted sunglasses of yours. You couldn't even enjoy a simple meal at a fast food place without a bunch of different fans surrounding you, which led you to become a shut-in in the comfort of your own home. Not that you didn't value your fans; you wouldn't be where you are without them. You just wish that you had some alone time.

It was one of those slow and steady days, since you’ve recently just finished acting a pretty major role in an upcoming movie. You're resting up so you can be well prepared for the premiere of the movie which will be in about two weeks or so.

As you continuously scroll through your feed, you see an author promoting a rental cabin in the province. Immediately catching your attention, it wasn't even pricey to begin with and most importantly—it seemed peaceful. Which was exactly what you needed right now. You start to check out the website for more details about it, deciding to book a stay for a week. Squeals of excitement fill the room once you click through the payment process, placing down your phone on the nightstand.

~

It was finally time for your long awaited vacation, sighing in bliss as she sees the sights surrounding her right now. You lift up your sunglasses and place it on top of your head, your floral sundress flowing as the wind breezes through it. Looking at your phone for directions, you felt like you were in the middle of nowhere. A city girl was out of place, oh what ever could she do? You decide to just stroll around, it wouldn't be dark in a while anyways so you should take this opportunity to take a walk without a bunch of people swarming you. Pulling your luggage along, scratching against the sidewalk.

The province wasn't anything like the city, that was clear to you right now. (Or she was just sheltered..) The air felt so fresh, the rows of fields that made your heart fill with tranquility just by looking at it. You spot a cottage from afar, by now you were desperate to find the cabin as you stupidly decided to wear heels. Seriously, what were you thinking? Dragging your sore legs to this stone cottage, you knock on the wooden front door.

The door creaks once it opens, revealing a man holding a broom with his dull brown eyes piercing through you. He hasn't even said anything yet, how could he be this intimidating?! One of his thin brows raise as he stares at you, before he speaks. “Ms. L/N?” You nod in response, it wasn't a surprise that she was easily recognized by this ‘stranger’; it happened all the time! Really, no need to sweat it.

“Yes yes, that's me! Um, I’m looking for this cabin here? I believe it's around this area..” You say, showing him your phone and pointing to a photo promotion of the cabin. “Ah yes, I know. The cabin is under my grandmother's name, so I can lead the way.” He answers, nodding as he places the broom aside and starts walking towards the said cabin. While you followed him, you felt a bit embarrassed that you assumed he knew you from your acting gigs. “Here we are,” The white haired man said as he stopped in front of the cabin, it looked as great as the pictures showed! It was definitely worth the money..”These are the keys, if you need anything–I’ll be at the house nearby. I’m sure you've seen it, it's right across the street.” He continues while you nod in response, recalling the house you saw earlier and mentally noting it down.

“Thank you so much!” You thank, bowing your head slightly as he waves his hand. “My pleasure, I hope you enjoy your stay here.” He pauses, swatting a mosquito that was trying to bite him. You look around and see that there were a lot of insects here, not just mosquitoes which gave you the heebie jeebies.. “Oh and no need to worry about the insects, as long as you don't open the windows they usually don't manage to get in. There are also some mosquito nets you can use.” He goes on, looking at you expectantly; ready to answer any query you had right now.

“I think I’ll be fine sir, thank you.” You reply, receiving a nod from him. “No need to address me so formally, I believe we're both around the same age–so you can just call me Kita.” “Same goes for you, you can just call me Y/N.” He nodded yet again, it felt like it was the hundredth time he nodded today.

He soon dismisses himself, heading back to his home across the street. Which left you to tour the cabin all by yourself. Everything seemed really traditional, not like anything you've seen in the city. You feel like you’ll really enjoy it here..Due to the exhausting travel here, the moment your body hits the fluffy bed; you instantly drift off to sleep. Good thing you managed to get the energy to even take off your makeup, it’d be really..messy–if you didn't.

