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y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months

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Gods and Clergy: Bhaal

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

I'm in a Durge and Orin mood, so we're getting the full details on Bhaal and his priesthood now. Fun fact, did you know the Dark Urge couldn't even die without Daddy's permission?

Featuring:

Intro: Do you realise this cult is basically a crime syndicate supported by the rich and powerful?

Priests: Hierarchy. Responsibilities. Murder. I rather like the ceremonial regalia, personally.

Deathstalkers: Teleporting! Killing people with your mind! Unlimited ressurections courtesy of Bhaal!! And yet more crazy shit!

Bhaal: Kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day. Also mortal backstory and the Slayer is absolutely nothing like the games depict it

Right then, "Bhaal awaits thee," and blah.

"Make all folk fear Bhaal. Let your killings be especially elegant, or grisly, or seem easy so that those observing them are awed or terrified. Tell folk that gold proffered to the church can make the Lord of Murder overlook them for today." - Bhaal's Dogma

Unsurprisingly for an ex-assassin, Bhaal is the patron god of assassins. Assassins, mercenaries, bounty hunters who aren't bringing their quarry in alive and, presumably, executioners all tend to send a prayer to Bhaal for success. Faithful were called Bhaalyn in the East and Bhaalists in the West. As BG3 takes place in Western Faerûn we'll use the latter.

Amongst these assassin worshippers we find the oh-so healthy individuals for whom killing is more than a job. These killers who regard their murders as a "pastime and a duty" join the clergy.

That said, Bhaalists do not murder indiscriminately. The taking of another life is a holy act, a lot of thought and planning goes into both the kill itself as well as what impact the death may have upon the world. Once the target is slain, they are to smear the victim's blood over their hands and draw Bhaal's symbol by the body with it. If Bhaal is pleased then the blood will vanish.

Bhaal supports and encourages his followers attaining wealth and comfort (it's a good hook to draw them in, and it makes him look good if his followers are successful), and in exchange for their worship his priest-assassins receive the priest spells and administer to the lay worshippers, who benefit second-hand. The assassins have an easier time killing people and getting rich and Bhaal profits from more prayer and death. A win for everyone (who didn't die in the process).

Bhaalist temples historically have spent their time founding and sponsoring guilds of assassins and thieves, including infamous organisations such as the Shadow Thieves of Amn. These guilds survived their patron's death, and while they were mostly businesses throughout the years of Bhaal's death many still paid homage (although there was some confusion involving his replacement, Cyric) and have presumably resumed worship. There's a massive old temple still functioning over in Thay; the Tower of Swift Death, and the assassins work closely with the Red Wizards who rule the country.

Bhaalists have no tolerance for rival guilds and organisations not following Bhaal (which would make them independent of their control) and will eliminate them. They will also root out anybody in the area that will attempt to oppose or otherwise interfere in their business and ensure they have freedom to go about their jobs/worship.

Their other job is to ensure the church has a steady income. They terrorise the commoners into paying tithes in exchange for safety from being sacrificed this tenday (a protection racket, basically) while leaving "economically and socially important individuals live unharmed." I mean, the peasantry have far less enemies to assassinate and gold to spend, so. Plus the rich and powerful are brilliant at turning a blind eye to crime when it benefits them, as well as making sure the evidence never sees the light of day - know which side your bread is buttered on, and all. Baldur's Gate has no law against the worship of Bhaal. Why do you think the original temple exists, after all? Bhaalists actively seek out and sway such potential patrons who would be... amenable to sponsoring and protecting their technically-legal church and its not so-legal activities in exchange for their services.

Urban temples of Bhaal are usually dark, subterranean affairs built under the city streets, containing countless branching tombs that are home to the bodies of the clergy's victims - said victims are usually wandering around down there as restless undead.

Bhaal's clergy can be recognised as Bhaalists by their ceremonial robes - full body robes of black or deep purple with a deep cowl. The robes will be randomly and violently streaked with flashes of violet. Their entire face is fully obscured by a black veil, to both hide their identity and make it appear as though the hood is empty for the intimidation factor.

The leader of the church in an area is the High Primate/Primistress, who can be identified by a red belt/sash they wear over their robes and the fancy curved ceremonial dagger that marks them as a high ranking priest and a specialty priest known as a Deathstalker - more about them in a moment.

High Primates spent much of their time planning the proper strategies of manipulating nearby rulers, inhabitants, and organizations into the deeds and behaviour that the Bhaalyn desired.

The High Primate is directly served by the First Deaths, who in turn can call upon a council of the nine most senior clergy; the Cowled Deaths. Below them were the regular priests, who were known collectively as the Deathdealers and are referred to by the title Slaying Hand. A Bhaalist rises in the ranks by hunting and ritually killing a target with nothing but their bare hands, which they will then report to a higher ranking priest who will confirm that they are being truthful. If they are then there's a party, and a ritual sacrifice is held to celebrate.

When on a job they dress in black - in the form that suits whatever their preferred method of killing in. Leather armour, mage robes, whatever.

Bhaalists pray to their god before sleep. In the temple the entire congregation comes together to pray in a formal ceremony called "Day's Farewell"). Bhaalists are also to pray before setting out on a murder.

Bhaalists only observe one holy day. It's the Feast of the Moon, a continent-wide holiday for honouring the dead and honouring one's ancestors. Bhaalists have their own spin on it where they remember dead Bhaalists and celebrate with stories of murder to honour them.

All Bhaalists are to commit a murder every tenday at midnight, should they be unable to fulfil this duty then they are to kill two people in place of the one who should've died that day. Before the victim dies, the murderer is to ensure that they know their killer and that they died as a sacrifice to the God of Death; "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."

The specialty priests of Bhaal, those who dedicate their devotion and worship no god other than him, are the Deathstalkers.

One does not have to be a cleric to join the ranks, though the majority are. Rogues, rangers, barbarians and fighters are the most common, but all classes make an appearance (and most are multiclassed clerics)

To become a Deathstalker one must have murdered sixteen sapient creatures in sixteen different methods with sixteen different weapons. This presumably is also the rite of passage to becoming a member of the Brethren of the Keen Strike - an order of Bhaalist assassins to which all Deathstalkers belong.

Distressingly for people who aren't Bhaalist, Bhaal's Deathstalkers regained their Bhaalist abilities around 1372 DR, following the end of the Bhaalspawn Crisis, and resumed their duties, spreading death and terror in his name as they worked to bring him back to full power. The most popular argument for how the priests of a dead deity were getting their spells is that another god - likely Cyric, was granting them spells disguised as Bhaal. However, in the wake of the Bhaalspawn Crisis and the wave of fear felt towards Bhaal that resulted (which counts as prayer), the rumour mill became very fond of the idea that, despite how the crisis ended, Bhaal had still managed to resurrect at least some scrap of himself through that fear and the God of Murder was haunting the Realms once more.

The various abilities Bhaal gifts to his Deathstalkers include the following:

[From 3.5e] The ability to identify key weaknesses in a target by studying them for only a few moments, killing them in a single strike. They are also supernaturally good at stabbing people with their ceremonial daggers.

[3.5e] The ability to tap into the hatred of a person, stoking it into homicidal rage and direct it at another person who they will kill in a mindless bloody rage (also called the Urge to Slay, an ability Bhaal himself has)

[3.5e] Bhaal's own inability to just fucking stay dead - a Deathstalker Bhaal doesn't want dead will come back to life an hour after it is killed, with a single hit point left. During the time prior to resurrection they are an actual corpse.

[2e] They can point at a person, sending necrotic energy coursing through them and causing them significant damage, agony and possibly death.

[2e] They can inflict severe wounds on a person just by thinking it.

[2e] They can teleport! A Deathstalker can teleport themselves (and other people, if they're powerful enough) to the Throne of Blood and from there they can teleport to anywhere on Toril that isn't protected by warding magic. Bhaal won't do anything to protect Deathstalkers while they're in the Lower Planes - if you're strong enough to get yourself here, you're strong enough to get yourself out.

[2e] They can affect the emotions of those around them, reversing whatever emotions an individual is feeling towards them into its polar opposite.

[2e] They can accelerate the entropic aging process of objects.

Bhaal himself is "violent, cruel and hateful at all times." Being in the presence of the living fills him with an overwhelming urge to kill and destroy. He presents himself as either on the verge of a violent rampage or cold and ruthlessly calculating depending on which suits the occasion best. A Lawful Evil deity, his domain is the Throne of Blood in the first layer of the Lower Plane of Gehenna (Khalas), part of Bane's domain (Banehold). Hilariously, not a single Baldurs Gate game has got this right. BG2:SoA claimed it was the Hells, BG2:ToB changed to the Abyss and, for some reason, BG3 has put it in the Grey Wastes.

Bhaal served Bane, and was in turn served by Loviatar (goddess of pain) and Talona (goddess of disease).

His holy symbol is the Circle of Tears; clue in the name, it's a skull surrounded by teardrops of blood forming a circle.

Bhaal rarely manifested in avatar form. When he did, his main avatar in urban areas was the Slayer, which was not a four armed scaly monster:

"The Slayer look[s] like a corpse with a feral face, [bloodless] skin, and deep lacerations that endlessly [weep] black ichor that vanish[es] before it strikes anything."

It makes no noise at all when it moves. it can talk (its softly spoken and sounds creepy). It can levitate at will and summon floating daggers made of bone, that appeared and disappeared at will. They would cause any living flesh they hit to wither and die. Creatures slain this way would rise again as zombies under its control - or have its skeleton shattered into more bone daggers. Enough of these daggers form an area-of-effect; a wall made of a flurry of sharp shards of bone that would trap the soul of anyone they killed. Oh, yeah, and the Slayer can also inflict the overwhelming urge to murder everyone around you on the people around it.

Bhaal's other avatar was the Ravager, which was mostly an angry 30-foot tall giant with horns.

While in either avatar form, Bhaal also had the ability to create any form of undead loyal to him by touching a corpse (greater undead like vampires would be free once they'd completed whatever task he'd assigned them). He could also immediately destroy any undead, turning them to dust at a touch. Bhaal cannot be harmed by the undead.

Rather than using his avatars, Bhaal usually just manifested as a pair of flying undead hands that can shoot bone daggers at people. Or a laughing human skull trailing teardrops. Both these manifestations are capable of speech, casting darkness and driving everybody into a mindless bloodthirsty rampage - you might have noticed he really loves this trick.

He also invented his own undead monsters, the Harrla of Hate. Harrla are invisible creatures, which if you use magic to see them appear like human shaped wavering impressions. Guess what they do?? If you guessed "fill people with a sense of overpowering hatred and drive people into committing homicide" get yourself a fucking cookie!! (This isn't said anywhere in canon, but Bhaal has less imagination than a chunk of rock, I swear to god...)

According to one version of the story; in life Bhaal was a Netherese mortal wizard named Tharlagaunt Bale. He was one of a few hand picked by Jergal to bear a fragment of the god's divinity and raised from a young age to serve him (a Chosen, basically). Hilariously, one of the others was Karsus. These Chosen were promised godhood for their service as they set about performing a ritual to increase Jergal's waning power and make him one of the most powerful deities. Karsus chose to try and make himself a god instead and blew up the Weave, destroying Netheril and the plan and killing all of his coworkers except Bale.

Bale got a job as an assassin, changed the spelling to Bhaal and dropped his first name, teamed up with a bitter ex-slave with no name except the title "Bane of the Ancients" and a necromancer prince called Myrkul Bey al-Kursi.

His other backstory features him as Arabhal; the spymaster and chief assassin of the Netherese City of Rdiuz, and an ally of Bane. The two became unwitting paws of Jergal, who directed them through nightmares to do his bidding and slay various primordial divinities who threatened his plans.

Regardless of backstory, they all grabbed more divinity by killing an ancient god (also Bane's ex-master) and then he went knocking on his old boss' door for that godhood he was promised (Jergal at this point had embraced depression and just went "yeah, whatever, have it. Idgaf, I'm retiring." Or was manipulating them into becoming his divine pawns. There's more than one take on this story.) and Bhaal walked off the god of murder.

He learned of a prophecy predicting he would die when his stupid ex-travelling companions would decide to piss of Ao who would then kick all the gods out and make them mortal, and Bhaal then decided to sleep with what seems to be at least 25% of Faerûn to produce kids who would hold fragments of himself so that they could all fight to the death and he could resurrect himself afterwards. He was killed by the soon-to-be-god Cyric not far from Baldur's Gate during the Time of Troubles. Cyric proceeded to take his job, and there was a huge fight between Bhaalists who converted and those who didn't and the converts killed all the holdouts.

The rest of the backstory is basically just the original Baldur's Gate games.

#Durge is basically a crime boss #Also; Bhaal please have more than one fucking idea for once in your fucking miserable life I AM BEGGING YOU #dark urge #orin the red #long post #bg3 #durge #the dark urge #baldurs gate 3

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spacedace · 1 month

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Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

#batman #batman au #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #dc penguin #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #dick grayson robin #bruce wayne #the joker #tim drake #dc robin #gotham city #open season au #i don't go in for Jason being the 'angry' robin or the 'violent' robin #he was the lil chainsmoking ball of sunshin robin that made sure to do his homework first before going out to fight crime #dick was the scariest robin because he was BOTH incredibly violent & full of rage AND a ball of sunshine & unrelenting hope #Jason was a Gotham kid (an Alley Kid) and I think a lot of the rogues would have respected that #dick got his respect by teaching them how many of their bones a tiny 9 year old could break in a single kick #feel like there's a scene in the extended au in which Tim gets kidnapped but instead of being held for ransom or threatened #it's just the Rogues aggressively mother-henning him and trying to make sure he's alright #Dick gets a call from Harley later that the newest Robin is fine he and Riddler are coming up with deadly traps together #No she doesn't see anything wrong with that - it's just some enrichment activities for them - why do you ask?

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disneyprincemuke · 5 days

Text

build me up * ls2

two hit men, one target: each other. the problem? you're soulmates.

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!reader

trope: soulmates destined to kill each other

wc: 1.2k

(f1 masterlist) | (falling in reverse)

logan’s not a murderer per se. well, he kinda is. but with a purpose; he’s not just going around killing people for no reason.

there’s always a reason.

but when he’d been assigned to take down an assassin of some sort, he almost hesitated. because it was you and well, the bias is very simply explainable: you’re very beautiful.

he’s a hitman — not a robot. he can still find people attractive.

he’d been contracted to take out the person sneaking up on the big people he’s working for. naturally, they’d want you taken out.

he’s followed you around for a couple of hours now, trying to find a perfect time to lunge at you and make it quick. there wouldn’t be much to admire seeing when the world is still very much monochrome in his eyes.

he wondered, watching you devour your dinner just an hour ago, if there was somebody that would mourn your death. not in a psychopathic manner, just in a sense that he’s also all alone.

ever since he’d taken the genius career path to be a hitman of some sorts, it’d been easier to be by himself. nobody to look after, and nobody in danger from the things he’s gotten himself into.

his want to eventually meet his soulmate and see the world in colour would have to wait. it might even need to be scratched off from his list completely.

when he comes home to an empty apartment, nobody in it but his dog happily wagging its tail up at him, he gets the urge to drop everything to pursue the life he wanted. a nice home somewhere discreet with his soulmate and maybe kids.

his picture perfect future gets the best of him sometimes. he’s got his letter of resignation collecting dust in the bottom of his email drafts but whenever he comes close to hitting send, there’s hesitation.

because what if he doesn’t actually ever find his soulmate? does that mean that he would have to go about life in black and white all by himself?

so logan doesn’t ever send the email out. he will just have to eventually find the time to deal with the inevitable loneliness looming over him.

it’s not an easy lifestyle: trying to be a hitman for a big corporation and desire for normalcy.

logan follows behind you, slowly and quite a distance, into an alleyway. he keeps a hand against the cold material of the gun stowed away underneath his jacket — for comfort — and to finish you off fast.

your sigh echoes in the empty alleyway as your footsteps come to a slow halt. you kick the ground slightly and drop your head, starting to dig for something in your bag.

and that’s his cue.

but just as he launches to get you, he finds himself frozen when he hears a click. there’s a barrel of a gun pointed right at him with your back still turned to him.

instinctively, he draws his gun out, pointed right back at you. and he finds himself in a situation.

“do you think i’m stupid?” you mutter with sarcasm. “i know when i’m being followed.”

you whirl around and logan almost drops to his knees. he finds the boring black and white motif that he once thought he would never get rid of, slowly fading away. he can decipher the warm glow of the orange lights in the alleyway and the colour of your skin and the colour of your hair.

you don’t mask your shock very well. you flinch and your hand falters when the bright green of logan’s eyes greet you when you turned and locked eyes with him.

your gaze softens as you try to figure out what’s happening. only then it hits you that this man who has a gun pointed right at you is your soulmate.

you steady your arm immediately and tighten your grip on the gun. “i noticed you the minute i stepped out of the restaurant,” you say lowly, “why are you following me?”

logan lifts both of his hands in surrender, his gun pointed into the air. “are you just going to ignore what happened?”

the colour of your eyes mesmerises logan. to hell with his task, there’s a more pressing matter: he can see colours.

colours that seemed like a mere myth, growing up with parents who would describe it to him all the time with the biggest smiles. he wonders now if his eyes are as beautiful as his mother would tell him when he was growing up.

if he cared to ask you, you would say they’re the best thing to be greeted with. but that’s not important.

just like every other kid, growing up, he always thought what it would be like to meet his soulmate and watch the world transition to something he’s only ever heard his friends talk about growing up.

it wasn’t until the reality of losing a soulmate struck him when he was 19, when he lost his mother. and eventually watched his father grieve, and then lost him too.

and friends of friends bear stories of losing their soulmates, describing it as the most devastating feeling. he decided at 20 that he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that pain.

so logan distracted himself training at some shooting range down the street. some burly man liked what he saw and recruited him.

and now here he is.

“i’m not fucking around with you.” you keep your guard up walking towards him and logan doesn’t move another inch. “i know you’re not here to mug me, so what gives?”

logan’s eyes trail down to the gun barrel now pressed against his chest. he lifts his eyes with a small smile. “would it help if i said i think you’re pretty?”

you dig the barrel into his chest. logan stumbles a step back. “i will kill you without thinking twice.”

“okay!” logan whines. “i was… i’m being paid to kill you.” he watches the annoyance on your face grow. “but please, acknowledge what just happened.”

you look up at him, trying to figure out if he’d just make an attempt for your life either way. you snap your head at the item still in his hand and he follows your stare. “i’ll unarm it,” he offers. “please, let’s just talk.”

“one wrong move, i’ll shoot you in the leg,” you threaten, gesturing your head towards the ground.

you weren’t shy of falling victim to great love stories of meeting your soulmate. you watched your best friend and her soulmate tear each other to the brink of insanity trying to make it work, evidently throwing in your face how it’s all just an illusion, and gave up on it.

the story of how you landed a job as an assassin is a long story, deriving from your childhood and your parents’ businesses growing up. all there is to know is that you’ve been here almost your entire life, courtesy of your parents.

given the brutality of all of your lines of businesses, you often think about how they managed to make their marriage work.

seeing colour has always been emphasised in yout society. it’s a magical moment, you’ve heard people say. but nobody ever tells you what to do when you’re meant to kill the other.

and you’re curious… you’re thinking, what now?

frankly, logan is thinking the same thing.

gen taglist: @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @localwhoore @namgification

series taglist: @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @lozzamez3 @haikyuu-carat @bicchaan @ @cinnamongirlontv

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke fir

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gauloiseblue · 10 days

Text

Medic!Reader × Poly!141

Part I | Part II | Part III

[TW: attempted rape, a little bit of violence]

A/N: I'm gonna highlight the TW part so you can scroll down to skip it

It'd be thrilling for you to be on your first mission, if not for the fact that Graves himself requested it

You have the ideas, but not getting the ideas on why at the same time

You could see why he recruited you to the field, but you're not among the best medic out there, you're just a new recruit so you're basically unqualified for such missions.

If his intention is to get into your pants, well… you won't know what to do

If he's the type who likes to chase women around, then it's easier for you to be the 'easy target' for him. But at the same time, you shudder at the possibility of having to sleep with him

On the flight to the field, you mull over the choices you have

"Johnny."

"Hm?"

"Would you be…. Would you…. Hm," Your face scrunched, "... No, that sounds wrong."

"Wha' is it? Spill it out."

"... Would you be my fake boyfriend for a while? Okay, let me explain first."

Still, he wears the bewildered face, even after you explain everything

"I don't mind, but is it really necessary?" He furrows his brows

"I know it doesn't make sense, but hear me out. You knew what kind of letters he sent to me, you said it yourself that he's getting bolder each day, and trust me when I said that I have known this kind of man my whole life. They won't stop until they get what they want."

"Seems like yer an asshole magnet." He chuckled, "On a serious note, don't ye think he'll get more aggressive after knowin' that you 've a 'boyfriend'?"

"You're right." You rub your face in frustration, "But I don't have a choice, I don't wanna sleep with him."

He thought for a second. "I'll see what I do." He then wraps his arm around your neck, tugging on you in a joking manner, "But don't you think I could misunderstand your request?"

"No, you're just not the type." You laugh, "Besides, I can't see anyone in the team who would be willing to help me, for this kind of stuff…"

"... Now tha' I think 'bout it, yer right."

Upon arrival, the soldier tells the team to move immediately to the base. You're only given 5 minutes to settle down before briefing

To say that the briefing is unpleasant… is an understatement

While the commander gives an introduction for the team, you feel an uncomfortable gaze on you

You don't have to guess it, because when you lift your head, you can see Graves' been eyeing you

It feels like an eternity before it's over

Even then, it's not really over. Because once the commander is done with his speech, Graves casually mentions that he need to talk to Price in private, while not looking away from you

Thankfully, Price dismissed you from accompanying him

Back at the new base, you notice that your room is quite separated from the rest of the team, and that Price's room is farthest away from you

The closest one from your quarter is Ghost, and you can't see yourself asking him for help

That is, until 3 days have passed, and you find two cockroaches under the bed

You scream and jump, and sprint out of the room

And somehow you bump into him in the hallway before you can even acknowledge who's there

(If you knew who it was, you'd rather stay in your room, even with those cockroaches)

He's slightly annoyed by the incident, but asks you what's wrong. You swallow your pride and tell him that you saw cockroaches

"You can just step on it."

"... I'm too afraid to do that."

Seems like your scream attracted more attention, as you saw Gaz and Soap getting out from their room as well, asking if something's up

Ghost gives him a brief explanation, making Soap laughs out loud

"Jeesus, I thought we were under attack or something."

"We should kill them then." Gaz suggested

"Don't kill them." You said

"What'd ye wanna do then? Lettin' them be and hopin' that they'll politely leave yer room?"

"No, just… put them outside or something."

"Ya think they won't come back again?"

While you're busy bickering with Soap, Ghost slips into your room and takes care of it. You only realize it when he comes back with 2 cockroaches dangling in his hand, still wiggling

You almost screamed the second time if you didn't immediately hide behind Gaz

"You still wanna let these things loose?"

"Yes—yes, put them outside—"

And he obeys it without question

Which is surprising, to say the least

While you're grateful that your problem was solved, it actually creates more problems in the future. Because Soap would literally chase you around with a cockroach in his hand (and you have no idea where he gets it)

He'll get scolded by either Price or Ghost though

Anyway, besides the bugs and hot weather, you get used to your new en pretty quickly, as well as your job

Treating minor wounds, talking to injured soldiers, writing and sorting documents, all the usual stuff

You already knew that it wouldn't be easy to treat soldiers in the active warzone, but your team clearly been spoiling you

Most of the soldiers would either scream in pain, or scream at you, and sometimes even both. You attempt to use "You can complain about it later when we finish." but it doesn't work

You could bear it for a few weeks, before you got fed up and straight up running your mouth

"Look, if you wanna get uneven stitches and unnecessary infections, you can keep going. Go on and stress me out, so I will fuck it up."

And when they're still mad at you, you hit them with "I'm gonna report all of your complaints to Captain Price, he's my superior after all. State your name and complain to me, I'll tell him myself."

You felt bad borrowing Price's name, but that's the only thing that made them shut up

Sometimes you hear them muttering "Price's whore" under their breath, but you could care less

You also help other medics when the soldiers straight up humiliate them, by saying that you'll send your report to Graves. It works wonder as well

That is, until the man itself shows up in front of your room when you're just about to call it a day

"I see you've been conducting your survey in the field for me. What was it again? The 'soldier's satisfaction on medic's service'?"

You're actually taken aback by it, but you kept your composure

"I just thought that it's best for the upper rank to hear their complaints, for a reason that they're the one who decides what's the best course of action for the medic."

He chuckles at your explanation, "You're smart, I like that." He then says, "But y'know, borrowing my name for it isn't very wise of you. I can just punish you for that, but I'll let it slide this time."

"Thank you sir, I won't do it again."

"Oh, no. Keep doing it." He put his hand on your shoulder, giving enough weight to emphasize his point, "But keep Price's name out of it. If they complain about you, you should tell them that I would like to request their presence immediately."

After your encounter with him, you feel a sense of dread inside your chest, as if you've been opening a pandora box

Because the next day, Graves decides to oversee the medics' work by himself

Not only that, he'd ask the soldier if they need anything more from the medic, as if he's doing an inspection

His presence gives everyone in the room a tension

One soldier quietly murmurs "This is a warzone, and not a whorehouse for God's sake."

You pretended you didn't hear him

The news about him reach to your own team, and Soap is the first one who confront you about it

"What were ya thinking? Using his name as if you knew him personally?"

"I had to, if not, they're gonna harass the other medics and slow us down."

"Did'ya even think about the consequences? Did it ever cross your mind?"

You want to object him, but you know he's right

"... Sorry, I didn't mean ta shout. It's just that," He presses his hand on his chin, "It's more serious than I thought. Graves wouldn't even bother checking his deputy."

"What should I do then? Should I just… go along with it or ignore him?"

"Don't ever think about ignoring him, it'll only make him excited."

"Then, if I go along with him…?"

"Don't do that either."

He proceeded to explain the probability of him using you for a selfish reason, and it's likely for him to keep you to himself via blackmail

"Okay, then what should I do exactly?"

"Let's see." He thought for a moment, "You could keep doing what you do… no, he'll just prolong your contract." He hummed, forehead creased, "... I think you have to have a rival."

His suggestion causes you to frown, "A rival? Where can I find her? Are there any girls who like him?"

"There's a lot, actually."

He starts to tell you a few names that have caught Graves' attention, from the korean soldier, to the senior in your work

"I don't know…" You bit your lip, "It seems wrong to use my own senior."

"Ye don't have a lot of choice." He shrugs, "They a'ready 've a feelin' for him anyway, ye just need to create the spark between them. Though it'll be hard for ya to do since ye rarely met her, moreover the two of 'em."

"... Okay, we'll see about that."

Several days have passed, and for the first time after your arrival that the fortune goddess smiles at you

You're on your way to Price's office when you spot a brunette girl talking with Graves, and you realize that she's one of the girls Soap talked about

For a split second, your brain decides to prepare a trap, which he falls into without struggle

You've known jealousy for half of your life, mainly from the men you've dated before, so it's easy for you to replicate

And it worked. He really thinks you are, and riles you up by pulling the girl close by her waist

He tugs a smile of satisfaction when you freeze, before passing them with your head down

You continued doing it for 3 to 4 times, while successfully avoiding him in the process. You begin to see him less and less, to the point that you're so sure you're free from him

Until you receive an invitation to a party, hosted by the suspected "businessman" in the neighboring country, delivered by Graves himself

"You're the perfect girl for this mission." He smirks, "It'll be a good time for us to be together, to make up for the time we've lost."

"Uh…." You stare at the invitation on his hand, unable to think, "I… don't think I'm the right person for it, sir. I'm just a medic, I haven't even completed my self-defense training yet."

"I certainly don't mind it if you become a damsel in distress." He teased, which irked you so badly, you almost broke your charade, "Trust me, I know you'll do a great job on it. You'll fit right in with the riches, just like me."

"Well, thank you for the compliment, but really, I'm not cut out of this job. I'm sure Gillian from the intelligent team is more suitable for it."

He let out a sigh, not even hiding the impatience in his breath, "So you'll deny the order from your superior?"

It's enough to shut you up immediately, and you reluctantly shake your head. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

"Good girl." He smiles at you, satisfied, "We'll depart by tomorrow morning, make sure you come on time."

Turns out, Gaz and Ghost are also on the mission. Gaz lights up when he sees you, although a little puzzled because you're not supposed to be on this kind of mission. You have no time to explain to him because Graves already pulls you to the cockpit, separating you with 2 other men

Fast forward, after the disastrous preparation and changing the dress at the last minute (because Graves picked up the most revealing dress that didn't suit you at all), you settle with a long slitted dress and simple makeup.

The party is decent, (you've been to bigger, more extravagant parties, that's why) there's champagne, free buffet, and a chatty host

Graves immediately approaches the man, exchanging greetings and all, while you stick to your role as an arm candy

Before the party, all the members got a briefing about their assignments. Graves would be the one who observes the situation and gives commands, Gaz would be the sniper and distraction so Ghost could sneak in to get the files and the man himself. You didn't get anything, so you assumed you're just an arm candy, until the man offered you a tour to his wine cellar, and you immediately knew that you're the bait

You don't like him one bit, and the fact that you're being used as bait makes you hate him more. He makes a lot of inappropriate jokes and touches, as well as a racist statement when Gaz is captured (he gets the news from the phone)

You try to grin and bear it, until he grabs your ass and presses himself against you. You struggle against him, and he doesn't take it too kindly as he punches your face with his fist full of rings

It hurts a lot that your ear is ringing from the impact. By the time you gain your senses, he's already on top of you, ripping your dress open

"Graves is a good friend of mine, he wouldn't mind if I play with his girls for a while."

You should've taken the self-defense class

It feels like eternity before you hear the door open, and a heavy step comes in. It takes around 3 seconds before the man collapses, with a small arrow on his back

You turn around to see Ghost with black tactical suit, and a different mask, which is just a plain black mask

You quickly cover yourself, fumbling with the remaining of your dress before you hear him calling your name. He calls you with a hushed tone, almost as if he's calling a wounded dog, which is quite accurate, since you don't realize you've been hyperventilating

"Look at me." He commanded, "Take a deep breath… and breathe out. Good, keep it going."

He asks you if you can stand up, and you slowly nod. But as you try to do so, the dress keeps slipping away from your body. Seeing you struggle, he decides to lend you his vest

"Cover yourself with it, and then we leave."

You and him leave the room, with the man on his shoulder, deep in slumber

Back at the makeshift base, they tie the man up on a chair

While Graves and Ghost take care of him, you go to the other room to take care of your swollen cheek. By the time you look in the mirror, it's already blooming red

You make a cold compress for your face, and you hiss at the sharp pain. You sit on the edge of the bed for a while, before you hear people walk in

"What's u— Oh no, what happened to your face?"

You look at Gaz, it seems like he escaped without hassle. "Nothing, just got punched by the package."

"Let me see… Damn, you got a cut."

"No wonder it stings."

He then helps you cleaning the wound, and when he pours the alcohol on the cotton, you stop him

"Let it be."

"Won't it get infected?"

"No, it's a shallow cut. See? The bleeding has stopped."

He chuckles, "I'll trust the medic then."

You both talk for a bit, before Ghost comes in

"We'll be leaving at dawn, make sure you get everything ready."

At dawn, as you and the crew enter the aircraft, you take a glance at the abandoned warehouse to see the man on the chair, unmoving. Graves seems to take notice of it, before he leans in and whispers, "Don't be sorry, he took it upon himself. He shouldn't have touched what's mine."

For a moment, you're filled with so much rage, that you forgot all of your play pretend. "I'm not an object you can play with, Graves." You retorted, words were filled with poison, "I'm not yours, and I will never be."

Which was a mistake, because the minute you said that, his eyes changed almost immediately. And you didn't like it at all

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #price x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #platonic relationships #price cod #soap cod #ghost cod #gaz cod #graves cod #graves is an asshole in here

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 months

Text

Here, Allow Me ~ D.G.

A/n: Another one check marked :) It's still not the one I promised but uh... I hope that's okay. I've been struggling to write rip

Request: “ZATANNA MALE READER X DICK GRAYSON, they go on a mission together and dick and reader get hurt but dick more so and reader teleports them somewhere trying to keep him alive while help arrives. end it fluffy please” by anon

Word Count: 2900+

MASTERLIST

There were certain things you just had to accept if you were going to date Dick Grayson. One of them was that he would always be in the field. Whether or not he was Robin or Nightwing, or even Batman, the suit would always be apart of his life. Another thing you had to accept: You would have to just keep up.

It wasn't easy to match pace with anyone in the Batfam, let alone someone you were dating. It was a little easier for Y/n though. After all, he had magic.

Everyone associated Y/n was Zatanna, but he had trained with John Constantine first. It was an accidental situation, but expected when a demon with a grudge against Constantine met a young, impressionable kid with a bone to pick with the world. He'd wormed his way into Constantine's life playing as someone born with magic he couldn't control and had gotten training from the man himself. Which allowed Y/n to get more powerful as he learned more and more about his target up close and personally - weaknesses and abilities alike.

Y/n was the only one who'd ever gotten close to defeating Constantine, and almost got killed doing it. But when he revealed himself as a secret bad guy - well, Batman was impossible to fool. He'd prepared for this, seeing Y/n's anger and noticing the way his magic was almost alive - not something inborn, but something almost separate that worked to keep him alive. That was actually how Y/n and Dick had first met - when the Young Justice had come to Constantine's aide and saved his ass. At the time he'd been dating Zatanna, but that hadn't lasted much longer.

It had been rough at first. They'd had to find the demon behind Y/n, and Zatanna had banished it and destroyed the link between it and Y/n, leaving the poor teen completely defenseless. He'd hated the team for it, and hadn't talked to anyone until Constantine offered to train him for real. After all, Y/n still knew a lot about magic, and the deep connection he'd had with that demon had left behind the potential to harness such energies. With the opportunity to remain able to defend himself and a rough home life he was on the run from, the team took him on and Zatanna began to help him along with Constantine. Eventually she joined the League and Y/n was left to stay on the team as the resident magic user.

After a while, Dick Grayson could claim he'd dated two magicians.

Y/n had taken a lot after Zatanna. He used magic by speaking backward as well, and took up the magician aesthetic. They looked like a set... which had been a little painful at first. She'd given Y/n her father's old suit and matching with him like that had been a little startling. But Zatara had approved and eventually everyone had adjusted. Because of all of this, Y/n hadn't been open to Dick's advances at first; he was sure Nightwing was just rebounding on someone who reminded him Zatanna who Y/n was sure Dick just missed.

Because of this they almost hadn't happened, but Bruce was tired of watching his family be alone because of this life they lead, and took a single moment to play a little matchmaker. He'd invited Y/n over for dinner - no masks. Y/n had discovered the identities of the entire Batfam when he had been analyzing them to take them all down, so there was no need for pretenses. Bruce invited the kid under the proposition that Y/n could go to school with Artemis, but that it would require a scholarship from the Waynes and they should get to know each other first.

Everyone knew it was bullshit - Artemis had gotten the scholarship without knowing the Waynes after all. But Y/n didn't, and that was the point. With Bruce's only slight tampering out of the way, he left the rest to the others. Y/n bonded with Jason first, then Tim and then Barbara. They all adored him and seeing him get along with the family was enough to have Dick tripping over himself by the end of the night. When Alfred himself approved of the lad, the deal was done. And with some words of comfort from Barbara, Y/n got over that lingering impression that Dick didn't really care about him.

Dick drove Y/n home, and they had a first date confirmed before they even topped at the cave where Y/n was staying with everyone else who didn't have anywhere to go.

After that it wasn't hard to get approval to work with the Batfam directly as well as the Team. Y/n was busy a lot, working with Dick side by side and sometimes even without him. They learned how to balance work and relationship and personal life rather well. It wasn't perfect but all of it was theirs, and that was what mattered.

Then Jason died.

Jason and Y/n had always been particularly close. They understood each other in a way the others really didn't. They were both carrying dark pasts on the corners of bright smiles, with the constant yearning for trouble settled in their throats. They'd been horrible pranksters, and not even Dick could always predict them or avoid them. Only Alfred had never been touched. Y/n had been on the mission with Jason when he died. He'd been knocked out and Jason had been kidnapped... and then had to just sit and wait for Bruce to find his best friend.

Something changed after that. Y/n was darker, angrier. He smiled less. He was still good in the field, but he suddenly got really protective. Dick understood why Y/n felt the need to watch everyone, always run to their aid, but when it almost got Y/n killed he'd had enough.

Their first argument since even the beginning of their relationship had been ugly.

Y/n had to handle a lot more during the relationship than Dick did, and he felt irritated that after all he had taken with complete ease and no complaint, Dick was still asking more of Y/n. And then Dick asked Y/n to retire and...

When the two said they were going on a break, everyone knew that wasn't all. Everyone knew they were due any day for a break up. The Team, the Batfam - they'd all seen Connor and M'gann fall apart in real time and it had looked exactly like this. Y/n began to draw further and further from Dick, and seemed to stop caring about him altogether. He didn't seem to watch Dick's back every second anymore, but he also seemed to lose every single emotion he'd ever had. Batman was seconds away from cutting him off the team forcibly and resigning himself to losing Y/n as he distanced himself from everyone.

The moment never came.

It was a mission like any other. Infiltration and extraction. Y/n was particularly good at staying back anyway, so he had fallen into the role of look out. He had a lot of spells that helped his awareness and allowed him to play support. And with his recent habit of keeping an eye on everyone anyway, putting him on the front lines just wasn't where he was best.

It was Garfield who got spotted. It was hard for him to sneak around, and he could turn into something small for sure but when you're green it's a pretty obvious tell and some people just knew how to spot him.

Everyone was almost out when one of the flying bullets caught Dick's leg and he fell. Y/n didn't even hesitate - he teleported into the fight immediately and began throwing spells, keeping people back to try and give Dick the space to get away. Everyone else had scattered; they didn't even know Dick had fallen. It was up to Y/n, and when all you are is a spell caster there's just not a lot you can do against so many people by yourself.

Dick was amazed. Y/n's focus, the way his eyes took in every single detail. His words and the easy way they formed, even backward. He wasn't as good as Zatanna but he was excellent at the trade. The problem was Dick was losing blood fast, and it was becoming quickly clear that it wasn't just a bullet at all - he was poisoned. He couldn't get out of here without being followed and that would be even worse. So he moved closer to Y/n instead of away, gripping his ankle.

It distracted Y/n, allowing something large to shatter against his shield spell, shrapnel slicing his shoulder. He screamed, and grabbed it, but it knocked him out of his stubborn decision to stay put and stand tall until he died. It forced Y/n to acknowledge that he was losing, and Dick needed him. Despite everything between them, that seemed to be enough. Y/n reached down, grabbing Dick's forearm, and Dick returned the hold. Y/n spoke quickly, and the pair was teleporting away again.

The second they were alone Dick was arguing with him. "Why didn't you do that immediately?"

"Because you were running away from me and I couldn't get to you without compromising both of our safety," Y/n snapped back without missing a beat. Right back to their forming bad habits...

Dick wasn't satisfied with Y/ns answer. "Why didn't you just teleport closer to me?"

"Because the point was to draw their attention, not grab you and get out! You were supposed to at least bind your wound so you weren't just freely bleeding."

"There was something in the bullet, I could feel it almost immediately. There's... something.." As the adrenaline of the moment faded and all that was keeping him talking was arguing - which, as it rose his heartrate, probably wasn't a good idea - he began to lose strength and collapsed in Y/n's arms. His eyes fluttered closed and he went silent.

Y/n's breathing immediately quickened, growing shallow. "Nightwing," he snapped, slowly lowering him to the ground. He forced himself to work slowly through the panic, checking Dick's pulse. It was skittish and getting slower. Something was wrong. Y/n could feel the panic increasing. He grit his teeth and forced away the images of Jason's broken body in Bruce's arms. He instead grabbed Dick's arm, turning it to access the body monitor all the Batfam wore.

As he had the thought to get in contact with everyone else, he felt Miss Martian's psychic link restore and he reached out to her, drawing her to their location. He ran down the entire situation and analyzed how fast whatever was effecting Nightwing was effecting him.

M'gann didn't have to tell Y/n that they weren't going to make it to the two and back to the Cave in time. Y/n closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. He needed to know what was wrong with Dick in order to save him. If he didn't, no one would. And Y/n wouldn't lose Dick. Not like he'd lost Jason. Not him. Anyone but him.

Finally the spells Y/n was casting to figure out what the hell was wrong came with a result. A specific poison, fast acting, 100% fatality rate. Y/n felt his anger rise as his vision blurred with tears. He blinked quickly to clear it, ignoring as the tears fell down his cheeks. He closed his eyes to force his mind to come up with the words he needed.

"Ezilibats mih." His words echoed and Y/n was immediately rechecking his heartbeat and vitals, but his vision was too blurry. He couldn't see anything, couldn't make sense of it. He was out of ideas - if this didn't work Dick was dead. The thought made Y/n crumble and he pulled Dick into his chest, burying his face in his hair. He was begging under his breath, shaking, in shambles. And that was how the Team found them.

At first everyone thought Dick was dead, but when Miss M told them he was fine, Y/n only began to cry harder and everyone exchanged looks but they knew what had happened without even having to ask. Y/n was silent on the ride back to the Cave. Dick woke up there, in their little hospital wing, all healed and completely fine. He was updated on what happened in the mission, and Connor took him aside to tell him about Y/n's reaction to the whole thing. "Just so you understand why."

Dick tensed. "Why what?" He demanded.