Kita’s POV

He slips out of his sandals, placing them aside in a shoe cubby. Seeing his older sister, Kimiko, sat down at the dinner table with their grandmother. Sipping on some oolong tea alongside grandma Yumie who had her own cup as well, Kimiko was scrolling through the different details of people booking the cabin to double check. She almost spits out the tea in her mouth, some of it dribbling down her lips as she stops herself. With widened eyes and a gulp, she looked over at Shinsuke. “Y/N is here!? THE Y/N?! And you didn't even bother to tell me!?” She exclaims with a shocked tone, standing up just to grab his shoulders and shake him.

A door slams open when Y/N’s name is mentioned, displaying an equally shocked younger brother; Riku. Not even giving Shin enough time to respond, Kimiko speaks up. “Yes! THE Y/N IS HERE- and Shin didn't even bother to mention it to us!” She says with a snarky tone, turning over to the defenseless Shin and staring at him for a sec before facing Riku. “Kimi-chan, speak to Shin-chan in a nicer tone–you're his older sister. You should know better.” Yumie butts in, her gentle smile still on her face as she sips on the tea. Leaving Kimiko with no room to argue, she isn't one to disrespect her grandmother like that.

“It's alright, I should've informed them about it anyways. It's a family business after all, but I don't think we should bother Y/N–right now at least. She's here for vacation and to relax, not to entertain any of her fans.” Shinsuke adds, believing that Y/N was deserving of rest and respect; she was human just like them. Shin was never really fond about how things worked in the entertainment industry, aware of how the actors' and actresses’ privacy is basically torn off once they’re considered a ‘celebrity’. He didn't believe this was right, and this was only the tip of the iceberg with the amount of issues in the industry.

Maybe some of these people actually do enjoy the idea of them lacking privacy, who knows? Shin wasn't one to judge, he simply just preferred a quiet life. “Right..don't bother her. Got that, I just hope she comes over here and asks for something—anything! I’ll gladly give it to her!” Kimiko adds, daydreaming of Y/N strutting over to their own home to borrow something like her hairbrush.

“Yeah, in your dreams sis. She's a grown woman, I’m sure she can handle herself.” Riku teases, sticking his tongue out as he taunts his older sister. “Oh c'mon! No need to shatter my dreams like that, and plus–she's from the city. I doubt she’d know her way around here, she’ll need help eventually.” Kimiko was right, if she wanted to tour around the village, it would be best if she had some kind of guide. They couldn't risk having a bigshot getting lost and causing a commotion in their simple little village.

“Well whatever, she's staying for a week so I’m sure I can wait! I'll be extra patient.” She adds, earning a skeptical look from her whole family. “Sure, you who have multiple posters with Y/N’s face plastered all over your room, also you who have watched basically every single movie and show Y/N has been in–even side characters!��

“Hey! Commitment and loyalty is a good quality to have!” “Not if it's coming from an obsessed stranger, that's creepy!” That made Shinsuke wince a little, thinking about how his little brother was right–he can't imagine having his face on inanimate objects, free for people to do whatever they want with it. They could do all sorts of profane actions to it.. Shinsuke shook his head, sighing as he muttered. “I'll head off to bed, I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” He shouldn't stress out about things he couldn't control, I mean–a rice farmer versus a whole industry? Yeah–no.

Today was only the beginning of his uncontrollable worries..

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[nalyra-dreaming]

So, in that 2x04 argument transcription I'm debating Armand's "... and more and more of them.... they got through" as to whether that's in context of where Louis makes a jab about calling Lestat (as in, Armand making calls to Lestat when Louis was not around?), or if Armand is perhaps referencing Louis' buried memories. How are you interpreting that part?

A little bit of both is my gut feeling (if that transcript is, indeed, accurate).

Like... I do think it's mostly memories of Lestat coming through, of their time... and especially of what Louis is then suppressing - or what is suppressed for him.

Given 2x05 starts with a wholly different relationship scene it stands to reason imho that Armand "tinkered" again, after this. Buried the memories again, after.