Connor pursed his lips. "He quit. The Team, everything. He said he's done and has been looking for entry level jobs so he can buy his own apartment and move out of the Cave." Bruce had given him a secretary job at Wayne Enterprises, and Y/n had been doing wonderfully - even after Jason's passing. If he was looking to get out of the job, then that would mean he'd stop coming to family dinners, stop dropping by for Holidays. He'd be alone and the Batfam would be missing one more member. The Team would lose their friend. Y/n was trying to disappear.

Dick didn't wait and no one stopped him. He was up immediately, only gritting his teeth at his hurt leg but otherwise walking perfectly fine as he moved through the halls at as quick a pace as he could manage while he hunted down Y/n.

He was in his room. Where he had been every free moment since Jason's death. Unsurprising then that Dick looked there first and, upon knocking on the door, wasn't shocked to see Y/n open it. He looked horrible, with heavy lids and bags under his eyes and a slouch to his shoulders. He looked exhausted.

"Before you try and-" Y/n began.

Dick pushed through the door and pulled him in a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't thank you, thank you. Thank you for all those years ago, choosing to let us help you instead of turning away. Thank you for loving our family as much as I do and becoming apart of it. Thank you for giving Jason a best friend - he really needed it. Thank you for joining the team and saving so many of our lives so many times. Thank you for letting me love you. It was the best time of my life and I will always treasure it because you're an amazing person. Thank you for letting me know you."

Y/n was silent for a long time. He didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. But then, just as Dick was losing hope, ever so slowly, Y/n's arms moved to wrap around Dick and hug him back. They melted into each other and Dick could feel the material of his shirt get wet as Y/n cried on his shoulder.

"Bruce was right, I can't do this. I need to take a break." The words were a relief to hear.

"Okay," Dick agreed. He held his boyfriend tighter. They hadn't broken up yet, and he tried to hold onto that in this moment. It might be his last chance to think that.

Y/n seemed surprise at the lack of a response. "I won't be able to fight with you anymore - maybe ever again. We'll have way less time together, I won't be able to help you with cases. You'll have to face so much more on your own and we'll come to resent each other eventually. It'll fall apart like it always does. No time, no energy-"

"If you think that I'd ever resent you for prioritizing your needs, you're an idiot." Y/n's words died. "I will always love you for doing this. You should. You shouldn't keep going if you can't. I just can't lose you completely. I need you to be some part of my life. Everyone will miss you; the team; the family. Everyone. Promise me you won't quit at Wayne Tech. Promise me you won't disappear because you feel bad about retiring."

A shaky breath came from Y/n then and he held Dick tighter, burying his face in Dick's shoulder. They hadn't hugged this long in ages and it was what they both desperately needed. Y/n sighed, shaking his head. "Okay. I promise."

Dick leaned back and Y/n let him, even as Dick raised a hand to wipe away the remaining tears and pulled him into a kiss. They both lingered, and after a moment even relaxed. melted into each other. Dick didn't go far when the kiss ended, resting their foreheads together. "I don't want to break up with you. I want to give it a shot. I want to try, I want to fight. I don't want to fade from each others' lives - if it ends ugly then that's how it ends. I want to hold onto you."

Everyone knew how Dick's relationships ended. It was fire and joy and passion that slowly dimmed and faded into professionalism and business relations. They grew distant, but the fondness remained, and they parted on mutual, good terms. Dick always wanted to avoid ugly break ups, wanted to preserve relations as much as possible. The fact that he was willing to throw caution to the wind meant a lot.

Y/n chuckled, sighing a second time. "You're impossible, Dick Grayson."

Dick smiled. "Impossibly in love with you."

For the first time since Jason had died, Y/n laughed. Loud, with his full chest. His head fell back and he pulled Dick closer. The moment was warm and bright and all of the darkness and heaviness that had been plaguing them fell away completely, leaving them free and light. One thing was certain: they'd succeeded. They'd made it out the other side.

At least for now, they'd be alright.

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

#male reader #nightwing #dick Grayson #dc #young justice #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing x male reader #dick Grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick Grayson x male reader #young justice imagine #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x male reader

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itsabouttimex2 · 6 months

Note

I urgently need a platonic Yandere Keigo who finds the reader insanely hungry and crying and his only instinct is to feed the reader like a newborn baby bird

Natural Instinct

Almost every Quirk has a drawback of some kind. A person might have a Quirk that’s too strong for their body to bear, or one that can’t be precisely controlled and does more damage than intended. Some are outright entirely uncontrollable, incapable of being shut off. Sometimes those drawbacks are emotional. It’s not unheard of for a Quirk to be tied to the emotions of whoever bears it. Sometimes, they grow stronger with rage or weaker with sorrow. And for others, that drawback is mental.

Keigo Takami knows that his Quirk has afforded him a lot in life. He has so many different uses for his feathers that it can be dizzying to watch him in action. People would kill and die to have a Quirk so powerful and versatile. He himself wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t drawbacks. They’re a massive target, to start with. Every enemy he’s faced with half a brain goes after them first, more than a few managing to leave some serious damage. Sure, he can grow more later on, but losing them hurts.

It isn’t the only downside, though.

The bright red wings he bears have to be dispersed for stealth. It takes a lot of concentration to properly wield his Quirk to his full potential. All of his clothes have to be custom-tailored. And sometimes, just sometimes… he gets these strange thoughts.

People with animalistic Quirks often report strange instincts and unusual desires related to their Quirks. To hunt, maybe. Or to hide away in dark spaces.

Keigo knows the feeling. When he was younger, he used to preen his wings with his own mouth, delicately cleaning his feathers with his teeth and tongue. He’s long grown out of that habit, but the urge still persists. He’s also particularly drawn to shiny objects and has a tiny, tucked away desire to collect them. He satiates that urge with sensible things like bracelets and watches.

But what he’s feeling right now isn’t as easy to suppress.

There you sit, all curled up on yourself in the corner, tears dribbling from your eyes. Your arms are wrapped tight around your growling stomach, head buried against your knees.

And his brain tells him that there’s only one solution capable of solving this problem.

Feed you himself.

Of course, he’s not going to feed you like a bird. Even when his Quirk is working against him like this, pitting his brain against his heart, he stays rational. Keigo isn’t quite sure what the exact impact that force-feeding you by mouth would have, but he knows it wouldn’t be good. Potentially trauma-inducing.

It’s much easier and far more sane to gently sit you in front of himself as he navigates a fork to your mouth. He lets you take your time, working through the bowl with you one bite at a time. If you take too long, he doesn’t mind reheating it and sitting back down with you. It might be a little tedious and time-consuming, but he doesn’t really mind.

When he’s done feeding you he tosses the bowl and fork into the sink, not bothering to be gentle about it. He is, however, very gentle about pulling you into his lap, sitting comfortably with you as close as possible. You move to stand up and pull yourself away, but his arms catch you in a hug, snaring you in place. His wings then wrap around you, keeping you as trapped as you are warm.

It feels right, to have you here. To have you close. Your needs met, your comfort assured. Warm, safe, well-fed. What more could anybody want?

Certainly, you couldn’t want to leave the nest he had built just for you, right?

Not that he’d ever give you the chance.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere MHA #Yandere My Hero Academia #Yandere Keigo Takami #Keigo Takami

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dkisms · 9 months

Text

Warrior

Wonwoo x afab!reader /// enemies to lovers /// 5k words /// smut

You’ve hated Wonwoo’s guts for most of your esports career. He’s always targeted you, and you’ve had enough.

If one person on planet Earth hates Jeon Wonwoo, it’s you. In fact, that’s how you feel right now, with the stupid little grin on his stupid face looking at you from across the stage, brow arched at you. He’s teasing you for sure, and the bright red ‘LOSE’ on the stage above you does absolutely nothing to change that.

You honestly had no idea when Wonwoo started to act like this. As a woman on an esports team for League, you’ve always been careful of every move you’ve made. Two years ago, you joined ASTAR, much to the disappointment of many in the world. In fact, Wonwoo had been kind to you previously, going on stream many times to express how women belonged in the sport, and how he was excited to game with you.

At least, that was what you thought.

Now, every single time you play, either practice or in comp, your screen stains black and white, now matter what you do. Every move? Wonwoo’s there. Switch to top? So is he. At this point, even your team starts to feel bad for you. In any regular match against any other team, no one can beat your Seraphine (or fiddlesticks, if feeling frisky).

Your team captain gets up before you, patting your head. As much as it seems comforting, the steam coming from your ears and the blood boiling in your veins has yet to cease. You exhale loudly, getting up to follow your team. The next ten minutes go by in a blur, with the manager asking the team about the matches while heading to the bus, barely a blink coming from your face.

Even when you got to your base, all you could do was trudge to your dorm, and get in bed, wallowing in silence. The notification you got on your phone made you feel even worse, seeing your teammates go to stream and talk about the matches. To them, it wasn’t a bad loss, with Wonwoo’s team, JACKL, being number one in the country, and the easy contender to worlds, but it didn’t make the loss any easier.

Your phone dinged with a text from your friend. ‘He’s talking about you.’ Was all it read, and it took everything in your soul to not throw the phone across the room, opting to open Wonwoo’s stream instead.

“We don’t bash other teams.” Was the only thing you heard as the stream loaded out of the advertisement, Wonwoo spinning back and forth on his chair as he read his comments.

“Are they as good as my team? No. JACKL is number one for a reason right now. However, they’re one of the best teams I’ve played against in years. Their mid showed mine how you can’t screw around in a match and expect them to not crush you into the dirt. My support had to pretty much solo heal them. Not great, but he’s gonna work on it.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, brushing his newly silver hair out of his face. He chuckled at a few comments that came in, eyeing one from an international fan.

“Yes, I did go after their support. They rely on her too much on bot lane, and can’t protect her. If they leave her open, it’s my job to go after-”

You killed the stream immediately after, the familiar anger coming back out. ‘Fuck Jeon Wonwoo, and fuck his team,’ you thought, throwing your phone onto the bed, and heading over to your computer, turning it on. As much as bed therapy helps, the fury in your bones could only be solved by crushing as many people as physically possible in the game, and enjoying the cheez-its you had left. Unfortunately for you, the stupid game hates you, and you nearly just decided to evaporate from the planet entirely seeing your team.

JAKCL_EveryWonwoo was on your team.

Jeon Wonwoo was on your fucking team!

It seems he noticed as well, as the chat started to roll through his messages at an alarming rate.

‘Boba???? ASTAR_BobA???’

‘Good to see you again, BobA!’

‘Are you my support??? This is crazy’

‘Yes, I’m your support. Now hurry and pick’ You wrote back, cooling down. The game loaded in, and you picked the route farthest away from Wonwoo. If you had to play with him, you refused to be near him only if necessary, and maybe let him die a couple times. Maybe.

As much as you hated Wonwoo, he was fucking good. Way too good at this damn game, with the amount of times he saved your ass. The bot lane was pretty much useless, leading you to have to take over, and he pretty much took over the south side of the jungle with you, killing as many as he could. The pretty 15/2/18 was growing by the second on your leaderboard, and his 28/6/13 made the two of you look like you were dancing with each other on the field as you finished the match, a ghost of a grin on your face. It was quickly removed, however, when you got a message outside of the match.

JACKL_EveryWonwoo has sent you an invitation.

Against every bone in your body screaming at you not to accept, you had to. What better way to learn how he plays than to play with him? Right? You even checked, he’s not streaming. You let out a sigh, making sure your headset mic was working, and joined the group.

“I wasn’t too sure you’d accept.” Wonwoo teased, the grin in his voice easily apparent.

“Had to get my mic.” You said, watching him change to a casual lobby.

“Mmm,” He said, hitting the queue. “You did good today.”

“Sure,” You said, clear in your voice that you didn’t want to talk about it. “So, why invite me?”

“I’m trying to show you that your team is taking advantage of you.” Wonwoo said, picking his character with you, and choosing to go bot lane.

“Listen, I don’t need you bashing my team, okay? We did what we could.” You snapped.

“I’m not bashing them. Yet. But I promise, you’re worth more than you think.” He said, shutting up as the game started.

While Wonwoo wasn’t… great at bot lane, he definitely kept up. In fact, he was shockingly right about your team. He was taking bullets and arrows with every match you played, and for hours, had you questioning your team’s plays. At four A.M., when he ended the matches, he sat with you in silence as you looked over match replays.

“Listen, don’t take it to heart. Just understand you might have to rework some stuff. I know your coach is retiring, so next year, you can work with the new one to find out about plays, okay?” He said.

“Yeah,” you said, voice dry. “I’m hopping off. Have a good night.”

“Night.”

——///——

You groaned at the buzzing of your phone, reaching over to grab it, and rubbing your eyes. The yell you let out seeing the 250+ notifications decorating your screen could have woken up anyone sleeping. JACKL_EveryWonwoo follows you, tagged you in a video, tagged you in a picture… the notifications kept going late into the morning, clearly after you had fallen asleep. The first was a picture of your characters emoting, one you had sent to him as a joke. Every video after that was VOD’s of every match you had, and the comments were endless.

‘She’s actually so good. Does her team just suck?’

‘He works well with her. If I was JACKL, I’d be calculating offers.’

‘I knew he was going after her for a reason. Man’s knew she held the team together’

As much as you could keep reading the comments to inflate your ego, you were NOT excited for the upcoming PR nightmare, especially with the lineups for the upcoming tournament to be announced this week. Knowing the industry, your team would be out in seconds with them Matching ASTAR and JACKL.

Your phone ringing broke you from your spiraling anxiety, with your friend’s picture on screen. You pressed the accept button, only for a piercing scream to nearly blow your ear drums.

“What. The. Fuck?!” Avia shrieked. “Why are you all over his Twitter?! I thought you hated him!”

“I do,” You said, exasperated. “He wanted to show me my team sucked at protecting me when I was vital to the lineup. He did.”

“I know, ASTAR is getting lamblasted on every media site, it’s hilarious. Your teammates are… trying to defend themselves,” She said, as you heard a knock on the door.

You ended the call, and opened your door to see your manager, who requested a statement about the play from the previous game. After a quick tweet, most of the internet was cooling off.

“So, we have a practice match,” Your manager said, pulling out a clipboard, as he walked with you downstairs to the rest of the group, already playing. “JACKL.”

You turned, startled, pausing before you sat down. “Is that really okay? After the Twitter BS?”

“We have no choice. We planned this weeks ago,” the manager said, and you just sat quietly, while they set up the custom matches.

At the start of the match, you knew it was going to be horrible. If your team was a little turned around during the first tournament, then this was like a tornado going off. In fact, it pissed you off more when Wonwoo immediately killed you. Actually, you barely remember a time you were alive, if any. At the end of the match, you were so pissed off, you shut yourself into your own room, pissed.

—-///—-

The moment the tournament matchups were announced a few days later, the stress in your body melted. Thankfully, JACKL were in the other side of the bracket, arguably harder than yours. Thankfully, this seemed to have also motivated your team, and within a few practice matches, they were back in order.

“Wake up!” The manager called, hopping onto the bus. “First match of the playoffs. I didn’t want to talk about this here, but I believe this is the best place for it. Listen… the company is gonna have to make changes if we don’t win. They don’t know if they want to keep everyone, or if they want to dissolve. Either way, you’ll be contacted shortly about your contract.” He said, clearing his throat.

“Seriously?!” Her mid laner said. “Dude- I can’t fucking believe this shit.”

The rest of the drive was relative silence from the group. Many wondered where they’d go, and you were no exception. The skin around your nails was raw by the the time you got to your locker room, filled with an ice cold fear of your future. The manager tried to comfort everyone as much as he could, up until your team took the stage.

The ice hardened into a lump in your stomach, one made even worse as you looked around at the crowd. Signs were decorating the audience, and you nearly choked on your own spit, seeing JACKL front row.

“Why the fuck are they here?” The top lane called over the headsets, your team agreeing.

“No fucking clue,” You said. “Watching us, I guess? To be fair, the news of a team revamp got put out. Maybe seeing if they can steal anyone.”

The midlaner just nodded in response, as the signal for the match to start was activated, and bans were chosen quickly.

“Going Senna,” you called, setting up a protect strategy.

The game was one of the longest you’ve had, knowing how intense team emotions were. After the first victory round, you ran up and down the hall stairs to gain some energy, and the second match was a breeze. Against your wishes, however, after your matches, you were stuck front row watching JACKL.

“They’re fucking good,” Your manager said, eyeing the plays. It was annoying, and to be honest, seemed a little showy.

At the end of the first match, the smirk Wonwoo gave you was enough to make you glare, knowing exactly what he was playing at. He was showing off at this point, and trying to get your attention. With the amount of times he had looked over in your direction, you were starting to get pissed off, and the manager was starting to notice.

“You really made him mad, hm? Play a practice match or something?”

“No. He’s fucking irritating, though.” You said, and your coach perked up.

“It reminds me of my neighbor’s kid. Idiot thought being an ass was his way of flirting. Y’know, messing with your crush…?” He trailed off, seeing your face. “Nevermind.”

“Don’t even,” You said, getting up. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

As you wandered into the player halls, after refusing to use the public restroom seeing the lines, you were sharply stopped by Jeon Wonwoo running into you.

“Ah, the golden girl! I wanted to see you today.” He said, a grin lighting up his face.

“Can I help you?” You asked, with pursed lips.

“Yeah. You see my match? It was pretty fucking good.” He said, teasing. “Y’know, if you joined my team, you’d get the same treatment. Princess and all.”

Your eyes narrowed as you scoffed. “As if, Jeon Wonwoo. Let me be straight with you. I don’t like you. You bash my time, try to steal me from my group, and post matches without my permission, which, mind you, had audio. If I said anything iffy, it would be a PR nightmare. Not only that, but it already was! My team had to make a statement twice. Now, I don’t know why the hell you keep messing with me, but I’ve had enough, seriously. I’m unable to do my job in any sense of the word. I know my teammates aren’t doing great, they’re at retirement age and are injured half the time, but I don’t want to hear about it. Enough.” You snapped, finally feeling some weight off your chest. All Wonwoo could do was stand silently, swallowing roughly at the words, as you sped walked off in another direction, away from him.

—-////—-

A week later, you finished your second match. To be honest, your conversation with Wonwoo had lit a fire, making you push to prove your team wasn’t useless, in anyone’s eyes. You dropped your headset onto the table, quickly exiting the stage, not wanting to talk to anyone, until you were stopped by the manager, and another woman.

“Hi. I’m Sasha, I work for ASTAR’s main offices. I wanted to talk to you about your work on the team.” She said, and the both of you quickly headed into a small meeting room.

“Now, I understand you’ve played with us for a year, at most. Unfortunately, you’ve seen us quite vulnerable this year,” She said, laughing. “I’ll be honest with you. Your bottom laner and jungler are retiring, and I’m only resigning you and the mid laner, if you’re willing. I already have next year’s team set, and contracts sent out for future prospects. I’m willing to offer you a salary increase, if you’ll have it.”

“I’d love to rejoin.” You said, and she quickly slid a contract, letting you read over it. “I’ve sent it to the company’s lawyers, so you can sign within the week. We won’t announce it until after the tournament ends.”

“Yes ma’am,” You said, smiling at the paper.

At least Jeon Wonwoo can’t fuck this up.

—-////—-

Two weeks later, you sat in the locker room, biting your nails, watching a random band play on the tv before the tournament final was to go. Your team had taken the cake on the left side of the bracket, but that left you with only one team left to go, and you weren’t sure if you even had a chance.

JACKL.

You took a deep breath, centering yourself. You were oddly calm going into it, knowing you still had a future with the team, but were still stressed. As you took a final sip of your drink, you headed to the stage, only to be met with Wonwoo’s piercing eyes, and a shit eating grin.

Well, fuck. There goes your screen time, was all you could think, scowling at him, and opting to set up. The keyboard glowed as you clicked away, checking the mouse, and remained silent as the announcers droned on about the game, and every playstyle, the crowd roaring at the game. You picked your character after the bans, quickly making it onto the field, and the bottom lane.

“We gotta be careful this round,” You said, moving back and forth. “They’re heavy on movement. If you see something, say something.”

“Got it,” Your midlaner said, as the game quickly began.

As the game stretched out, Wonwoo was noticeably gone. Before you could even note he must have listened to you, your screen turned gray, and you looked to see Wonwoo had killed you. Looking over to him across the stage, he didn’t return your stare, only smiling at the game, as you huffed.

The first match carried deep into a match against the dragons, but as much as you hoped you could keep up, Wonwoo stole nearly every dragon on the field, leading your team to play a losing game of catch up, until the match ended. 1-0 rang out on every screen as the crowd cheered for the other team, and you quickly headed off stage to recoup with your team.

The second match was a turnover, however, as your toplane deployed a new strategy of killing Wonwoo from a distance before he could ever get to you, leading your group to come out on top in this match, and for you to grin brightly.

“One left, boys!” You called, high fiving your team, and sticking your tongue out at Wonwoo, who could only shake his head at your antics.