Louis taunting Armand there is very interesting though. I mean, we see in 2x05 that Louis knew Armand called Lestat... several times. And if the transcript is correct then that thought is always on the back-burner of Louis' mind. But what Louis says there is the same thing that actually happens when he is talking to "Dreamstat" there - "Lestat" is hyping him up, coddling him, tells him what he wants/then needs to hear... and it makes me wonder if "Dreamstat" wasn't a LOT more present in Dubai, too. I mean, we see him later. But what if that is what Armand is actively suppressing there.

We saw Louis holding open the door for "Dreamstat" in Paris. He was talking to "thin air" as well, the hallucination of "Lestat" so real to him he probably talked "in reality" to him as well. Felt him.

Daniel's "Are you schizophrenic Louis?" was very much on point I think though I don't think it's a permanent actual mental illness for Louis.

It's more a... retreat, a representation of Louis' state of mind, a place that Armand can suppress the memories of, but cannot actually suppress, because "Dreamstat" comes from a place of longing and actual truth, from deep within Louis (source):.

“The thing that I love about Dream-stat is that it’s Louis’ idealized version. It’s the version of Lestat, or of their relationship that you never got to see really in Season 1. It’s the quieter side of their relationship,” Anderson explains. “They’re hanging out! They’re best friends. It’s a narcissistic version of that because he’s also a manifestation of Louis’ own feelings about things. But I think there is also quite a big element of friendship, companionship. It’s something that Louis missed. Lestat did see him. Lestat knows him probably better than anyone.”

I think that the jab, the accusation of "do you think I need to be hyped up", and the comments about Lestat and the memories all come from the same place, namely Armand not understanding that... Louis actually does want to be coddled. Hyped up. Cared for. Because... Louis wants his cigarette lit when he takes one. He wants support when he asks for it. He wants an honest opinion when he asks for it, or an emotional buffer when he needs that. He wants the money when he wants to buy the Fairplay Saloon. And so on. He wants to be cared for within his own agency.

(And Lestat often fulfilled his requests, even to turning Claudia, as we saw.)

But Louis does not want to be cared for the way Armand does it for the most part, which is actually taking his agency. Armand cares for Louis doing what he thinks best.

Armand literally "protects Louis from himself", which is something he states within the show. By taking the memories away, too. By tinkering with Louis' behavior. By putting whole phrases and words into Louis' mind.

I think what "breaks through" might be discrepancies. Things that don't fit. Louis is clever, he must notice. Daniel is a lifeline, that Louis needs to cast while keeping Armand "under control" ... somehow. Which is why he falls back into the power play there, imho.

Which is why "Rashid" happens at all I think.

Because, and I know I keep coming back to this scene, but this is Louis' face when Armand reveals himself in 1x07:

Yeah. Happy is something else. This is trepidation.

He knew it would get really difficult now (to break through). And he was right! Armand tried real hard to uphold the status quo - and almost succeeded, too.

[everythingelseisextra]

Commit to the Bit

Part One: Everything Is Fine

Part Three: Treasure The Memory

Description: Your first real meeting with Thomas Shelby does not go quite as planned. Warnings: Language Word Count: 1751 Author's Note: Each chapter will be progressively longer. PLEASE let me know what you think. Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @look-at-the-soul

You wake up a little before dawn.

The night air surrounds you, the windows open, as you sit and eat your pitiful breakfast in your pitiful kitchen, the cabinets stopping your chair from going too far back, the sink a little too close to the table. You wear the same clothes as the day before. Your body aches and your head rings from a faint hangover, and exhaustion ripples through you like chills. Through the windows, you can still see the moon, hovering above the horizon, faint in the gray light. 

You leave your house before the sun is fully up. Pale light filters into the hayloft windows, giving you some sight as you open the barn doors. The horses nicker to you, expecting their grain, weaving back and forth in their stalls or bobbing their elegant heads. You mindlessly fill their buckets with each individual’s specialized diet, mind elsewhere. 

Expect me tomorrow morning. 

When? How would he find the barn? You gave vague directions, hoping it would deter him. And, most importantly, what would he want once he got here? You couldn’t give him anything. You barely had enough to keep yourself going, to keep the days going. You worry that, although you have nothing to give, he’ll still decide to take. He’ll come with that bold intensity you saw the night before, and you’ll find yourself trapped, invisible walls closing in, with no strength to stand up.