The arena darkened with lights, as you sat down at your computer. The technology around you glowed with light, and your fingers almost felt as if they were pulsing with energy, as you made your final round bans and picks.

As you started the round, you opted to play as safe as possible in the start, gaining money. At one point, you were shocked, as you managed to kill Wonwoo, who eyed you from across the arena, daring you to try again. Again, you did.

If when you played together previously, it looked like dancing, this looked like war. You didn’t even care about the majority of the others, knowing they’d be fine, instead opting to go after the star player on the team. You and your bot lane pushed against Wonwoo, quickly taking him down time after time, until the first dragon appeared, and your own jungler lost it to their mid lane.

Around this time, you were positive the game was over. Wonwoo quickly turned the match on your head, giving back everything you were given, and then some. The match was going downhill, and nothing could stop them, as they approached your base, the familiar black and white screen turning red, as you lost the final match.

You let out a shaky breath, watching JACKL jump around in victory, and heading over to give you all a handshake, and your team quickly exited the stage, heading back to the locker room. A few members quickly left, but you opted to take a few interviews about your team, to help your fans stay calmer, promising victory next year.

After what felt like an eternity of interviews and pictures, you notice quite a few members of JACKL as they greet you, heading back home to their friends and family. You said goodbye to the others in your team, returning to the quiet locker room to grab your bag, only turning around at the sound of the door softly closing, seeing Wonwoo.

“Congrats,” You said, honestly. “As fucking annoying as it is to not be able to play much, you did your best.”

“Thank you.” Wonwoo said.

“But seriously? Pretty fucking annoying to be killed all the time. Don’t do it again next year.” You said, heading to the door, only for him to block it right in front of you.

“I know it’s annoying. Got a little feel of it today from you, to be honest.”

“Then why the hell do you do it so much?” You asked, exasperated.

“Honestly?” Wonwoo said, eyes scanning your face, the silence growing. “You’re really fucking hot when you’re pissed off.”

“I’m… sorry?” You asked, eyes blinking at him, bag falling off your shoulder.

Wonwoo moved closer to you, making you back up against the door. He let out a soft sigh, scanning your face, as he leaned in towards you.

“The first match I played against you, your teammate got you killed. I saw you curse him out over and over, and the angrier you got, I liked it,” he said, fixing your hair. “So, ever since then, I couldn’t help but piss you off.”

“Are- are you serious? You have to be joki-” You were cut off as Wonwoo kissed you quickly to shut you up.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was joking.” He said, ears red.

For a second, everything clicked into place. The first match you ever had with JACKL should have been a tell from the beginning. Your bot lane had made a stupid decision, not checking the grass next to you before letting you go in, and had instantly got you and him killed. You had been pissed beyond belief after he had promised he checked everything, and you had reamed him out for an hour over it during and after the game. Wonwoo had been watching you, in shock, and you thought he was being annoying when he killed you again, and suddenly started killing you every chance he got.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t being a dick.

No, it turns out he was just horny.

Something in your brain fizzled out, and you honestly couldn’t think anymore, as you reached up behind his neck, pulling him back down to meet your lips. Wonwoo tasted like the stupidly sweet lollipops he always ate before a match, and always used to tease you with. You supposed they held a different meaning to you, now, as his tongue licked your lips to kiss you deeper. His hands pulled your waist closer, dangerously close to your ass.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before he had completely given in to grab your ass, muttering for you to jump. You hopped straight up, and wrapped your legs around his waist, and he carried the two of you from the doorway over to the couch on the other side of the room, dumping the two of you onto it.

“Hey,” Wonwoo said, hands on your hips, looking more at your lips than your eyes. “If you want to stop here, I’ll get it. But you’ve gotta let me know now.”

“Jeon Wonwoo, if you stop now, I’ll actually hate you for the rest of my life.” You said, and Wonwoo laughed, reaching up to take off his glasses, and setting them on a nearby table, before leaning down to kiss you again.

The grip on your thighs felt like fire, and you couldn’t help but let out a whimper as he moved to attach his lips to your neck, sucking a spot where your jaw meets your neck. You felt painfully aware of the heat growing in your stomach, letting your fingers move to his hair to lightly tug, keeping yourself grounded.

Wonwoo’s hips pressed into yours, and his fingers moved from your hips up your shirt. You lifted up your back as he yanked your shirt off, leaning back to take his off. You oogled him for a good minute, opting to run your fingers down his abs.

“Enjoying the view?” Wonwoo teased, and you nodded, playfully licking your lips.

“Who said video game nerds can’t be fit?” You teased.

He chose to ignore your comments, instead moving to remove your bra, and tossing it somewhere else in the room.

“Good thing I locked the fucking door.” He said, mouth moving to kiss down your neck, to your chest.

The moment his lips met your nipple, you let out a breathy moan. His hand met the waistband of your shorts, and he gave you a second before moving further, hand reaching to cover your mound.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t like it.” He said, and seconds later, his fingers were plunging into your core.

The two fingers within you felt like heaven, while his thumb moved in circular ministrations along your sensitive bud. The heat grew in your belly with every movement, and Wonwoo was forced to cover your mouth.

“Listen, I’m all for you being loud any other time, but I don’t want to get caught.” Wonwoo said. “Be quiet, or I’ll have to quiet you.” He warned, and you nodded.

The fogginess in your brain grew, and heat coiled in your belly, letting out a warning whimper to Wonwoo, who quickly removed his hand, licking at his fingers. You would’ve thought that was the hottest thing ever, except for the empty feeling in your belly making you irritated instead.

“What the fuck, Wonwoo.” You said, irritated.

“I’ll let you come on my fingers any day, but I’d rather the first time you do be with me in you.” He said, and your face reddened at the raunchy statement coming from his lips.

Instead of letting you say anything, Wonwoo lifted your hips to remove your shorts and underwear in one fell swoop, eyeing your soaked core, as he removed the rest of his clothes.

“Hate me this, hate me that, but you’re soaked,” Wonwoo teased, pulling your hips closer to his. “Last time to back out, mortal enemy.”

“Wonwoo, please,” You said, long past annoyed, and more desperate to come. “I will find anyone in this building if you don’t fuck me now.”

His eyes glinted at the challenge, and slowly pushed into your core. He let out a groan as he bottomed out, feeling you pulse around him. Once you gave the go ahead, Wonwoo began his slow movements in and out of your core, the sounds you made egging him on.

“Wonwoo, deeper, please.” You begged.

Wonwoo obliged to your begging, shifting your hips to hit deeper, and pulling you into a deep kiss to keep you quiet.

“Wonwoo, I’m so close, please don’t stop.” You begged in his ear.

The breathy moans in your ear weren’t doing anything to help the heat in your core, and the cord was threatening you, ready to snap. His hip movements grew sloppy as he moved to hold your hips in place, and one final thrust from Wonwoo had you seeing stars, and biting at Wonwoo’s hand over your mouth as you came, Wonwoo letting out a moan as he came, filling you. His body felt shaky as he pulled out of you, moving over to a table to grab a tissue, and cleaning up the mess before any of the couch stained.

He pulled on his clothes as you got up, looking around for your clothes, and he helped you get ready, in majority silence. Before you looked for your bag, however, he stopped you.

“I understand if I’ve turned you away from me from my shitty actions. To be honest, I’d probably feel the same, but I really do like you, and I mean it. I didn’t want to fuck you to take any advantage.” He said, nervous.

“Wonwoo, please, calm down. You may have been annoying, but you’re not a shit person. I know you didn’t hook up with me just to hook up,” You said, handing him his glasses to put on. “Um. I’m not terribly good at this, but I’d be willing to continue this… something, or whatever it is, if you want. Serious or not.” You said, and he beamed up at you, and you felt your heart squeeze.

He nodded, and grabbed your bag for you. “Let’s go, then.” He said, unlocking the door for you, and heading with you to your car.

—-////—-

The sucker in your mouth did nothing to calm your nerves, as you texted Wonwoo. After your escapade, you and him had a very private don’t-tell-anyone set up, not wanting anyone to fuck with the two of you. It worked for the better, as Wonwoo was able to sign with a new team with a big buck contract, even if it was going to be away from you. To be honest, you didn’t care about being public, and neither did he. Were you sometimes jealous of attention? Yes. Did the pictures and videos you saved from fans help? Also yes. To be fair, though, he was in your bed, not theirs, and it was victory enough.

The manager ran over to you to knock you out of your thoughts, gushing about the new team setup, and how the world wasn’t ready. Your message to Wonwoo remained on delivered as you spun in your chair, anxiety rising. To be honest, you were starting to get worried, as you stressed, as you tapped away mindlessly on your keyboard.

You sighed at the delivered on text, again, as you heard a ruckus growing in the entry of the dorms. Not dealing with that, you thought, until a hand on your chair stopped you from turning, and your sucker was ripped from your mouth. You turned to yell at whomever was next to you, only to freeze, seeing Wonwoo stick it into his mouth.

“What the fuck…?” You trailed off, as your manager came over.

“Oh! Glad you’re getting settled in, Wonwoo,” He said, and turned to you. “Our new jungler!”

You nodded to the manager in shock, and Wonwoo held a shit eating grin on his face as he stared at you the whole time, and winked at you. You slowly put your headset back on as the manager requested a quick game, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt Wonwoo touch your hand quickly, grinning at his screen, as the game started.

No, you didn’t hate Jeon Wonwoo, but he was absolutely going to be the death of you.

#jeon wonwoo imagines #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #☀️ writes

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 months

Text

SKZ DRABBLE-Minho

Part II of Mafia!Minho

Tags: Lee Minho, Minho, Lee Know, Mafia!Minho, skz, stray kids, stay, skz x you, skz x reader, mafia au, femreader, y/n, skz fluff, skz angst, skz smut

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Light Smut

Warnings: Mafia shit-guns, shady dealings, etc., blood, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth.

"This one can be yours. If you want it."

Your eyes flash to Minho in surprise, and he chuckles at the look of shock on your face, stepping up behind where you sit to press the loaded handgun into your slack palm.

He leans over, and you catch a whiff of his cologne-heady and familiar.

"You've been antsy. Bored." He murmurs in your ear, his voice low, as the men keeping watch in every corner of the room silently look onward, not moving a muscle, hands on their guns.

The guy in the middle of the room, tied to a chair, groans.

"You're not meant to be a housewife, darling. It doesn't suit you."

Minho reaches up to push a lock of hair behind your ear, and you shiver, your fingers closing around the cool barrel of the gun.

Something inside you feels strange about the fact that he'd paid enough attention to you to notice how you were feeling before you'd even put a finger on it yourself.

But it's not bad strange.

"Because you may be my wife," Minho continues in a murmur, releasing the gun fully into your hold now. "But you were your father's daughter first."

He presses a kiss to your cheek and steps back.

Without having to think it through, you rise from your chair, level the gun at the man sitting dazed in the center of the room, and pull the trigger.

********************************************************************************

You step around a puddle of something on the floor, it's dark enough to be blood, or it's simply from the heavy rain last night, and continue down the hallway of the shipping warehouse.

It's easy to be quiet, your worn, bloodied converse padding noiselessly down the corridor in search of your target.

You knew some Bosses that insisted their wives wear their heels to 'business meetings' but Minho had never placed that expectation on you, and you'd always felt more comfortable donning tennis shoes when it was time to get nitty gritty.

The blood washed out a whole lot easier from the canvas of Converse than it did the suede of Christian Louboutin's.

Plus, most of the lowlifes you dealt with didn't deserve to have your favorite pair of heels be their last view of the world.

Those were for Minho anyway.

You step around another suspicious puddle of unknown origin, and see the door you're looking for at the end of the hall, fast approaching.

"God, he's going to kill me for letting you do this."

You glance over your shoulder at Felix with a raise of your brow, pausing outside the door, one hand already on the knob.

You give him the start of a smile and a shrug. "He doesn't know."

Felix's eyes go slightly wide, panic writing itself across his expression as he continues to stare at you. "Wait, he doesn't know you're here, doing this in his absence, or he doesn't know that you're pregnant?"

You shrug nonchalantly, reaching for the gun you keep tucked in your waistband. "Both."

Felix stares some more, and you heave a sigh, rolling your eyes, as you reach to push open the door, for real this time.

"I haven't found a good time to tell him, okay? I wanted it to be a surprise. It has to be perfect."

"Oh god."

"Now-" You turn back tot he situation at hand, alert and ready, ignoring Felix's disapproving looks in your direction. "Let's meet our mole, shall we?"

Felix mutters something under his breath that sounds awfully like a curse, but you ignore him, shoving open the door as you draw and ready your gun simultaneously.

Inside, tied to a chair in the middle of the room and waiting for you, just like Chan said he'd be, is the man you've been looking for.

You give him a relaxed smile as you enter, Felix on your heels, but instead of directing your attention to him, you glance behind him to the man leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"You didn't rough him up too much before I got here, did you, Binnie?" You ask conversationally, as you make a circle around the man tied to the chair, inspecting his injuries.

Changbin grins at you, but doesn't move from his current spot on the wall. "Nah, I saved most of the fun for you. Just made him squeal a couple times like the pig bastard he is."

The man shifts and glares at Changbin, but you settle in front of him, crouched down to look up into his bruised and battered face with that same easy smile on your face.

You play with your gun as you stare at him silently for a few seconds, and he starts to squirm under your gaze.

Finally, you glance down at the weapon in your hand, and say casually, "He took it easy on you, Mr. Kang." You flick your gaze back up to his face, taking in the bruising around his eye, the split lip. "I won't be so considerate."

The man sneers at you, bloody spittle dripping from his lips, his gaze flashing to flick between Changbin and Felix, now leaning against the wall next to one another.

"Where'd you find the bitch? A street corner?" He flashes his angry, dark gaze back to you and leans forward as much as his bonds will allow, hatred dripping through his words. "Or did Boss Lee pussy out and send a woman to take care of his business?"

You see Changbin make a movement from the corner of your eye, but you hold out a hand, gaze never leaving the man before you, and he settles back into position, watching the interaction sharply.

You stand up, sighing, tsking slightly as you rise to full height in front of him.

"Honestly, I expected more out of you, Mr. Kang. Everything I've heard pointed to you being a man of greatness, someone capable of backstabbing the biggest mob boss and getting away with it, but this-" You wave your gun in his general direction with clear disappointment and dismissal. "This is just a tiny gnat spouting big words in hope of saving himself from the spider's web he's found himself irreversibly trapped in."

The man growls and thrashes against his bonds, and without warning, you press the gun into the underside of his jaw, and he winces, ceasing his movement almost immediately.

You lean over and get in his face, letting a smile slip once more across your lips at the sudden dark fear you read in his eyes.

He's finally putting it together.

"And just so we're clear-" You murmur, pressing the gun harder into the underside of his throat as you click the hammer back into place and he flinches. "-if you haven't already figured it out, Mr. Kang, I'm the fucking spider."

And you pull the trigger.

********************************************************************************

"Are you disappointed?" You ask in a whisper, as Minho holds the baby at the end of your bed, the doctor and nurses still hurrying around, cleaning up the room.

Minho's head snaps up, his gaze leaving the baby's face, and there's open confusion on his features as he stares at you.

"Why would I be disappointed?"

You shrug one shoulder, feeling stupid for having brought it up in the first place, but needing to know.

"My father never wanted a girl-"

Minho cradles the baby closer in his arms and steps up, settling beside you on the bed as he leans over and takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him.

The baby makes a little noise of discontent at the movement, and settles back to sleep in her father's arms.

His expression is so serious it takes your breath away.

"Princess." He holds your gaze, and the warmth you see in his eyes has your aching body and mind feeling a hundred times lighter. "I am not your father. And if he was ever disappointed with you, then he's truly more of a monster than I thought. Because how could he, or I, be disappointed in something so-"

He glances down at the baby, a fond look settling over his rugged features, and reaches up an inked finger to stroke across her dark duck fuzz.

"-so incredibly beautiful and perfect?"

You let out the breath you've been holding and lean over to peer down at the baby as Minho continues to run his hand over her hair.

It's the first time since she was born that you've been able to get a good look at her, no machines plugged to you, no doctor or nurses trying to clean you up.

Minho's right.

She's beautiful.

You reach out carefully to touch the tiny, pink scrunch of her nose, and her eyes screw up, her lips pursing at the light contact.

She looks like Minho. But she also looks like you.

You glance up to see Minho watching you, and the corner of his lips lift into the hint of a smile, before he leans forward and kisses you gently.

"You did amazing, princess." He murmurs against your mouth, and all the hard work of the previous hours suddenly feels worth it at his genuine praise. "She's the perfect mixture of the two of us, and the best gift I've ever been willingly given. I'll spend our entire lives trying to repay you for bringing her into them."

And you know he means it.

********************************************************************************

"Mommy, do you think SuSu ever gets lonely?" Yeong-Ja asks, coming to sit beside you in the shade of the garden, making you look up from your book.

You consider for a moment, watching the dog in question roll around in the perfectly manicured grass with his toy bone held between his teeth.

"Hmm. I don't know." You finally muse back to your daughter, glancing over to her before you lean over and straighten the red bow at the end of her dark braid. "He has you, right? And he gets to go on trips with daddy sometimes and has a big important job of protecting us and our house. Do you think he even has time to be lonely with all that going on?"

Your daughter looks deeply thoughtful, and you bite back a smile as she turns to you seriously after a moment.

"I dunno. But maybe he'd like another puppy to play with?"

You laugh at her hopeful tone, glancing once more to the doberman, who has gotten up from his play to take a watchful patrol of the large garden, ears up and alert, strides purposeful.

"I'm sure he would. And I'm sure you would too." You lean over to tickle her sides briefly, making her squirm away as she laughs and shrieks. "But getting daddy on board with that plan will take more than a little bit convincing."

Yeong-Ja looks determined. "I'll ask him when he gets back."

You grin, leaning back on your hands as you lay your book to the side, and there is silence for a few moments, before you ask the little girl beside you, "Do you get lonely, baby?"

Yeong-Ja considers for a moment and then shrugs, playing with some grass between her fingers, still painted a bright purple from when Minho had done them for her before he left on his trip.

"Sometimes." She admits, glancing over at Suwon, who has resumed play with his ball.

She looks up at you then, her eyes large, dark and curious. "Do you get lonely when daddy's away, mommy?"

You feel a pang, and remind yourself Minho will be back tonight.

Gathering a smile once more, you lean over and press a kiss to her red, chubby cheek.

"Sometimes. But I have you. And Suwon. And daddy will be home before we know it."

********************************************************************************

"He's hopeless." Minho sighs in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he's getting a headache, another torn up dress shoe at his feet. "That fucking dog is a menace."

You laugh, pushing up from the bed to wrap your arms around his waist from behind as you nuzzle into his shoulder, breathing him in, relaxing into the way his back rises and falls against your chest.

"He's still learning. He's barely out of the puppy stage. Give him some time. Chan promises once he's done with training he'll be the best damn guard dog this side of the Han."

Minho sighs again, and glances over his shoulder at you, slight amusement warming his dark eyes.

"Are those his words or yours?"

You shrug a shoulder and bury your grin in between his shoulder blades. "Both."

"Well-" Minho gripes, kicking the ruined shoe away, before he turns and gathers you into his arms, putting a finger beneath your chin as he leans over to press a kiss to your lips. "-he has to live long enough to receive Chan's training. And with the way he's destroying my Prada collection-"

You laugh, leaning up on your toes to kiss him once more, cutting him off.

"Your daughter loves him. So you can't kill him."

"I'll get her another dog." Minho grumbles halfheartedly beneath his breath. "I can buy her every fucking dog in Seoul if she wants, she's one for fucks sake, she won't know the difference."

You shake your head, grinning, and pull from Minho's grasp.

"You may head one of the biggest crime organizations in this city, Boss Lee, but I know you and I know your secret, and faced with your daughter's tears or the loss of your entire closet of dress shoes, you'd choose the latter."

Minho sighs with heavy resignation and stares up at the ceiling.

His headache looks like it's coming back.

"Fuck. You're right."

You laugh and he gives you a halfhearted glare. "I'm always right. And life will be easier for you as soon as you accept it."

********************************************************************************

The moment Minho enters your bedroom, Suwon is dropping into a happy puddle at his feet, tongue out and lolling, rolling directly onto his back as he stares up at Minho with bright eyes full of excitement and hope.

Minho rolls his eyes, but leans down to give the dog a few belly scratches regardless, before he nudges him out of the way with the toe of his dress show.

"Okay, okay, mutt. That's enough. Get the fuck out."

Suwon obediently rises to his feet at your husband's gruffly affectionate dismissal, and trots out the open door, probably off to settle down for the night in Yeong-Ja's bed.

You glance up from where you're currently sat at the bathroom vanity, wiping down your face, as Minho leans against the doorway.

"How'd it go?" You ask curiously, tossing aside the rag you were using, as you reach for your moisturizer.

Minho nods, following your movements with an unreadable expression. "About as well as could be expected considering the little hang ups we've been experiencing lately."

You tilt your head, studying him in the mirror, the tired clench of his jaw, the circles staring to bruise beneath his eyes, the normally pristine suit rumpled from the plane.

Minho sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, and holds your gaze through the mirror.

"I heard you went on a little unsanctioned outing while I was away, princess."

You freeze, because you've never been good at hiding anything from Minho, and swear loudly beneath your breath.

"Fuck. I'm going to kill Felix."

Minho looks amused now, arching a brow at you as he steps into the bathroom to stand behind you, hands going down on your shoulders.

"Felix didn't narc."

His words catch you off guard. "What, but then-"

Minho leans down to meet your gaze in the mirror, his lips pulling up into the start of a smirk as he inclines his head.

You follow his pointed gaze and catch a glimpse of the bloodstained converse peeking out from beneath the hem of the bed skirt.

Fuck.

Minho snakes a hand around the front of your throat, his large palm warm against your skin, and you swallow as you feel his fingers put pressure there, soft enough to be affectionate, but firm enough to tilt your gaze back and up to his where he stands behind you.

"So now it's my turn to ask you, darling-" He murmurs, voice low and intense, leaning in to your space once more, his warm exhales dancing across your skin and making you shiver.

He meets your eyes in the mirror.

"-How'd it go?"

You swallow again, hard, heart pounding in your chest, and let your gaze slip down to his hand still around your throat, the ink of his tattoos dark against his tan skin, the gold of his rings glinting in the light from the lamp.

Warmth pools between your thighs the longer you stare.

Minho is still waiting for your answer, so you lick your lips and redirect your gaze to his once more, molten and dangerous in the reflection of the mirror.

"I handled it." You say quietly, voice firm and resolute. "With a bullet between the bastard's eyes."

Something flickers hotly across Minho's gaze at your blunt statement and then he chuckles, coarse and raw.

"That's my girl." He murmurs against your ear, and the praise has you squirming in your seat as heat gathers instantly in your core.

"Minho-" You whine out, and he flicks his gaze to yours in the mirror.

"Something you want to ask me, princess?" He asks innocently, as if he hasn't just incited all of this with a single look and a few uttered words.

"Is there something you want me to ask you, Boss Lee?" You quip back instantly, and Minho chuckles again, that throaty sound that makes you want to lead him into the bedroom and to the bed immediately.

"Ah, see, princess-" Minho murmurs, leaning in close as he takes your chin in his fingers roughly, wrenching your gaze back to his once more. "-that's what I like about you. Always willing to push back and match me step for step."

There's fire in his eyes, and it lets you know you're playing a dangerous game.

Your favorite kind.

Minho's dark eyes flash as he forces you to watch your silhouettes in the mirror, his fingers sliding down your throat and to the closure of your top, your chest rising and falling rapidly with your breaths.

"Now. Be a good girl and take this off. And when you're finished, you can get my gun."

********************************************************************************

"It's not your fault."

You don't even raise your eyes to look at Minho, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

You clench your knees tighter to your chest and stare at the way the water is swirling around your naked body and down the drain at your feet.

It's not even pink tinged anymore.

"It is though." Your voice is hoarse from screaming and crying, and it's barely more than a whisper when you finally respond. "Just none of you will say it. Not to me. But I know you're saying it to each other when I'm not there, when I leave the room."

Minho sighs, and moves further into the steamy bathroom, leaning against the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching you cautiously, expression unreadable.

You avoid his gaze, because he's got his emotions in control now, but you know that if you look at him, your mind will only replay the pain, the worry, the loss you'd seen in his eyes before.

And that will kill you.

Because you're the cause of it.

"Princess."

You curl tighter into a ball on the ridiculously large shower floor.

Minho crouches down in the corner of your vision, and his dark eyes flash sharply.

"(Y/N). Look at me."

He rarely uses your given name, and you flick your eyes miserably to meet his.

He sighs again, and his expression softens slightly.

"It is not your fault." He repeats, slowly and surely, and you know it should make you feel better, but it only makes you angry.

"It's not my fault?" You spit back, and to his credit, Minho remains steady, unmoving, in the face of your sudden fury. "It's my body that keeps losing them. I'm the one who can't seem to hold on. I'm the one who ruins our chances of ever meeting our babies before they're gone forever. I'm the one who's broken, who can't even give you what you want and it's not my fucking fault?"

You don't even realize you're crying until Minho slides into the shower beside you and gathers you into his arms.

You don't even have the strength to protest as he holds you and you sob into his chest, his dress shirt quickly growing heavy and drenched beneath your hands.

Finally, when you can catch your breath, Minho reaches up to wipe away the last of the tears from your eyes, stroking a soothing finger across your cheekbone before he says gently, softly, "You have absolutely given me everything I've ever wanted, princess. That little girl down the hall? She's my whole world. And you?"

He runs a thumb across your lips as you sniffle, fighting the tears once more.

"You will never understand what you've done for me. But I will never, ever need anything else in my life as long as I have you by my side."

********************************************************************************

"Is it someone's birthday?" Minho asks wryly when he comes downstairs and finds you and Yeong-Ja gathered in the kitchen, waiting for him.

"No, daddy." Yeong-Ja giggles, running to him as he swings her easily up into his arms and presses a kiss to the top of her dark hair. "You're so silly."

Minho tickles her a little, grinning down at her in his arms. "I don't know. It could be Uncle Felix's or Uncle Jisung's and I just forgot."

"That's why we have a calendar." You tease back, as Minho carries your daughter over to the table and sets her down on the counter, caging her in with the safety of his arms so she doesn't fall.

He gives you a wink. "You know, I never look at that thing, princess."

You mimic a sigh, but you're biting back a grin. "I know."

"Daddy, daddy, look!" Yeong-Ja, tired of being ignored, points out the cake sitting in the middle of the table, swinging her legs as she motions excitedly. "We made you a cake!"

Minho eyes the confection with open amusement and then glances between you and your daughter. "I see that. The question is why?"

Yeong-Ja squirms out of Minho's arms and jumps down from the counter with the help of her father's hand, running over to where Suwon lies beneath the large dining table.

She drags the sleepy dog out so Minho can see him and gestures to the red bowtie tied neatly around the black dogs throat, just beneath the large leather collar he wears.

"Look, SuSu got dressed up too!"

Minho crouches down, fingering the satin bow tie as the dog gives his hand a few lazy licks.

"Ah. And he looks very dapper." Minho replies seriously, before he reaches out and tweaks Yeong-Ja's nose, making her giggle. "But not as pretty as you."

"Yeong-Ja." You say, and your daughter glances up at you curiously, Minho following her gaze as you step out from behind the counter. You arch a brow at her and try to give her a pointed look. "Why don't you tell daddy why we made him a cake?"

"Oh!" Her eyes light up and she claps her hands, running back over to the counter and climbing up on one of the dozens of stools to pull the cake closer for Minho to see. "We have a surprise for you, daddy!"

Minho stands, brushing dog hair off his pants, and comes to stand beside you, his arm snaking around your waist as he watches Yeong-Ja.

"Did you really make that cake, or did you bribe cook to do it?" He murmurs to you beneath his breath as Yeong-Ja continues to chatter on excitedly.

You swat his chest lightly and try to muster up an offended look. "I'm actually hurt you would ask that."

He chuckles, shrugging a shoulder. "Just curious, princess, that's all."

"All right." Minho tugs you back against him, both arms going around your waist, his chin resting on your head as he looks to your daughter and the cake once more. "What's the surprise, baby girl?"

Yeong-Ja looks to you for confirmation, suddenly serious, and you nod slightly, telling her to go ahead.

Sudden butterflies swarm in your stomach.

Yeong-Ja, taking her job incredibly seriously, climbs down once more from her perch and makes her way across the kitchen, returning momentarily with the little gift bag the two of you had prepared earlier and hidden from Minho's view behind the cover of the counter.

Minho glances down at you curiously as she approaches, but you don't look up at him, worried the sudden wobble of your lip or the sheen of your eyes will give you away.

Your daughter presses the gift into Minho's waiting hands.

Minho stares at it for a moment, and you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

"Open it, daddy." Yeong-Ja finally says impatiently, stomping her foot, and Minho chuckles, breaking the tension.

"Okay, okay. Patience, baby girl."

He tugs the first ribbon off the bag, and you feel your entire body suddenly tense with nervous energy.

Shoving aside the tissue paper, he reaches in blind, giving Yeong-Ja a secret little smile and a wink as he does so, and when he pulls his hand back out, he uncurls his fingers to reveal what was inside.

Nestled in his large, ink covered palm is a tiny stuffed replica of a Doberman, one that looks awfully like a certain dog currently sleeping a few feet away under the dining room table.

Minho stares at the stuffed animal for a few beats, and then he glances up at you, confusion clear in his dark eyes.

"Please, for the love of god, don't tell me we're getting another puppy."

You laugh, but the sound is watery as you shake your head and open your mouth to respond, but Yeong-Ja beats you to the punch.

"No, daddy, silly!" She points at the toy held in his hand, eyes bright, expression beaming. "That's a toy for the baby!"

Without seeming to be able to stop himself, Minho murmurs out with clear relief beneath his breath, "Oh thank fuck."

You laugh again, and he looks to you for confirmation as Yeong-Ja steals the toy from his grasp, moving to show it to a very unimpressed Suwon who she has just woken from his nap.

You nod at the look on his face, the hesitance held in his eyes, and something changes at your silent acknowledgement, his expression growing incredibly soft and intense all at the same time.

He stands up and is to you in two strides, tugging you into his arms even as the tears run silently down your cheeks.

He buries his face in your hair and breathes you in for a few seconds, before he pulls back, reaching up to swipe away your tears as he asks quietly, voice hoarse, "Another murder baby?"

You laugh through the tears and lean up to kiss him, tasting the happiness on his lips as you confirm back breathlessly, "Another murder baby."

194 notes · View notes

slut4thebroken · 1 year

Text

Russian Roulette

Pairing | Mitch Rapp x reader

Summary | Assassin!reader won’t talk. mitch knows just what to do to fix that Warnings | Sexual content, 18+, gun play, fear play, degradation, cnc (barely), breeding, face fucking, crying, edging, light praise, choking, brat taming, deep throating, Words | 8k Notes | Here it is folks! The long awaited russian roulette fic😌 I do plan to edit this again and republish it in the future but I’m happy with it for now. Enjoy!! (p.s. I’m more likely to post stuff that isn’t completely perfect in my eyes (even tho it’s literally still good lmao) if I have positive reinforcement😭 just an fyi if y’all want more💀) Ao3 link | <3 Masterlist

It was supposed to be a simple mission. One you’ve done hundreds of times by now.

Seduce the target, then kill the target.

Every mission, your boss gives you a name, picture, location, and time. That’s how you found yourself at a hotel bar, wearing a skimpy dress and strappy heels, waiting for Mitch Rapp.

You’re excited for this one. Usually the men are either old perverts or young, inexperienced, and cocky. But every once in a while there'd be a man who’d challenge you. A man who made the game exciting. And Mitch seems like that kind of man.

You sipped your drink and looked around the bar. Finally you saw him walk in. He went to the opposite side of the bar and ordered a drink. When he looked up, he caught your eyes. You didn’t look away and just gave him a small smile. His face was emotionless but you didn’t let that deter you. You leaned forward with your elbows on the bar, pushing your breasts together, and watched as his eyes followed the movement. When his drink was set in front of him, he grabbed it then started walking toward you, making you laugh internally. Men are so easy.

“Hi.” You said, setting your drink down after he sat next to you.

“Hi.” His voice definitely matches his face.

“I’m Evelyn.” You lied.

“Dylan.” He lied as well. Your targets were rarely smart enough to use a fake name, usually too focused on your tits and the promise of a good fuck instead.

“Do you live around here?” You asked, twirling a piece of hair around your finger.

“No. I’m here on business.” He took a sip of his drink and looked you up and down, this time spending more time on your legs.

“Oh me too. Well, business and then a little vacation time before I have to go back.” Which was another lie. You never stay anywhere right after a mission. “Although I do have time for some fun before I have to work.” You gave him a small smirk and crossed your legs, making your dress ride up your thigh.

“Oh yeah? How much time?”

“Probably a couple hours. My boss is flexible.” Lie. He hates when you’re late. But you’re horny and, target or not, there’s a hot man in front of you. He can wait a little longer than planned.

“What do you say, Dylan? Wanna keep me company for a few hours?” You set your hand on his thigh lightly. When you started sliding it up, he grabbed your wrist, his fingers completely encircling it. Probably to keep you from finding a concealed weapon.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He said lowly.

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” You bit your lip, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “C’mon, let’s have some fun.” You leaned your face closer to his and felt his grip on your wrist tighten.

“I promise I’ll be a good girl.” You whispered, breath fanning against his lips. His eyes roamed your face for a few seconds before suddenly using his grip to pull you from your seat, over to the elevator. You’re thankful your purse was already on your shoulder because you definitely wouldn’t have remembered to grab it… And you definitely need it to finish the mission. Not that you can’t kill someone without a gun, it’s just easier.

You entered the elevator and he pushed the button for his floor. When the doors closed he slammed your back against the wall and pressed his lips to yours, making you moan in surprise. His hands gripped your waist tightly and yours went to his hair. He kissed you passionately, his tongue fighting for dominance with yours. When he rolled his hips into you, you pulled back with a gasp. He was quick to move to your neck, pressing kisses and leaving hickeys along the sides. You moaned again and his hand snaked down your leg then up your dress on the outside of your thigh.

“Oh my god!”

You both pulled away quickly. An older lady stood outside the elevator with her mouth open in shock. You hadn’t even heard the elevator ding. Mitch checked the floor number then swiftly exited, pulling you behind him.

“Sorry.” You gave the lady a sheepish smile as you walked past her. You entered his room quickly and he slammed you against the wall again. When his lips met yours, you started trying to push his jacket off his shoulders. He obliged then pulled back to take his shirt off.

You were too horny to think about what the proper reply should be when someone has scars like this. Maybe that’s what gave you away.

He pulled your purse off your shoulder and threw it on the dresser next to you. You internally cringed when it landed with a really loud thump, seeing as your phone and gun are both in it.

He kissed you again and started sliding both of his hands up the outside of your thighs, this time making sure to pull your dress up. He placed his leg between yours and you stifled a moan. When he bit your lip, you gave in, starting to grind on his thigh. His hands reached your hips and he gripped them tightly, forcing you to continue rocking against him.

Mitch moved to your neck again, leaving more hickeys and occasionally biting the sensitive skin. He reached your collar bones and continued down your chest but pulled back when he reached your dress. He looked at you with dark eyes then placed his hand on your neck. You gasped and started rutting against him harder.

He leaned his head down next to yours, putting his mouth by your ear, then whispered, “Who are you?”

“W-what?” You didn’t register the question, still focusing on grinding against him. He leaned back to look at you and tightened his hand on your neck, making you release a choked moan.

“Who the fuck are you?” Your hips stuttered to a stop. Shit. They never figure it out until there’s a gun to their head. Maybe he means something else. “Who do you work for?” He said, harsher this time.

Okay so he definitely doesn’t mean something else. Fuck. He slammed your head against the wall and you winced.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about. Dylan, you’re scaring me.” You said quietly.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He growled. He tightened his grip, and even pushed on your windpipe, making you claw at his hand, trying to remove it.

“You’re hurting me.” You whimpered, feeling tears pool in your eyes from the lack of oxygen. “Dylan, please.” You gasped, letting the tears fall- all of it adding to your performance. His grip loosened and your chest heaved, trying to take in as much air as possible. Finally you caught your breath and then made your move- it’s too risky to stay in this position when you don’t know what he’s capable of.

You punched him in the nose and he stumbled back, clearly surprised. You ran the couple of steps to reach for your purse but were yanked back by your hair until you landed on the ground in front of him, his gun aimed at your head.

“Who are you?” He asked again, his voice harsher now.

There are three ways you can play this. Accept your fate, continue with the act and hope you fool him, or fight and finish the assignment. In reality, there was only one option because of your ego.

“Honestly I’m surprised you figured it out so soon. Most of them don’t until they’re already dead.” You smirked, looking up at him. “Although the few that do figure it out usually are smart enough to try and get their dick wet before doing anything.” His face remained emotionless and it only spurred you on.

“What gave me away?” You started taking off your heels, preparing for a fight or a quick escape. “C’mon Mitch,” You continued when he didn’t reply, “I gotta know how to improve for my next job.”

“Who are you?” You kept looking up at him and moved onto your knees, not giving him an answer. Suddenly, his gun hit your temple, the force making you fall onto your hip. You brought your hand up to feel the injury, no blood at least but it’ll definitely bruise.

“Fucking, dick! What was that for?”

“It’s going to get a whole lot worse for you if you don’t start answering my questions.”

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” He cocked the gun and held it closer to your head making you chuckle. “You won’t do that.”

“Why’s that?” He deadpanned.

“Because your dick’s still hard.” You whispered, placing a hand on his bulge, waiting for him to remove it. He looked you up and down and you could only imagine what you look like right now. Because based on what you can feel, your dress is dangerously low on your chest and high on your thighs, and not to mention the number of hickeys you probably have. He put his gun in the waistband of his pants behind him and you smirked triumphantly.

Mitch crouched in front of you and you tried to plan how you could grab either his gun off him or your own. One hand fisted your hair and roughly pulled your head back, making you gasp.

“I’m going to ask you again. And I’m going to keep asking and hurting you more and more until you finally tell me.”

“Who are you?” You kept your mouth shut and stared at him. He removed his hand from your hair to land a swift punch on your cheek before grabbing it again. The dull throbbing hurt like hell but you kept your poker face.

“Who do you work for?” When you didn’t answer, he punched you twice this time. You could taste the blood in your mouth and you debated spitting it in his face.

“You’re wasting your time. You might as well just kill me.” You wiped off some blood you felt dripping on the corner of your mouth. “I’ve been trained to endure every type of torture in the book.” He examined you again but this time you grew nervous under his gaze. Finally he hummed and stood up.

“You’re right. I’m going about this all wrong.”

“What?” You barely got the word out before he grabbed your hair again, lifting you off the floor and throwing you onto the bed. “What the hell are you doing??” You scrambled backwards to the head of the bed when he started moving toward you.

“Luckiky for you, I know a type of torture that’s not in the book. Take your dress off.”

“W- no!” He sighed and got on the bed, grabbing your ankles and pulling you until you laid on your back. Mitch grabbed the hem of your dress and ripped it in half easily. You wanted to be angry with him so badly… but the horny part of your brain is outweighing any logic right now.

He pulled the shreds of fabric off your body until you were left in just underwear- foregoing a bra earlier because of the dress’s low back.

Mitch straddled your hips and placed a hand on your neck, leaning down so his nose brushed yours. You closed your eyes, waiting, but you only felt his breath fan against your lips as he chuckled.

“You’re lucky I don’t just kill you right now.” He rasped. His hand moved up to grip your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. “What do you say when I’m being so generous?”

Fuck you. Is what you wanted to say.

“Thank you…” You muttered, looking at the wall next to you. You assumed Mitch was satisfied because he released your face and sat up. He dragged his nails down your ribs and you hissed at the sting. Finally he reached your underwear.

“Such a fucking slut.” He mumbled under his breath and you bit your tongue. “No bra and this pathetic excuse for underwear? Baby, you’re just asking for it aren’t you?” He cooed. You wanted to beat the patronizing tone right out of him, but you couldn’t help the reaction you actually had. He smirked when he noticed you clenching your thighs together beneath him.

Mitch grabbed your underwear and ripped it in half, a lot easier than your dress. He removed the fabric and you started squirming under him. His hands held your hips still and his thumb brushed across your mound, teasing you. You bucked your hips and whined.

“Oh I’m sorry. Did you want something?” You glared at him and his smirk returned.

“You know, if you don’t know how to please a woman you can just say that. You don’t have to drag it out and stall.” His smirk immediately turned into a scowl and he raised his hand to hit you again but froze when he heard an unfamiliar phone go off. He got off you and you started to sit up but he grabbed his gun, pointing it at you.

“Stay.”

You rolled your eyes at the command. He grabbed your purse from the dresser and walked back over to the bed, gun still aimed at you.

“That’s my boss probably wondering where I am.” You said when the ringing stopped.

“I thought you said he’s flexible.”

“I lied.”

The ringing started again and he pulled the phone out of your purse. He looked at the unknown number then to you.

“You’re going to answer and you’re going to lie. Otherwise it’s a bullet in your head. Understand?” You nodded and he answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

“What’s taking so long?” He snapped.

“I’m just wrapping up. I’ll be in tomorrow instead of tonight… This guy was a lot more trained than you said.”

“You better not have slept with him again-“

“That literally happened one time and I still finished the assignment. How many more times are you going to bring it up?” You asked, very annoyed and wanting to get back to Mitch. Speaking of him, you looked up at him and saw his eyebrows were raised. You just rolled your eyes and flipped him off.