Horses fed, you move on to saddling and riding your first horse. A stallion, with a sweeping, arched neck and muscles filled out to perfection, chestnut coat shining. He’s your stud, and you make some money off of selling his coverings. His registered name is Speed of Fire, ironic considering he was never fast enough to race, even before his injury, but you affectionately call him Draco. 

Dressage saddle girthed up, you swing your leg over his back and start your ride in the arena. You work through his warm up, making sure he stretches his body in the proper ways, then start asking for more intricate movements; canter pirouettes, passage, piaffe. Your breath comes short, your muscles tense and relax, your hips move with the motion of the horse, swinging. The sun rises. Faded warmth washes over you. It’s during these moments of synchrony when you forget who you are, forget your worries and the unsteady nature of your identity, and you get to focus solely on connection with another creature, communication so subtle it’s as though you’re reading each other’s minds. 

Halfway through your ride, you stop to give Draco a walking break and catch your breath. Your eyes scan the horizon above the hills, where deep pink and purple and bright, unending orange blend together as the sun makes its way up the sky. You glance towards the barn, where some of the horses watch you ride, having finished their hay, waiting for their turn. You look away, gathering your reins, preparing for another workout. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you halt your horse, head on a swivel to check around you. There, at the side of the arena, leaned up against the dusty metal railing, Thomas Shelby watches you quietly, his head tilted slightly, eyes tracking Draco’s movement. Your eyes meet, you on the towering stallion, but him taking up just as much presence with his expression alone. Air thins out around you, and you suck in a slow breath, not breaking contact with the stranger on your property. 

Then, as if possessed, your outside leg shifts back, and Draco steps quickly into a canter. Without thought, without planning, you find yourself doing what can only be described as showing off. Extended canter, collected canter. Tempi changes, canter pirouettes. You’re a finely tuned machine, each tiny movement a conversation with the horse, each silent shift eliciting a full response from him. 

By the time you’re done, Draco has sweat dripping down his neck, breathing hard, and lightheadedness swirls around you, making you take in slow breaths to steady yourself. You can feel his eyes on you, pointed, judgemental, and there’s a faint tremble in your hands gripping the reins. Staying on the horse gives you some protection; there’s not much someone can do to you while on horseback, unless he decides to shoot you, in which case, there’s nothing you can do. You trust Draco. He has a habit of pinning his ears and showing his teeth to strangers, snaking his neck towards them, though you’ve tried to train it out of him. Some stallions always have an edge to them.

You walk Draco to the arena gate, reaching out to push it open, but Thomas is already there, pulling it back to allow you out. You nod your head to him, voice once again stuck in your throat, branding you with the poetry of all the words you couldn’t speak. This time, though, your heart doesn’t jolt, your mind doesn’t go blank. He’s on your turf now.

“Beautiful animal.” He nods to Draco curtly as you walk by, as if unimpressed by your show of talent. His words defy him. “Beautiful ride.”

You nod again. Thanking him feels like handing him your power, like bowing your head and allowing him to judge. This is a game of reading silence, and you know how to win it. After a moment of hesitation, you dismount. You bring your horse over to the cross ties and tie him, giving him a treat from your pocket once the bit is out of his mouth. Thomas’ footsteps follow you, but you refuse to look at him, focusing on undoing the girth and pulling the saddle off. In your periphery, he stands, a dark figure surrounded by the grandeur of a sunrise in full force, undeserving of the golden outline it gives him. His hands in his coat pockets, his gaze on Draco, his cap pulled low over his eyes. Again, you catch a glint of metal along the rim. 

“Is he for sale?” He walks up to Draco’s neck, running a hand along the sweaty length of his neck. 

“No.” You turn and carry the saddle to the tack room, hefting it onto a rack and placing the pads on the rail underneath it to dry. You return to find Thomas by the horse’s head. You pause, watching them, hoping to go unnoticed. As usual, the stallion’s ears go back, his nose wrinkles, his neck arches. Thomas nods, continuing to stroke his neck, and says something you don’t understand. Another language, perhaps, one that sounds smooth, lyrical. Draco quiets, his liquid eye softening, though his ears stay pinned. Protective, not aggressive.