“Don’t be late.” The call abruptly ended and you found yourself wondering why you had covered for him. You’re not afraid to die… but it was almost instinctual to lie to your boss and that scared you. Because if Mitch had the power to make you do that… what else could he make you do?

You cleared your throat and looked up at him. He tossed your phone on the floor then continued digging through your purse. He pulled out your revolver and smirked.

“Cute.”

“Yeah I bet you’ll think it’s really cute when one of those bullets goes through dick-“

“Watch your fucking mouth. That’s your final warning.”

“Or what?” You challenged him. He set your gun on the bed behind him and kneeled over your hips again.

“Open.” You kept your mouth shut as tight as possible and he sighed. Mitch grabbed your cheeks and forced your jaw down then slid his gun into your mouth. You gagged at the taste and tried to get away from it but he was practically holding your head down. When you gagged again, this time it was because he shoved it further into your mouth. You felt tears well up in your eyes, then fall down your temples.

“Poor baby, crying over a few inches. How do you think you’re going to take my cock if you can’t even take this, hm?” You attempted to whine around the gun but it just sounded like a garbled moan. Mitch fucked his gun in and out of your mouth slowly and you continued to squirm under him.

“Careful, baby. One wrong move and I could accidentally pull the trigger. We don’t want that now do we?” You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut, your body going stiff.

“There you go.” He purred. You continued gagging and crying, just wanting to be done with this part already.

“Take it.” He uttered softly. After a few more long seconds he removed it, a trail of saliva connecting the barrel and your lips. You coughed and tried to catch your breath, then looked up at him through your lashes, your lips were slightly parted as you panted.

He reached up and placed a hand on your cheek. You tried not to read into it when you leaned your head against his palm. His thumb wiped the remainder of your tears, then moved down to trace your lips. He just barely put his thumb in your mouth when you closed your lips around it and sucked lightly. You swirled your tongue around his finger, then opened your lips slightly. He removed his thumb, dragging your bottom lip down on the way out.

Your thighs were squeezed together and you bucked your hips before you could stop yourself. He chuckled and removed his hand from your face, groping your breasts instead. You gasped when he pinched your nipples and then winced when he tugged even harder.

“Ow.” You mumbled. He ignored you and did it again. “You know, you don’t have to be so rough with it. It feels perfectly fine when you do it lighter.”

“Oh I know. But here’s the thing,” He leaned down in front of your face, “I’m not trying to make you feel good, and I especially don’t care if it feels good or not.” He glanced at your lips, then leaned back up.

“I’m going to keep hurting you. And if your slutty little head can’t tell the difference, that’s not my fault.” He shrugged and you pouted.

“There’s not even a small part of you that wants to make me feel good?” You looked up at him through your lashes. His hands grabbed your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles on your stomach.

“You know, usually when someone tries to kill me… that’s not a very good incentive for me to pleasure them.” You just rolled your eyes.

“But I understand why you’re confused, baby.” His tone was dripping with condescension. “Because we both know you’re not leaving here alive and yet, I’d bet you’re all too willing and eager to please me.” You scoffed and he raised his eyebrows, as if to say am I wrong?

“Tough luck.” You snickered, feeling his grip tighten on your waist. “I’m a pillow princess. So I’m perfectly content right here.” You smirked and tilted your head slightly from its place on the pillows, as if to give him a physical example of just how content you are. He gripped your neck in one hand, the other holding himself up on the bed next to your shoulder while he leaned over you.

“That may be true, but even as a pillow princess I can tell you’d do just about anything for some praise.” You felt your cheeks heat up at that. There’s no way you’re this easy to read…?

“Please.” You scoffed. “I wasn’t loved enough by my daddy and now I’ll do anything a man asks in bed? Is that it?” You said sarcastically.

“No I don’t think it’s that.” Mitch tilted his head, studying you. “I think, being a female assassin, you rarely get the recognition and praise that you deserve. So you crave it in other forms.” You swallowed, your neck moving under his palm.

“What is this, a fucking therapy session?” You spat, growing uncomfortable under his gaze.

“No.” He smirked. “I’m just having some fun by getting under your skin.”

“Or are you just stalling cause you’ve never been with a woman before?” You flashed an innocent smile as his hand tightened on your neck. “Or is it that you can’t get it up? There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mitch. Impotence isn’t uncommon.” You feigned seriousness, almost laughing at his expression.

Eventually though, he just chuckled darkly and your stomach dropped a little. He grabbed your ripped underwear and shoved it in your mouth. You looked at him with wide eyes, but before you could do anything, his hand was leaving your neck and sliding down your stomach. He reached your leg and traced over your hip bone, not going down any farther. You tried to spread your legs under him but you barely moved.

Mitch leaned up then settled between your legs on his knees. He grabbed your hips roughly and dragged his nails down your thighs, touching you just about everywhere except where you actually wanted him to.

You whined, squirming and opening your legs wider. Finally, his fingers ghosted over your clit, making you instantly buck your hips into his hand. To retaliate, he slapped your clit, hard, and shot you a warning look. You choked on a gasp at the sting but it faded quickly.

His fingers lightly dragged down your clit to your folds, then back up to start again. You were just about to rip the underwear from your mouth and tell him to hurry up when a finger entered you. You let out a muffled moan and closed your eyes, tilting your head back. He curled his finger inside you over and over again until you were bucking your hips against his hand. He inserted another finger and you let out another relieved moan.

This continued for a few minutes until you felt yourself nearing the edge. His palm pressed down against your clit, adding even more stimulation. Your hips were rocking against his hand and your eyes closed as you were about to come. He pulled his hand away suddenly, making you whine loudly.

“Ready for some torture?” Mitch smirked and you pouted around the makeshift gag. His fingers entered you, picking up where they left off. You fisted the sheets in both hands and arched your back slightly as you got close again. He stopped and you cried out as you came down from the edge for a second time.

“You gonna answer me now?” He looked at you with a dark glint in his eyes. He wasn’t really asking since he didn’t remove the gag to let you speak. “That’s fine. I have all night.” He curled his fingers inside of you and picked up the speed, making you release a muffled moan. He edged you a few more times- after the fourth time you started losing count- and you were so desperate that you were on the verge of tears.

You tried talking around the underwear in your mouth but it just came out as incoherent, muffled sounds. He removed it and you didn’t waste a second before begging.

“Please- I want…” You cut off with a sharp inhale when a third finger entered you, “I want to come. Please make me come.” He was silent for a moment and then he removed his fingers, sucking your arousal off of them quickly.

“How about this?” He picked up your gun and took out the bullets, leaving one in, and then spun the cylinder. “I’m going to shoot this four times,” he leaned over on his elbow, aiming the gun at your temple, “and if you’re still alive by the end of it, then you can come.” You choked on a gasp and his fingers brushed your entrance again.

“If you’re not alive by the end of it…” He leaned down so his nose almost brushed yours, “Well, I’m still going to fuck you.” He whispered with a dark look in his eyes that made you shiver. He inserted his fingers again and you whimpered at the intrusion.

“Ready?” He smirked, cocking the gun. You shook your head and furrowed your brows.

“N-no, I don’t-“ You flinched when he pulled the trigger, the click deafening right next to your ear because of the sudden fear you got hit with. You shuddered and squeezed your eyes shut.

“One.” He rasped. You whimpered and shook your head more.

“M-Mitch, I-I don’t wanna…” You gasped out.

“Why not, baby?” He worked his fingers inside you faster now. “I thought you wanted to come?” And the thing is… you do. You want to come so fucking badly. The gun aimed at your head is only adding to the growing knot of arousal in your stomach. But you watched him load the gun. And you have every reason to believe that he truly doesn’t care whether he fucks you before or after he kills you. While the thought makes you clench around his fingers, you’d rather be alive for that.

“Just three more, princess. I know you can take it. You wanna come right?” The saccharinity in his voice was quickly taking down all of your defenses. You nodded hesitantly, still shaking out of fear and arousal. He pulled the trigger again, the sound making you release a choked sob.

“Two more.” You felt tears welling in your eyes quickly. You’ve dabbled with fear play as a kink in the past, but it was never anything like this. He inserted a fourth finger and you whimpered at the stretch, but didn’t tell him to stop.

“You deserve this, princess.” His fingers contrasted the gentleness in his tone. “Maybe I should just fire all six rounds.” You moaned through a cry, feeling too overwhelmed emotionally and physically. “Cause we both know your holes are all you’re good for. At least when you’re dead you won’t be able to talk.” He fired the third shot and you felt the tears start to fall.

“Poor thing. Are you scared?” He cooed softly and you nodded with a whimper. “Little girls like you shouldn’t be carrying weapons around. It makes it too easy for just anyone to turn the tables and have you at the other end.” The way he reprimanded you was infantilizing. And you hated the fact that you don’t hate it…

“I-I’m sorry.” You whimpered, not sure what else to say.

“You’re so fucking pathetic. Look at you, humping my hand.” You didn’t even realize you were doing that. “Even with a gun to your head you’re still only thinking with your cunt. That’s why you’re a shitty assassin.” He whispered the last part bitterly.

“Dumb little whores like you aren’t cut out for this, you know why? Because you’d rather fuck your target than finish the assignment.” He ground the palm of his hand down hard on your clit, making you moan. “Say it, princess. Say ‘I’m a dumb whore who only thinks with my cunt.’” You whined loudly in protest, but he pressed the gun hard into your temple, reminding you of your position right now.

“I-“ You cut off with a choked sob, “I’m a…” You squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“Open your eyes, baby. Open your eyes and look at me.” You complied. “There you go. Now keep looking at me and say it. Don’t make me tell you again or one more shot will turn into two.”

“I’m a- a dumb whore who only thinks with my- with my cunt.” You whispered and Mitch looked satisfied.

“You ready to come?” You whimpered and nodded eagerly, thinking he’d let you come before firing the last shot. “Then just one more, baby.” Your stomach dropped and you felt the fear come back, full force. The coil in your stomach was about as tight as it could get and you tried to come before he could have a chance to fire another round, but your body would not obey you.

“Ready?” You choked on a sob and shook your head. “Oh come on, don’t be such a little bitch about it. Do you want to come or not?”

“Yes!” You cried.

“Then beg.” He said and you paused.

“W-what?”

“Beg me to shoot you so you can finally come, humping my hand like a fucking bitch in heat.” He growled, his fingers somehow going faster. You stared at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

“Go on, baby.”

“Please…” You mumbled.

“Remember what I said would happen if I had to tell you again?” You swallowed, giving him a small nod.

“Please s-shoot me…” You whimpered, eyeing the gun. He raised his eyebrows so you continued, “so you can finally make me come.”

“Good girl.” He smirked, grinding his palm harder against your clit, bringing you impossibly closer to the edge. He fired the gun and you froze, then let out a heavy breath.

“Can- can I come now please?” You all but sobbed in relief.

“Go ahead, princess. Keep humping my hand just like that… good girl. Grind on it, baby. Make yourself cum.” He set the gun on the bed then wrapped his hand around your throat, pressing on the sides hard enough to make you light headed. You gripped his bicep and squeezed your eyes shut. Finally the knot inside you snapped and your back arched as your head tilted back, pushing your throat into his hand. Your other hand reached up to grab the wrist of the hand on your neck. You didn’t try to pull him away, you just needed something to ground yourself.

As you came down from your orgasm, your body sagged into the bed. Your eyes were closed as you panted, trying to catch your breath. He pulled his fingers from you then took his ring and pinky fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean and groaning at the taste. He placed his pointer and middle fingers in your already open mouth and you moaned, leaning forward to take them deeper.

“Who do you work for?” He asked softly, removing his fingers and using his other hand to cup your cheek. The tenderness of his touch and his voice distracted you from the weight of the question.

“Piece of shit.” You mumbled sleepily, leaning into his hand. “Hate him.” You sighed and closed your eyes that were growing heavier the longer you tried to keep them open.

“Why does he want me dead?” He brushed his thumb against your cheek, his other hand moving some hair behind your ear.

“You’re being so sweet. Dunno why anyone would want that.” You pouted, opening your eyes to look at him. He gave you a soft smile, but his eyes showed his confusion. “I didn’t wanna kill you. Dunno why… just had a feeling I guess.” You returned his smile then closed your eyes again.

“I’m not done with you yet, princess. Don’t go falling asleep on me now.” He chuckled, his breath fanning against your lips. “Remember what I said? I’m fucking you whether you’re alive or not.”

“Alive doesn’t mean conscious.” You smiled mischievously, not opening your eyes.

“Alright then. If you don’t want to be conscious when I fuck your face and then your cunt, then by all means. Go ahead and sleep. Makes no difference to me.” You could practically hear his smirk, and yet… you still took the bait. You opened your eyes and glared at him.

“Fine. I guess I’ll be conscious.” You huffed dramatically, rolling your eyes. You did your best to suppress a giggle.

“I’m honored.” His faux seriousness is what made you break out into a fit of laughter. He didn’t really laugh with you, but he smiled so you counted that as a win.

“Alright get it over with.” You settled into your spot on the bed and opened your mouth with a glint in your eyes.

“You’re such a pillow princess.” He muttered, shaking his head with an amused smile.

“Hey! Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. I’m proud to be a pillow princess.” You grinned and he just scoffed.

“Yeah, okay.” He laid down on the spot next to you, one hand resting on his stomach and the other behind his head. “Sorry, princess but you’re gonna have to do some of the work. I’ve been on top the whole time.”

“So what I’m hearing is… you want to bottom? I mean I’m down for that but I don’t think we have the right materials, unless you’re hiding a strap somewhere.” You smirked, sitting up.

“Cute. Remember what happened last time you didn’t watch your mouth?” You flushed at the memory.

“How are you gonna fuck my face if you gag me with my underwear again?”

“I’m really starting to reconsider accepting your decision to stay conscious.” You gaped at him.

“You wound me, Mitch.” You put a hand over your heart dramatically.

“I’m going to wound you if you don’t hurry up.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You know, you telling me to hurry up makes me want to do the opposite.” You crossed your arms and he huffed.

“You’re a brat too. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yeah actually. It usually goes hand in hand with the whole pillow princess thing.” You condescended him and he raised his eyebrows.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes then looked up at you through his lashes. “Please suck my cock, baby. You wanna make me feel good right? Wanna prove that you really are a good girl? Cause I’m aching for you, princess. I know you can make me feel so fucking good.” He all but whined and you faltered. That was not what you were expecting at all. You figured you’d get another sarcastic reply, not- not that. You settled between his legs on your knees.

“I want to state for the record that I am doing this because I want to, not because you told me to.” You started unbuttoning his pants and you glanced up when he didn’t reply. He had a satisfied smirk on his stupid, pretty face. You just glared at him and kept working on taking his pants off. When you removed his black briefs you were mesmerized as his cock slapped against his stomach, big and red and did you mention he was big??

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“I would but you threw my phone somewhere so…” You reached out to touch him but he grabbed your wrist.

“Take them off all the way.” You huffed but did what he said then reached for him again, he didn’t stop you this time. It looked even bigger in your hand and you could see the vein on the bottom and the precum surfacing at the tip. You leaned down and licked the clear bead, moaning at the taste and then laying down on your stomach between his legs.

You looked up at him and god what a sight. The veins in his arm behind his head are bulging and you could see the veins in the hand resting on his stomach. His pupils were blown wide and he had a light blush on his face.

“C’mon, princess. We don’t have all night.” You ignored him and continued trailing your gaze over his body. You wanted to kiss all of the moles littering his face. Your hand reached up and you brushed your fingers down his happy trail until you reached the base of his cock. You grasped it and looked up at him before starting to move your hand.

His eyes fluttering was the only indication that he even felt anything, so you decided to do more. You put the tip in your mouth and lightly sucked and then swirled your tongue around it, your hand still pumping him. He muttered a ‘fuck’ and you wanted more.

You took him deeper into your mouth, until your lips met your hand, then went back up, still keeping your mouth on him. You looked up at him and when you met his eyes he groaned. He tangled a hand in your hair but didn’t push you yet.

“That’s it. Fuck- good girl. No hands, baby. Just your mouth.” You removed your hand and continued bobbing your head up and down his length. He started taking control, moving you further down each time. When you gagged and tried to pull back is when he lost all control.

His other hand joined your hair and he didn’t even move your head. He just held you still and bucked up into your mouth at a punishing pace. Each time he thrusted in, you were nearly all the way down, but not fully. His thrusting came to an abrupt stop when he buried his cock as far as your throat would allow.

“Fuck- Relax your throat, princess. C’mon, take me all the way in.” You did your best to relax and he pushed inside until you gagged around him and tried moving off him. His grip didn’t loosen and you clawed at his thighs, feeling your airways start to burn from lack of oxygen. When he finally let you pull back, you took a huge breath in and coughed. Mitch was stroking your hair and you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.

“Ready for more?” You glanced at his cock again and nodded, licking your lips. He eased your mouth back over him and started with slow thrusts. He moved your head up and down his length, the slow place allowing you to concentrate on breathing and not gagging.

“You’re just the perfect little fuck toy for my cock, aren’t you?” You moaned around him and he started to speed up. “Just a fleshlight for me to use however I want. Fuck- you were made for this.” He grunted. His hips started to meet your mouth every time he pushed you down.

“Fuck- take it, princess.” He groaned when you choked around him. He held you down until your lips were at the base of his cock, paying no mind to your struggling. Your hands gripped his thighs again, nails digging into the skin. Even though he was holding you flush against his hips, he was still thrusting into your mouth slightly.

Finally he released you, a trail of spit connecting your lips and his cock. One of his hands fell to his side, the other brushing the tears of your face.

“Come here.” He muttered, pulling your body up his. He kissed you slowly, nails dragging down your back, making you groan. He rolled both of you over until he was on top of you, never breaking the kiss.

“I’m gonna fuck you now.” He rasped. You nodded your head, eager for him to start. “Condom?” He took his cock in his hand, rubbing the tip against your opening and your clit.

“Don’t have one. I’m on the pill though.” You breathed, bucking your hips into him. He connected his lips to yours again, this time faster and more eager. He pressed the tip against your opening, pushing in the tiniest amount. When he finally breached your walls you gasped. Obviously you knew he was big… but it’s a whole other story when he’s actually inside you.

He slowly slid his length into you, your legs being pushed up to his hips the closer he got. When his hips were flush against yours, your chest started heaving as you tried to relax around him.

“Fuck,” You whimpered, grabbing his bicep in one hand and the sheets in the other, “oh my god. You’re so fucking big.” You gasped out. He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth in a silent moan. Mitch grabbed your thigh and pushed it up higher, the new angle making you whimper.

“Oh fuck- your little cunt is so tight around me.” He groaned, finally starting to pull back slowly. He dragged his length out of you until only the tip was inside, then snapped his hips forward quickly. The force pushed you up the bed slightly but he continued that rhythm.

“Fuck- please go faster.” You whined, dragging your nails down his back and making him groan. His thrusts sped up slightly, the sound of his hips hitting yours was resonating through the room, along with your moans. His mouth attached to your neck as he bit and sucked the skin everywhere he could reach. You put a hand in his hair and pulled on it hard. To retaliate, his hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing the sides and making your head feel lighter.

Mitch kissed you again briefly, then pulled out. You whimpered at the empty feeling but he quickly grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. He pulled you onto your knees then pressed down on your upper back, making you arch even further. His cock entered you again and you let out a loud moan at the sudden thrust. His pace picked up quickly and you fisted the sheets near your head and squeezed your eyes shut. His hand left your back to grab your hips, using the leverage to thrust harder and faster.

He landed a sharp slap on your ass and you cried out from the sudden sting. He leaned over you and brushed the hair on your face behind your ear. His thrusts never ceased as his lips brushed your ear.

“You take my cock so fucking well, baby.” He said through a moan. Your breath hitched and you felt his words add to the growing warmth in your belly. “It’s like you were made for me. Made to be my little cock sleeve.” Mitch grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, making you gasp. His other hand wrapped around your throat, pushing your head back slightly. The harshness of his thrusts coupled with the sting on your scalp and the floaty feeling from his hand on your neck was driving you closer to the edge.

No matter how much you hated your boss or your job… you couldn’t help but feel glad that you didn’t quit yet. Because this was probably the best fuck of your life. Sure, most of the other men you’ve been with couldn’t please a woman to save their life- literally and metaphorically- but there’s just something different about him. About the way that he’s rough and soft at the same time. Not just in his actions but in his words too. It’s almost like he had a fucking manual for all of your kinks and turn ons.

“Where do you want me to come?” He whispered, lips grazing your ear. And fuck- you clenched around him, making him moan lowly.

“Inside.” You whispered breathily. His grip on your neck tightened and he cursed under his breath.

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up?” He put all his weight on the arm holding your throat, then released your hair and moved his hand down to start rubbing your clit.

“Please.” You whined, clenching down on him again.

“Such a fucking slut- wanting a stranger to come inside you.” You whimpered at that because… even though it doesn’t feel like it, he still is a stranger. “What if I knock you up, huh? I guess it won’t matter either way since, like I said, you’re not leaving here alive.” His thrusts got harder and faster and he was panting next to your head.

“Please, I-“ You cut off with a choked sob, getting closer to your release with every thrust. “I wanna live. Wanna be your cock sleeve.” Despite you being 90% sure this was all roleplay, there was still some truth to your words.

“Begging for your life and all you have to offer are your holes?” Your breath hitched and his words just added to the growing knot in your stomach. “I might consider that. But it depends… are you offering all your holes?”

“Yes!” You said through a moan. “Yes- all of them.” He chuckled darkly. “Please, I- I need to come.” You cried, feeling yourself nearing the edge.

“Go ahead, baby. Come and I’ll fill you up, okay?” He rasped, his hand rubbing your clit faster. Your body obeyed his command and you cried out when your orgasm hit. You heard him curse under his breath and felt as he fucked into you faster. You buried your face in the bed, muffling your loud moans. His hips stilled and you felt hot come paint your walls. You let out a loud whine as his hips just barely bucked against you, trying to bury himself deeper.

After both of you stilling and just panting for a few seconds, you lifted your face from the bed so you could breathe better and he moved off of you so he was kneeling. Mitch slowly dragged his cock out and you clenched at the emptiness. You felt his come drip out of you, down your clit, and he groaned loudly. He rubbed the head of his cock on you, spreading his come around, and you hissed at how sensitive you were. He moved to lay beside you and you dropped down from your knees on your stomach.

“You don’t seem like the type to cuddle after sex.” You chuckled and the corners of his lips turned up.

“You’d be surprised. But we aren’t exactly cuddling right now.”

“Well what’s stopping you?” You smirked and he rolled his eyes before pulling you to lay partially on top of him.

“Better?” He raised his brows and you laughed quietly.

“Much.” You said, laying your head on his chest. His fingertips lightly dragged up and down your arm and you traced the moles and freckles on his chest. What now? You thought. He’s not actually going to kill you… is he? “Are you actually gonna kill me?” You mumbled against his chest.

“I don’t know…” He sighed. “No. But I can’t just let you go.” He was silent for a moment before continuing. “I think I should bring you to my superiors and let them decide what to do with you.”

“Your superiors? That doesn’t sound ominous at all.” You laughed, feeling his chest vibrate as he chuckled quietly. “What are they like mob bosses or something?” You said teasingly.

“More like a former navy seal and director of the CIA.”

“The C-“ You lifted yourself off his chest to look at him. “CIA? You work for the CIA??” Your voice rose in shock and he raised his brows, amused by your reaction.

“Oh my god- I almost killed someone from the CIA. That would’ve been so bad.” You put a hand over your mouth and stared at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t even get close to killing me.” He chuckled.

“Only because I didn’t want to. I totally could’ve killed you.” He just smirked at you but you were too hung up on the fact that your boss basically sent you on a suicide mission. If not suicide, then life in jail.

“That bastard! He sent me to kill an agent of the US government and didn’t even fucking tell me.” You seethed before calmly stating, “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Don’t kill him.” He chuckled. “Actually it depends. Who is he?” You told him the name and his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“That’s the guy we’ve been after right now. We’re actually really close too.”

“Oh... What’d he do?” You asked.

“He’s a terrorist.” He deadpanned and your whole expression dropped.

“Oh shit.” You breathed. “Okay well now I definitely want to kill him.” You shrugged. “After I get paid though.”

“But you didn’t kill me.”

“That’s what’s funny about it though. It’d be even more ironic if you were the one to kill him.” Suddenly, you realized that you, an assassin, are talking to an agent of the US government about killing someone. “Are you gonna arrest me?” You asked nervously and he let out a small chuckle.

“I don’t think I can even do that… but no.” You sighed in relief. “Plus, what good is a fuck toy if it’s in jail?” He smirked and you felt your cheeks heat up.

I’M SORRY IDK HOW TO END THIS 😭💀

#mitch rapp smut #mitch rapp x reader #american assassin #russian roulette #(but sexy)

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simp4konig · 8 months

Text

"Can I sit here?" König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3060

*Part one?

*Slow burn?

*Strangers to Friends (to Lovers?)

Not decidedany of those yet 😶

Edited on 23/8/2023 for some grammar tweaks.

*!!Fanfic inspired by @theeggrollslord's drawing on Twitter!! I really wanted to use their art as the cover for this fanfic, but due to me not having an Twitter (or X 🤮) account, and not knowing whether the original artist consents to people reposting their art, I held back. 😿 If anyone knows whether they are able to give me permission or are cool with it, please let me know!! ☺️

*Author has played MW1 + 2... but not the newest reimagines. 😭 all I remember from the campaign is that Shepherd shot Ghost in the face,but in NO way did he look as fine as he does now ☠️☠️

*Author does NOT speak German... but can use Google Translate !!😊

As is customary with all foreigners, English is not my first language!. Pls do not bully me if my grammar is bad i will cry 😢

König sat by himself in the cafeteria.

Three sausages, a spoonful of beans, and two eggs alongside a 500ml water bottle were all that consisted of his daily breakfast. Hash browns would be served raw, and the bagels were solid enough to break teeth when bitten into. He didn't even want to consider the sandwiches, as their stale, stinking cheese and slick ham made him gag. A pity that they didn't serve Bratwurst or order authentic — hell, even half-decent — eggs, as the meat in his sausages tasted out of date and the yolks were a dull yellow. The beans weren't even Heinz.

Looking at the cheap slop on his tray made him lose his appetite. At least the water was drinkable, but its taste was peculiar at best.

König sighed.

Every day "eating" the same breakfast, sitting in the same spot, at the same time.

To say that he enjoyed the routine of the barracks would be an overstatement, as he felt oppressed by the monotony: rigorous and thorough briefings pre-missions; intense training three times a day; shooting drills and target practice right after the sun barely opened its eye or into late hours of the evening when it was hard to see. Yet he couldn't complain, and forced himself to appreciate the predictable structure of the barracks.

After all, routine meant safety.

Knowing the details of the misson and the intel required guaranteed a flawless operation. Knowing how exactly to eliminate an opponent in any given situation meant that it made the job even easier. Knowing when to dive for cover to avoid a rain of bullets and the rumbling thunder of machine guns in an active shootout equalled survival.

And knowing that you intimidated everyone on base at least made social interactions easier. All of these extended his life expectancy, yet by how much was anyone's guess.

Being a 6'10 wall of a pure muscle made him the perfect human bulldozer, and paired with his animalistic instincts taking over while on the battlefield, he struck fear in even his own teammates.

Most of the time, König didn't even need to use a gun, as he could snap an enemy's neck faster than they could blink; and, even if they could do that, they wouldn't be able to react fast enough as he manhandled their body like a rag doll and snapped their spine in half over his knee. Quick and easy kills. Other times, frantic stabs in the abdomen, chest or neck finished with a harsh cut of the throat sufficed when sneaking, and allowed him to release any pent of frustration he felt that he wouldn't have been able to relieve through strangulation alone.

Yet, all of the time, seeing König's brutality first-hand made his teammates lose their balance and struggle to collect themselves during the mission, fearing that he would turn to indiscriminately killing anyone that had the misfortune of entering his field of vision. Compared to König's animalistic instincts taking over in an active firefight and causing bloodshed, his allies putting down enemies with a bullet to the head seemed merciful, and even kind.

Unlike friendships, killing people was easy. Keeping good relations with people was difficult enough for König to begin with — with his first hurdle being his social anxiety, and the hurdle of others being getting used to his frightening exterior — and it grew more and more into a challenge as he moved up the ranks, until his position as Colonel made him feared, not respected. People avoided his eyes, and kept conversations to a minimum, bowing their heads in fear, not respect.

After witnessing him maul enemies like a feral animal, König walking down the barracks had people scuttling away like rats in opposite directions, a horde of people dissipating in an instant. Crowded rooms with rowdy laughter suddenly were brought to silence once he made the mistake of entering, with people speaking in hushed whispers or not even speaking at all, opting to escape before their colonel addressed them.

Truth of the matter was, König never wanted to be a colonel. He'd had rather been the one receiving orders than the one making them, as his social anxiety in front of innumerable pairs of expectant eyes put pressure on him in the moment and made it near impossible to let a single word out.

He was not a natural born leader: he knew it, everyone knew it; but he kept his position solely due to his ruthlessness in action and his cold efficiency, as there was no one like him that could come close to imitating his behaviour.

Then, to say that he enjoyed the daily routine of life in the barracks was a stretch to say the least. The thrill of killing on missions and the primal adrenaline that took over his veins and clouded his senses could not be more of a contrast to this boredom and overwhelming isolation on base: of every day sitting in the same damned spot; of every day pretending to eat the same damned food; and, of every damned day being avoided by the other operators to be at a peace he was forced to accept, whether he liked it or not. What a miserable life to live.

The beans on his plate looked menacing, and he had the urge to crush each one individually until they'd stop sneering at him so, as being judged by off-brand beans was running his patience thin. Yet, he wouldn't do that, as everyone else would view him as not only a brute but a mentally unstable lunatic who was now using food scraps as an outlet for his temper; so, he resorted to just picking at the rations instead. His head was in his palm, and his gaze went elsewhere, his pale blue eyes drooping.

So engrossed in absentmindly pushing the beans on his tray with his fork and contemplating what went wrong with him that he did not hear the footsteps walking towards him.

You cleared your throat. "E-excuse me, sir, but can I sit here?"

König looked up, and saw a young recruit hovering over him with a small brown paper bag in their hands. Your face was one he hadn't seen before around here, and you weren't in the standard military uniform, so he assumed that you were perhaps a groundsperson of sorts.

Your ignorance of him was probably the only reason you dared approach him, as any other person would have avoided his table at all costs and gotten whiplash from how quickly they'd turn their head the other way. However, he was glad that he didn't intimidate everyone that encountered him, and was internally thanking you for giving him a chance. Some hope.

Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinising stare, you tugged the collar of your t-shirt and struggle for words.

"S-sorry," you begun, sheepishly looking down at the floor. A rub of the neck and a shuffling of feet. "It's just... all of the other tables are crowded, and I don't know anyone here well. And yours—" You looked at him, shooting him a lopsided grin, "—yours is empty."

"I understand," he stated, before looking back down at the mush on his tray. "Not a problem."

You gulped, feeling like he was dismissing you, and beginning to regret approaching him. "Are you sure, sir? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Look at you, he thought, so thoughtful over his feelings. When was the last time anyone bothered to ask him how he felt, or treated him like a human being?

"Ja. I am sure."

Still standing, unsure as to how to interpret the tone of his statement, you shot him a shy smile and sat down at a reasonable distance from the man, beginning to unpack the contents of your bag.

König kept stealing glances of you from under his eyebrows, trying to be discreet. Although he actually was uncomfortable — not used to company in the slightest, especially with someone so polite and courteous — he was oddly drawn to you.

He was thankful that you were oblivious to his status around these parts, and he wanted to leave a decent first impression on you before you finally overheard the true rumours about him, and paid attention to how quiet the cafeteria had gotten now that you two were sat together.

The thing was, he didn't know where to begin.

Communication was not his strong suit. He mused over potential ways of starting a conversation, yet not only had he never been faced with a situation like this, the language barrier was ever so present. Perhaps if he could speak to you in German he'd be able to formulate his thoughts better, yet at the moment it felt like all his knowledge of English seemingly evaporated in an instant.

"You prepared well your breakfast," he stated plainly, angling for any kind of small talk. He internally cringed at the order of those words and how wrong that sentence sounded in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

An awkward smile. "—W-wow. Thank you, sir!"

König felt his chest tighten, but he didn't know why.

"My first day on base I had the misfortune of being served breakfast," you continued, "so, from then on I decided right then and there "never again". The food—" you laughed weakly, "—sure is something."

"Du hast recht," agreed König. "I mean... You are right. If I had a dog, I never would feed it this— these... scraps."

You could sense König hungrily devouring your food with his eyes. Although he tried to be subtle, he was not good at going unnoticed. Really, stealing glances of this behemonth in front of you, you kind of pitied the man, especially when the next edible meal would be in precisely 5 hours. With his breakfast beaten and bruised into an unrecognisable pulp, it was definitely too late for him to consume.

Mourning your sandwiches, you silently bid them farewell and took a deep breath:

"Well, sir. I would assume that you're hungry." You took out the contents from your bag and slid them in front of him, smiling meekly. "You can have my breakfast."

He looked down at your two sandwiches and his eyes visibly widened under his hood; four thick slices of sourdough bread, a generous slather of butter, cheese, rocket lettuce, and thinly sliced pieces of meat, topped with tomatoes, and most likely seasoned with spring onion and pepper.

They looked so appetising, and he felt his mouth salivate, yet he shook his head vehemently. "Nein! Ich sollte das nicht tun, nicht, wenn du dich so sehr bemüht hast!"

You tilted your head in confusion. König mentally facepalmed.

"I-I mean... you tried very hard, and it isn't right of me. They are yours."

You waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, you need them more than me. Have them."

"Einer wird ausreichen," He shook his head again, and picked up one slowly. "One will be enough."

He reached over to take one and you looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to take a bite and give you his thoughts, yet it hit you. He was wearing his mask. He probably wouldn't eat in front of you.

A cough. "S-sorry. I'll look away while you eat it. Tell me what you think about it."

König practically shoved the entire thing in his mouth the moment your back faced him and and started choking. He saw you turning back to assist, but he raised a weak hand to stop you.

Getting over his coughing fit, he could finally appreciate the freshness and the flavour of the sandwich. It tasted of... nostalgia. Like the sandwiches his Mama would make for him after school to reassure him and to take his mind off the day's events. He felt like a young boy again. When he closed his eyes, for a split-second he imagined he was in the kitchen with his mother chatting energetically, taking his plate and ruffling his hair when he had finished and feeding him another, insisting that he "was a growing boy".

"So köstlich..." he said, and was disappointed to see that the sandwich was gone from his hands, already eaten. "Mein gott, that was perfekt. A sandwich of the Gods."

You turned around and you were beaming so brightly that König swore he would need to shield his eyes from the sight.

"Thank you so much! You don't know how happy that makes me."

You looked at him, your smile unwavering. "Do you know what would make me happier?"

He gave you a blank look. "...No?"

"If you ate the other one," you said, and König's eyes widened comically. "Though, please, be careful. Sandwiches can sure be a choking hazard," you dared tease him, and was actually surprised when he let out a quiet chuckle.

After savouring his second sandwich, the two of you were quiet. Although the tension had evaporated, the silence was deafening, and you felt suffocated by the lack of conversation.

"Uhm... Sir. What is your name?" A hesitant start, your hands folded neatly in your lap. "If it isn't too much of a personal question, of course."

He deliberated for a few moments, before responding with a quiet "König."

"König," you repeated, making sure to pronounce it properly. Your eyes widened in realisation, and you smiled broadly. "That's King, in German, right? That's so funny, because I go by King!"

König froze up like a statue.

"Holy fucking shit, what are the chances?" You rambled, not realising how quiet König had become. "Honestly, what are we doing here? Where are our castles, our riches? Our chariots led by silver horses and our toilets made of 24 carat gold?"

König shrugged stiffly. "Blown up by a grenade, I suppose."

You looked at him, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter. Like, fits of giggles, too many of them and too strong for his unbelievably dry response. Maybe that's why you were laughing so hard.

Either way, König couldn't believe it at first.

It was so... beautiful. Almost angelic in a way, despite you holding yourself up with a palm on the table and unable to contain your pig-like snorts. He could get used to hearing you laugh more often.

And, just like that, he dropped his guard. Slowly, all of his stiffness melted, and he became more of his confident self, this trait only ever coming out when he was actively shooting.

The two of you spent the entire length of breakfast chatting, joking, and telling each other things about each other. Although König insisted that his English wasn't good, you assured him that you understood him just fine — if anything, his confused looks and furrowed eyebrows at idioms you used were adorably endearing, each time earning a sympathetic giggle from you.

At some point — and though he would've been ashamed to admit it — he tuned out the babbling that came out of your mouth as he admired your face, noting all of your features: the colour of your eyes and how they'd crinkle in happiness whenever you smiled; the way your hair flowed and framed your face; taking the time to count all of the freckles on your nose and committing the number to memory.

He'd only catch himself staring when you'd suddenly finish talking. "But what do I know, I'm kind of stupid if you ask me. It's a wonder I passed the tests to qualify for this job in the first place."

You locked eyes with him, interested in hearing what he had to say. "What do you think, König? I bet you know the answer!"

To which he'd quickly clear his throat and respond with, "Ich weiß nicht. I don't know. To be... frank, though that is strange for me to say when I am not "Frank"—"

You struggled to struggle to contain your laughter, and quickly apologized as soon as you stopped shaking, before attempting to explain to this clueless Austrian man why it was used. König didn't feel demeaned by your explanation, though, as he thought that his blunders would be worth it every time if it meant hearing you laugh so sweetly.

To König's dismay, half an hour flew by in minutes, and it was time to part ways as you began your daily duties.

As the two of you stood up, you initially had realised that König was taller than the average man based off how his knees could barely fit under the table.

You sure as fuck did not expect to see this.

He towered over you, casting a shadow down below. You had to strain your neck to make eye contact with him, and a painful cramp was already forming.

"Ha—ha.... you're pretty, uh... big."

That statement had more than one connotation. Gott sei Dank für diese Maske, he thought. Thank God for this mask, otherwise you would have seen the blush from his neck up to his ears after his mind went to a place he hadn't thought it'd go, especially not with a person he had formally met not even an hour ago.

"Oh well, I can finally put those 4-inch combat boots in the bottom of my closet to good use," you laughed, playfully nudging what meant to be his shoulder but your height difference meant that you instead touched his pec. Not that you minded though.

With your arms behind your back, you shyly averted your gaze. "Well... It was nice to meet you, König."

"You too... King."

Furrowing of brows as you tilted your head. "How do you say it in German? "Auf Wiedersehen"?"

"Ja, das ist es."

"Well then, Auf Wiedersehen, big guy. I'll see you around!"

Big guy... In more ways than one...

God. König had to get a grip.

Yet, with the way he was looking at your backside and fantasizing about your next meeting, he already knew that not even Gott could help him.

...

Note: I HATE this fucking fanfiction WITH MY SOUL 🤬🤬. This fucking thing was NEARLY FINISHED and I was in the process of tweaking yet my phone decided to erase half of my progress !!!! 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

My phone 📵 and God 🤬 didn't want this fanfiction getting published yet guess what!!! 🖕🖕🖕🖕Fuck you!!!🖕🖕🖕 Ive gotten it out anyways🗣️ fucking shaved a decade off of my life trying to recovervthe opening part of this fic,,

,,,,literally why did I get punished for writing a very mild and unextreme fanfic 😭😭😭😭 like the first half was just in Königs perspective and Ur telling me that i can't do that?????

I mf get fucking crucified like Jesus on the cross, only this time I sarcificed my sleep and sanity to not be ressurected again,, bitch I would have rather died if I had known tjis would happen ☠️☠️ I could have actually SLEPT?!! 🤬🛌

Never again writing fanfictiosn on my phone, I can't trust this evil technology!! I'm gonna draft them with PEN and PAPER bitch!!!! Typewriter!!!!!!!! Chalk On Pavement™!!!!!!!!!!!! PERMANENT MARKER ON MY FOREHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...

If you read this rant of mine, I hope you have a lovely day/night, beautiful person. <33 (please wash your eyes after reading that,,I needed to release my anger somrjow don't judge me hhhhhhhHHHH—)

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rosiemarieyn · 2 months

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Secret

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: Being a spy sent to kill Thomas Shelby didn't go well...but in the end you are happy.

Genre: Darkfic (?) Fluff, slight angst

Warnings: mentions of death, killing

word count: 1.5k

Note: Thomas Shelby >>>>>>

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

You were a regular barmaid to most people, but you were sent to spy on and kill Thomas Shelby. His wife, Grace, was a big obstacle so you decided to get rid of her first.

Being a foreign assassin in Birmingham was not easy. You had to fake an accent, change your entire attitude, and change your attire. "May I get a glass of red wine, please?" his darling wife asked. "Sure thing." you faked a smile and poured some wine, you thought it would be easier to poison her right now. But you didn't, you had other plans.

At their little fun evening party, you brought your favourite gun to kill him. You wanted Grace to watch the man she loved choke on his own blood. You positioned the tip of your gun towards Thomas from far away…But as soon as you pulled the trigger, he moved out of the way, the buller not hitting your target, but his wife.

As she lay on the floor, her blood covering her beautiful dress, you ran away as far as you could.

That was nearly 15 years ago. You snapped out of your thoughts as soon as your son climbed up your leg and sat on your lap with a pouty face, "Mama!! Daddy said-" "What did daddy say, hm?" Your husband walked in, carrying your daughter. He sat beside you and kissed your cheek, putting his arm around your waist. You looked up at your husband's beautiful blue eyes didn't "Are you okay?" he said, "ı'm fine…I love you." "I love you too."