“He doesn’t trust you.” You walk over to grab a hose, waiting for Thomas to move so you can rinse the sweat off Draco. 

He doesn’t. “Name a price. I’ll meet it.”

“No.” You step forward, raising the hose, trying to make your intent clear. 

“Horse like him could get you out of a little house like that.” His fingers toy with Draco’s mane, still gentle, still looking into the horse’s eye. “Got no reason not to sell him.”

“He’s not for sale,” you insist, taking another step forward. 

His eyes shift to you, clear, icy blue and unreadable. “You don’t know who I am.”

“No. I don’t.” You point the hose towards him, a clear threat. “Move, please.”

“I’ll take you into town, then. Help you recon—”

You turn on the hose. A deluge of water sprays onto him, square in the chest, and he skitters out of the way, spooking Draco into a prance. You stand there, shocked by what you just did, then, in a spark of bravery you didn’t know you had, decide to commit to the bit. 

“You don’t get to intimidate me into selling my horse. You don’t get to decide that I’m going into town with you. Those are both my choices.” One hand on the still-running hose, the other preparing to kink it, you shift your shoulders to stand square in the soaked face of Thomas. “I don’t care who you are. Someone who doesn’t treat me with basic respect doesn’t deserve my time. Are we clear?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as his furious eyes turn to you. Holding his arms away from his dripping body, the layers of the suit completely wet, his hand slowly reaches up towards his cap. 

You step back, readying your hose, your only weapon. Blood pulses in your temples, all air seems to leave your lungs, and your hand begins to tremble as you wait for him to lunge. 

Instead, he wipes his face with it, then nods. “Really fucking clear.” 

“Good.” You kink the hose and shakily walk to turn it off. Back turned to him, you hold out your hands, watching them shudder with the spike of adrenaline. Then, slowly, you walk back, catching a moment of hilarity as Thomas attempts to squeeze water out of his suit and fails. You don’t quite feel safe enough to smile, but, at least, you feel a little better. 

“We can turn him out,” you say, nodding to Draco. “And I’ll get you a towel.”

“Turn him out,” he repeats, tense brow furrowing. 

“Put him in the arena and let him be a horse for a bit. No expectations.”

“Never heard of that.”

“Apparently you haven’t heard of much,” you snap. 

His eyes flick to you, almost brooding. You’ve never seen light eyes hold so much darkness. “Don’t bother with the towel. I’ll go.”

“Fine.” You turn back to Draco. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby.”

He scoffs, and starts off towards his car, parked in the dusty valley your property sits in. In your mind, a dialectic is born. You feel relieved, glad that you’ll never see him again. And, deep down, you’re disappointed. Maybe this could’ve been something more. Maybe you could’ve won a friend out of it. 

No. Stupid of you to have expected that. You are constantly looking for hope, expecting it to be soft and gentle, when in reality, hope is something with sharp teeth and a bloody, battered body. Hope is something that’s born of isolation. Hope is something man-made, purposeful, something you keep in a jar like a butterfly, and catch more once it dies. 

Hope is a man speaking gently to a fearful, aggressive horse, instead of punishing him. 

You shake your head. Stupid. 

But you can’t help but watch as the car drives off, hoping it will turn back. 

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Silco HCs

CW: Intimidation, kidnapping, manipulation, guilt tripping, gaslighting, and whatnot. Somewhat proof read :P

A/n: Soft yandere Silco?? He's desperate for human connection. Not much to say. Silco brain damage XD

Possessive, dominate, and manipulative

The smoothest manipulator you will ever encounter. He is brutal- Cruel with his ways of keeping you around his thin fingers. Just before you break, Silco knows exactly how to let you down easy with his iron grip.

"Aw, don't cry dear. You know I only do what is best for you. If you really think this is so bad, then go ahead and venture out into the lanes. Taint yourself in the thick air, polluted waters, the violence of whom i cannot control. I do think you rather not return to those conditions, no?"

Silco falls for you when you show your strengths and weaknesses. There's no facade or display when it comes to the thought of you. It's simply just the feeling your omit from your presence that softens his cold heart.

Would not dare to court you directly. Especially if you're from Zuan. He would show you his affections through messing with the stresses of your life. Money running thin? Oh why don't you look at that? An "old friend" sent you some cash. Job sucks? A business scout invites you to work at a larger company while you're doing errands.

If you're from Piltover, then he will try his best to fuck your life over. You seem to be pretty well off, so there isn't much fixing to do from afar. You will be stalked by his best, followed late at night, subtly threatened by a few strangers on the street, the ones close to you will leave and not say why, and so much more. Though, they will never be enough for you to take real legal action. Silco will chip away at you bit by bit, so when he finally has his grasp on you, it will be more of him "saving you" rather than kidnapping you.

Sometimes he visits your home and rummages through your stuff personally. Looks through photo albums, digital devices, inventory of food and whatnot, and clothing articles. His favorite thing to do is to lay in your bed- hug your messy blankets and lay in your scent. It's a drastic difference from his smoking habits. Cigars are so expensive, but intruding your home and melting in your presence is free.

Breaths in and out like he's on a machine. Like if he DOES NOT repeat the cycle of oxygen and carbon dioxide, he will fucking perish. Silco has been so deattached from love and physical touch, that this is his best replacement.

Would never admit doing this. He makes sure Sevika is guarding the front door at all times. One, to make sure you dont come home unexpectedly, and two, so that she doesn't know more than she needs to.

Bonus points if you can sway Jinx. Whether it be you talked her down during one of her fantastical massacres, or you happen to simply run into the time bomb of a girl- If she likes you, you're officially on his roster forever. No take backs.

When he takes you, it's slow and thorough. Most likely when you're peacefully asleep and somewhat unaware- a syringe is injected and you're relocated.

Silco keeps you in a select few locations in Zaun. Despite his access to luxury, he wants to remind you of what situation you're in. He will take care of you, but he will not coddle you.

Silco is an older man, so puppy love isn't much of a thing for him. By the way he creeps around your shit, you'd think he gets flustered just by the mention of your name, but no. He screams on the inside but is easily composed on the outside. Years of the undercity does that to a person you know?

But when he's angry? Oh when he's upset, he's goes off the rails. Usually, the origin of Silco's rages can be traced back to either your disrespect, or his thinning patience. He gets a bit physical and guilt trips the hell out of you. Grabs your face and pushes you down; Making you focus on how badly you fucked up.

"Do you think I enjoy you screaming at me? Through all those difficult times, I've been the one to have your back. From rent to keeping those who wanted nothing but to take advantage of you away- I've only cared for you. If it were up to them, they would've sold you out for just a vile of Shimmer! But me? No, no I would never would give you up for anything. Because I love you. I adore you Y/n. I do this not for my own gain, but because you deserve to be happy. Don't be fooled love..."

He would rather keep you away from his work. He wants to fall into your arms after a long day in the office and or running around trying to find Jinx. Silco doesn't need you to question his authority as future ruler of Zaun. He already deals with that from ungrateful underlings. He doesn't need that from you either.

Definition of touchy. Has a bad habit of invading your personal space out of nowhere and demanding your time of day. His favorite act of affection is holding and taking you in as you two stand. It's mighty awkward, but Silco thinks it's nice. Cuddling makes him feel too vulnerable and kind of childish, so this gives him somewhat of a limit.

Kiss him on the disfigured side of his face and he'll get sentimental. He won't cry much- maybe let a tear run down when you're not looking. He cherishes you so much despite his actions sometimes saying otherwise.

Silco doesn't feel ugly or extremely insecure because of the disfigurement. Rather he feels changed because of it. As he said, "I let a weak man die that day." Through years of living under the grime and corruption of Zaun, he's come to accept things as they are.

He does not give two shits what you do. As long as you don't die, run away, or mess with his plans, go at it. Obviously there is a limit to things, (Such as no explosives or Jinx-like foolery) but everything you used to do in your normal life is available. Other than being an independent person that is.

Silco doesn't stress too much if you run away. As long as you're in Zaun or Piltover, you will never really leave his grasp.

Being on the run in Zaun is some shoulder deep shit. He has eyes everywhere, so getting an update of your recapture isn't much but of an hour behind schedule.

If you somehow get to Piltover, he'll push everything and everyone out of the way to recapture you. Marcus better hope you're taken back soon. If not, Silco will have near impossible demands for him to carry out. Fuck the council, and fuck the citizens of Piltover. Silco cannot rest until you're dragged back down into the murky waters of Zaun and be drowned for your crimes against his heart.

But if you really aren't giving into things over a certain period of time, Silco will be forced to dispose of you. It's not you, it's him. He would crawl to the ends of the Earth for you, but the combination of his feelings and your blatant displeasure is just too much. He cannot falter- He will not wither because of something he foolishly called "love". So when he decides to get rid of you, he will come and do it personally. Cut off a weak part of him just as he did before.

[tozettastone]

I'm not going to finish this either, but I do think there should be some more fun casefic for the Akatsuki so one day perhaps I'll write one:

---

"You're the best person for the job," Konan admitted. Her eyes were hooded beneath the shadow of her thick dark hair, and her usually serene face was troubled. "But temperamentally you're unsuitable. I wouldn't ask you if I had another option. If Sasori were still here..."

"Itachi?" Kakuzu prodded. It was true that a casino wasn't really the kind of environment in which Kakuzu thrived. He didn't enjoy gambling, partying, or networking.

Sasori wouldn't have been a perfect match, either. He lacked the patience for cover work. But he could count cards, and he had been very beautiful, and had enjoyed being on display.

But there was no use in wishing for the dead to come back.

"I tried. Itachi is sick."

"Still?" He had been getting sicker and sicker, lately. Kakuzu's eyes narrowed.

"Not still. Again." Was that better or worse? "It shouldn't be more than two weeks. The main problem I foresee is the attention."

"I'm not shy," Kakuzu said drily.

He took the mission request from her and examined it. It seemed fairly standard: show up, stay at the same table as Mizashi-san, and find out who he was meeting and why across the ten days of his proposed stay at the event. It was a closed and private event, with heavily vetted security and staff, so the path of least resistance was to buy in as a guest and player. Kakuzu could see that.

Konan sighed quietly. "It's not that. Every high roller in the room will have a companion. It's the fashion now."

"A prostitute?"

"An escort, yes." Konan was, as always, unflappable. "These men and women make good money that way. At the moment we plan to send you unattached, and in that case you should expect to attract a certain amount of... attention." She met his eyes head on. "You can't get frustrated and kill the sex workers."

Kakuzu would have been annoyed by this faithless assessment of his temper... had it been sent less accurate. It was hard to muster irritation when he knew Konan had seen him do that kind of thing at least four times.

"I could bring my own... escort," he said slowly.

There were people Kakuzu had managed to work well with, over his time in the Akatsuki. And they weren't as few and far between as it sounded, either: his habit of killing the people with whom he worked poorly had rather separated the wheat from the chaff, in an intra-organisation sense.

"I'm not temperamentally suited to this mission, either," Konan refuted flatly.

"No," he agreed.

"...Surely you don't want to take Hidan on a cover mission?" Konan's dark eyebrows rose. "To a private party at a casino?"

"Deidara," Kakuzu corrected. Itachi would have been his first pick, but if Itachi had been well enough to complete the mission, Kakuzu would never have even seen this scroll.

Konan blinked. "Deidara," she repeated.

"Yes. Deidara."

"Uh, yeah," came Deidara's voice from the vicinity of the doorway. He was covered in dust and had the defiant air about him that made Kakuzu suspect he'd blown up something important. It was clear in the pugnacious set of his jaw. "That's me?"

Konan turned towards him too. Her eyes lingered on the clay dried to his hem. Her lips thinned.

"Ah. Deidara," she sighed. "Come in. It seems you're right on time."