He would never know. He will never know you were the one who killed his former wife. Good. You guys are happy with this being a secret for yourself.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #cillian fic #cillian x reader #peaky blinder imagine #fem!reader

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angelynmoon · 11 months

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More eldritch monster Steve, because I have no self control

Part 3

They ask him what he is, well, Erica asks, loudly and quite rudely, but she is his favorite, after El.

El, who looks at him in confusion, with a little blood leaking from her nose, she, Jonathan, Will, Mike, and a man named Argyle arrived sometime early in the morning.

"Why can't I tell?" El asked, head tilting as she frowned.

Steve looked at her, "I'm a very good mimic."

"But what are you?" Will asked, "Even I don't feel the connection."

"You wouldn't." Steve tells him, "You can feel the connection Henry had to the Down Below, everything you and El feel can trace back to him and Dr. Brenner. I have a connection to the Down Below, something deeper than either of them have, because I was born there or because of how long I lived there before leaving, who knows." Steve explained, "As for what I am, I can't tell you that. I never needed a word for what I am before."

"Are there others?" Jonathan asked, which was a good question considering what Steve could do.

Steve looked away, towards the pool, "No. I am the only one like me."

Which had always been true, Steve was unique, but there had been others of his kind once.

Now, however, he was the only one left, but the children didn't need to know that, they didn't need to know that the Down Below was like it was because it was a grave yard of his kind, the vines that ran through it had once been the veins of Steve's race, that the residule life that had once ran through them allowed Henry to control them, though Steve doubted that Henry was the one really in control.

His race was dangerous, he'd always know that, ever since the moment of his first memory, but Steve was dangerous too, he was afterall the one that had killed the rest of his kin.

They'd deserved it, parasitic and destructive, they fed on others of their race if they were strong enough and ate the other creatures in the Down Below if they weren't.

Steve had been the smallest, the one that wasn't a threat, that prefered to chase Demobats and hunt Demogorgans, he had been the one least likely to be a threat.

But all things that live have a breaking point.

Steve's had been his spawn. His kind didn't need partners to spawn, just enough energy and want, and Steve had wanted so much that all he needed was a few good hunts and he had his spawn.

But his kind, like most predators, went after the weak and the young, and Steve's spawn had only him to protect them, while partners were unneeded they usually still paired to spawn, if only to make protection detail easier.

His spawn had been killed and raveged before they even really existed, and Steve, who'd only wanted a family to raise, though he hadn't had the words to understand that, had gone after those who'd taken that from him.

And small, unassuming Steve had quickly become something to fear, laying waste to his own race and leaving them to rot instead of feasting, the worst of the slaughter Steve wrought, the thing that made him more dangerous than all of his race.

Because his anger and destruction didn't come from those he kileed, but from himself, and if that was his own feeling then what would he become if he feasted on the ones he killed, who thrived on the destruction and death that his race was built upon.

No, Steve had always been different, soft, his kind had said, an easy target for an easy meal. And then Steve had proved them wrong, but it hadn't mattered, because by the time Steve's anger had faded into grief and sorrow he'd been alone, the last of his kind, surrounded by the rotting corpses of his kin, the vines left behind too frightened to reach for him, the Demogorgans too wary of the war Steve raged to come out of hiding.

And then a tiny crack had appeared, not much more than a sliver, but enough for Steve to slip through, for him to leave the Down Below and the destruction he'd done, a chance to start over in a world where he could raise his spawn to adulthood, hiding amidst the creatures of the Upper World.

But the children didn't need to know any of that, didn't need to know that their jokes of Steve being their second mom fell a little too close to home on some occasions, because they were his, weren't they, not his blood but they were his spawn just as much as the ones he'd lost because he'd fought for them, got hurt for them, fed them, protected them like a parent should, he'd threatened government officials to keep them from removing Will from Joyce's home, threatened Owens to give Hopper Jane, he'd made sure that the kids got compensated, even Susie, in the form of college funds for each and every time they saved the world from the Down Below, the knowledge he'd picked up from Mr. Harrington finally useful, he'd even gotten Murry something, a few secret conspiracies confirmed, for his assistance.

This was his family, his to protect and Steve wasn't sure what would happen if he failed, truely failed and had to bury any one of his kids, or Robin, or Eddie, who was surprisingly easy to care for, or even Eddie's uncle, who was Steve's merely because that uncle was Eddie's and Eddie was Steve's.

Eddie was Steve's, Steve frowned and looked over to where the kids and Eddie were arguing about what his Dustpans and Dinosaurs name should be. When had Eddie become his, his to protect and keep, and care for.

Steve blinked as he realize it was the moment that Eddie risked his life to protect Dustin.

Spawning was easier in pairs, afterall.

Um... hi.

I'm attempting a tag list, sorry if I forgot you, sorry I didn't tag on the second part, but I posted that before people asked to be tagged, well, I think I did.

Sorry, if I tagged you and you didn't want to be tagged.

Also, I know nothing about dustpans and dinosaurs, sorry, dungeons and dragons

@merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @starlight-archer @0o-mushroom-o0 @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta

#steddie #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #i should name this au #part 3 #From the Rot

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malum-forev · 11 months

Text

Reputation: ...Ready For It?

Summary: Bucky's sent on a mission to find you but it won't be as easy as he thinks.

“You need to be extremely careful with this mission.” Steve said pointing at the target on the screen. “She’s on our side but there’s a reason she hasn’t been found. It’s because she doesn’t want to be.”

“Then why are we even looking for her?” Bucky groaned, throwing his head on the back of the chair. “Can’t you just call any other Widow you know?”

Natasha laughed. “She isn’t just any other Widow, but you’ll find that out soon enough. You need to be completely concentrated and extra stealthy.”

“I’m the goddamned Winter Soldier.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m a ghost.”

“If you’re a ghost, then she’s a phantom.” Natasha narrowed her eyes.

You walked around the dark street calmly, being comfortable in the shadows was second nature to you. The hood draped over your head stopped just above your eyes and the scarf around your neck covered half of your face.

The bell above the small restaurant door chimed as you entered, telling your name to the hostess and picking up your food. You didn’t have to call to tell them your order now, they knew you would come and pick it up after 9 pm.

You gave her a small head bow and walked back outside, the light rain pattering on your shoulders. As you closed the door, you saw a reflection of something across the street but when you turned around it wasn’t there anymore. A shiver you knew all too well ran through your body.

Instead of walking a few steps to the right to your apartment, you walked to the left of the restaurant and into an alley. As you rounded the corner, you placed your soup on the floor and waited. Soon enough there was the faint sound of footsteps.

As soon as you saw the shadow of the person clearly following you, you kicked their legs making them topple to the ground. You placed your combat boot at the center of his heaving chest.

You recognized the man underneath you as the Winter Soldier.

“I’m going to need you to come with me.” His rough voice matched his tough gaze. You’d only seen pictures of him here and there but within close range you saw how they did no justice to the real thing. He was truly the embodiment of a man. And he acts like such a man.

“You are in no condition to ask something of me.” You said, putting more pressure on his chest.

The side of his mouth tipped upwards. “Who said anything about asking?”

His metal hand gripped your boot and sent you backwards, landing on your back.

“You know how to charm a lady.” You groaned, picking yourself up.

You dodged his punches and kicked his legs. You wouldn’t be a match to his upper half but his legs were easier to make drop. You managed to get behind him and kick his back, sending him towards a garbage dumpster, which now had a Winter Soldier shaped indentation.

“I see how this is going to go.” He muttered, locking his left hand into place. “Now you’ve pissed me off.”

You ran towards him and used the wall to boost yourself up to his shoulders, locking his head with your legs.

“If you think this is going to kill me you’ve got another thing coming.” He grunted, trying to wedge his hands in between your strong legs.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have already.” You laughed. “I don’t want to kill you, so I’ll take my time.”

Bucky slammed his back against the brick wall, wanting for you to let go. You soon dropped to the floor and he took both of your hands with his left one, pinning you up against the wall. He took your chin with his hand and tilted your head up towards him. Bucky wiped the blood slipping out of the corner of your mouth.

“If you don’t want to kill me then why are you fighting?” He asked you, his deep voice making your breath hitch. It was something you hadn’t felt before. A magnetic pull towards this stranger.

You slipped underneath him and pinned his right arm behind his back, sending his chest towards the wall. “Just because I haven’t killed you doesn’t mean I want to go with you.”

You swiftly and without him noticing, slipped the watch on his right arm, pocketing it. You let the Winter Soldier go and picked up your takeout from the floor, walking away.

“You cant leave!” Bucky yelled.

“I just realized it’s past my bedtime.” You yelled back, flashing his watch back at him.

Bucky jogged up to you. “You’re a Widow and a thief, anything else I should know?”

“You ready to leave the Avengers and join the heist?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Natasha says we need you.” Bucky huffed, making you stop in your tracks. She was like a sister to you, helping you escape the Red Room all those years before. Natasha knew you wanted out of this life but if she went through all this trouble to find you, it must be serious.

“Let the games begin.” You said.

Next Part: Endgame by Taylor Swift

Author's Note: Hi hiii! I just realized that Bucky is suuuchhh a reputation girly and I can't get this thought out of my head! I don't know if I should do a chapter for each of the songs on the album! Lmk if you guys would be interested in that!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt

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salty-croissants · 6 months

Text

Crossing blades ( Bullfrog x g/n reader )

Big thanks to @angrylez for this other very cool concept !

I ended up making a whole story out of it since I liked the idea a lot :D

By the way , just wanted to mention that Imma need to close my writing requests for a bit , at least until I get all the other ones done : you can still send anything unrelated to requests in my asks , I’ll put a little something in my bio to let you know when I’m open to do more headcanons and stories for the boys again 👍

Anyway , hope this turned out okay ! Sorry if it’s a bit out of character ;I

Details : use of g/n reader ;

reader is very skilled with knives ;

enemies to lovers ( kinda ) ;

presence of slightly suggestive themes and occasional swearing

“Now , listen carefully because I won’t repeat myself :

this is y/n , your target .

They have been working as an elite assassin for Eden for a very , very long time , which would make them a very useful source of information for us .

Your task tonight ? Capture them and bring them back here …

Alive .

You can deal with their eventual security as you see fit .

Now go .”

The Warden’s words resonated in Bullfrog’s mind as he ran through the tall corridors of your underground cove …

Dolph and his teammates were currently busy taking care of the rest of the guards outside , which meant he was going to have to face you on his own .

He could tell that it wouldn’t be an easy task , judging by your flawless record of murders over the years , so he was going to be as careful as possible handling this situation -

“Quoi … ?”

He suddenly turned around , barely able to see a silhouette quickly passing by him to then suddenly disappear like it had never been there …

It seemed like he already found them .

Bullfrog took a deep breath , looking around him and readying himself for any surprises from Eden’s elite assassin .

< Bonne soirée , y/n .

I am very sorry for the intrusion , but if you just allow me to expla - >

He was barely fast enough to avoid the knife you threw in his direction , leaving a cut on his cheek : it looked like it wasn’t going to be that easy to convince you to follow him back to the Warden’s headquarters …

< Your intentions already seem pretty clear to me … sir . >

Bullfrog sensed a movement behind him , and saw you appear from the shadows , calmly walking towards him .

He could see it in your eyes … you weren’t someone to underestimate .

< I’ve heard your friends up there … want my advice ? You should all be more careful not to make this much noise when sneaking up on someone to kill them . >

Bullfrog let out a little chuckle in response , his eyes never leaving yours as he took a step forward .

< I assure you , we are not here to cause you any harm . >

< Really ? That becomes pretty hard to believe when a bunch of armed strangers appear at your place out of nowhere . >

< Well … c'est vrai , but if you just come with us it will be way easier . >

His expression changed … he stared at you earnestly , carefully taking another step in your direction .

< Eden is not what you think it is y/n … they have been using you and your abilities all while taking countless innocent lives .

If you were to become a liability , they would not hesitate to get rid of you . >

You remained silent for a moment , barely even listening to the noises of the furious battle still continuing downstairs before shaking your hand , grabbing more of your knives …

< I … literally got no reason to trust you .

I don’t know who you are or what your deal is , but I can tell you that I have a job to do , a job that Eden gave me when I had nothing left , a job that gives me purpose and a reason to live …

That’s what’s real to me .

I can’t throw all of this away … I’ve worked too hard to get here . >

Bullfrog sighed , readying his blades for the approaching fight …

< Then … je suis désolé pour ça , y/n . >

*hours of fighting later …*

< Sheesh - these guys were tough ! >

< I swear , if another one of these fuckers shows up out of nowhere I’ll - >

< Let’s just get this over with . >

< Yeah , hopefully Bullfrog managed to deal with that y/n … things have been really quiet down there . Maybe he needs help ? >

< Only one way to find out . >

Dolph lead the way , followed by Jade and Pey’j : they were all beat up and tired , but still ready to take action if it would’ve proved necessary .

… but when they eventually found their teammate , it definitely seemed like his fight against you had been …

very intense :

Bullfrog was standing on top of you , the two of you panting , full of bruises and cuts on your clothes …

< *ahem* … are we … interrupting anything ? ~ >

You both gasped , turning around to find the three staring at you , slowly realizing in what a compromising position you currently were in .

< This - this is NOT what it looks like !! >

< Absolutely not !! >

< We were just - uh — >

< You know , if you wanted to spend time alone with them you should’ve just said so ~ >

Jade’s remarks only served to make the two of you even more flustered , and Bullfrog quickly stepped away from you , hiding his face in his hoodie …

Not like you were doing much better .

< Enough . >

Dolph walked forward , grabbing your arm and pulling you back up on your feet .

< You’ll be coming with us now .

Try anything and it won’t end well for you . >

You sighed in response , aware that you were exhausted and also out of knives …

You were in no position to even think about trying anything .

When eventually you found yourself on the Ghosts car , traveling back to their base , you and Bullfrog would occasionally glance at each other to then immediately look away , still very flustered about what happened back in your cove …

You would’ve never said such a thing out loud , but it was very rare for someone to last long when fighting with you , so one way or another he had earned your respect .

Something even more difficult to admit was the fact that you …

… didn’t quite find it entirely unpleasant when Bullfrog fell on top of you during your confrontation .

That was crazy , considering the fact that he was an enemy with intentions that you didn’t even fully figure out just yet , but you just couldn’t lie to yourself convincingly enough to cover up those … odd feelings .

You stared outside the window at the neon lights of the city , watching the clouds in the sky slowly getting illuminated by the approaching sunrise :

you had been in stickier situations before , so being held captive wasn’t exactly your main concern …

Instead you thought about the things Bullfrog told you about Eden , deep down wondering if he was really just tricking you or if maybe , just maybe … there was some truth to his words .

Well , all you could do now was wait and see .

#captain laserhawk #x reader #bullfrog captain laserhawk #captain laserhawk bullfrog #captain lazerhawk bullfrog #bullfrog x reader #gender neutral reader

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readychilledwine · 7 months

Note

idk what sort of crack you put in cat and mouse but i’ve read it 5 times now, please tell me there’s more i’m literally so desperate🧎‍♀️ like the way reader was laughing when devlon screamed or the way she said down boy to azriel???? i kinda want y/n ngl👀 ugh i need to see rhys helping her rewire her mind or her accepting the mating bond w az plssss🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

I only purchase the best Crack for my followers 💙

Paradise Lost - Cat and Mouse Prequel Part 1

But part two in the Starwars release sense. Like a prequel.

Summary - After being hired to take out The Night Court's dangerous spymaster, y/n finds herself trapped between a rock and hard place.

Warnings - mentions of rape allegations, attempted murder, mentions of murder, time jumps to try to prevent this from being 4 billion parts, mind control

A/n - sheeeees baaaaaack 💜 the prequel is going to end up being multiple parts. I do not like having my stuff end up over 4k words, I feel like reading that can be difficult, and with modern technology, distractions happen and you accidentally exit and lose your place and you're le sad. If you all disagree and would be interested in a 6-7k part, let me know 💙 p.s. these parts are going to fulfill several anonymous asks, so each one will be under a different ask

Word count - 3511 (not including time jump stamps)

Cat and Mouse Part 2

High profile targets had never scared you.

You'd been watching him for several weeks now. Memorizing every step, every habit, what he ate and drank.

You knew you had one shot at this mission. One singular shot. If you failed, if he got away, you were as good as dead.

Your first lesson when you were trained on the different courts of Pryithian was do not fuck with the Night Court. Missions involving them were in and out while kept clean and untraceable. Their High Lord would find you if you left that opening, and you'd never be seen or heard from again.

The first lesson you had learned on the street was not to mess with the Shadowsinger. The reason the High Lord would find you. The reason you were currently strolling Velaris under the mask of some young fae female one of your, for a lack of a better term, co workers had killed. She had no family, no friends, just a simple life on the poor outskirts of town. She sold her body for food and money. Which was how she ended up in his talons. How all the faces you wore ended up in his talons actually.

Taking out Azriel was not going to be an easy task, but you had discovered one weakness:

The male loved a beautiful face. Even more so when he thought she was defenseless.

You also noticed he had a type. Blondes with doe eyes. You could not fake the blonde hair or big lost brown eyes without magic. But a defenseless female in need of rescue was easy, especially since the same co-workers who were more than happy to disguise you would be more than happy to attempt to kill you.

So you scheduled it. Letting your keeper know what you needed and when. Letting him know specifically non lethal shots on the shadowsinger with faebane would let you have an easier chance at taking him out somewhere privately.

Azriel, despite his intelligence, had fallen for it. And now he sat strapped to a chair in a ran down cabin in the woods with you watching him. You should have ended it instantly, but per the client's request, you were asked for three things, a confession of his crime, one of his hands to prove he was dead, and the pretty dagger you were translating the wyrdmarks off of.

"I know you're awake," you purred to him finishing another character. "You won't be able to contact him. Shackles, little pup."

He scoffed before lightly chuckling. "If you knew I was awake, why are we just sitting here?"

You shrugged. "I was hoping you'd start the conversation first. Or explain to me how you have a Cauldron made weapon in your possession."

"You took me hostage, I believe you should be explaining to me."

You looked at him, pursing your lips slightly and nodding. "Not much to explain, little pup. I'm getting paid to kill you. Why is interesting, though." You paused, setting the dagger on the table and grabbing the parchment before sitting on the ground cross legged in front of him. He was almost appalled by the action. It was a backhanded way of you saying you very clearly did not see him as a threat.

"Does Princess Alyana of Rusk ring any bells for you?"

His lip twitched, eyes sparkling with mischief briefly. "Perhaps."

You just nodded. "Can I ask what exactly the thought process behind raping a princess is? Did you think the King wouldn't ask for your head on a pike?"

Azriel looked at you in shock, hazel eyes wide, and jaw slightly opened, "I did not rape her."

You looked at the weathered parchment again, reading the soft swirling letters of the King. Letters beautified by years of practice you'd never be able to have. "According to her story of the night you were caught in her room, you had came in the window, raped her, and only left before killing her because the guards were coming." You bend the parchment keeping all other lines and information secret and showed him.

His jaw twitched and anger was set in. "I did not harm or rape her. She invited me to her chambers and into her bed. I would never harm a female."

"A lie," you said softly. "I've watched you drag several into the prison and leave covered in blood. Their blood."

"They were spies and traitors."

"I didn't realize an occupation changed your gender. Do your little shadow wraiths know you believe they are not females? How about sweet Morrigan? She is technically a traitor to the Court of Nightmares. Do you believe she isn't female as well?" You rose a brow in challenge.

Slow realization hit Azriel's face causing you to smile at him. "If you laid a fucking hand on-"

"Relax, pretty boy. I'm only here for you." You stood patting his head, "your special day."

"What group are you with?"

You smirked under the mask you were wearing but kept the outside face neutral. "Does it matter?"

"What is your name?"

"No one. I am no one." You answered automatically.

"So the House of the Faceless from the Silent Isles. What happened to the girl you probably murdered?"

"I didn't kill her. Unlike you, I actually do not harm women or females. Do you have a preference on how you die? Poison, stabbing, burning to death?" You looked at his hands. "Probably not that one, huh? Drowning! Polar opposite." He balked at your excitement. "I thought it was a fun option," you crossed your arms. "Been awhile since I water boarded someone."

Azriel shook his head, laughing. "So you won't even give me an honorable death?"

"I'm not fucking stupid enough to fight a Carynthian hand on hand nor with weapons." You could have sworn you saw him smirk. "I'm also not stupid enough to think taking away these," you held up one of his siphons, "means I'm safe if I let you out of those shackles."

Azriel had not even noticed his siphons were gone and he looked down. "How did you know how to remove those?"

Your brain flashed to a nightmare, one of winged male standing over you. One of pain before you were tossed to your keeper. "Lucky guess," your voice was distant.

He huffed. "You're illyrian." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "That's why your scent is off. A high fae would not carry the scent we do."

You felt your world building pressure and rubbed your temples. "Look, this has been fun, but I'm over it." You grabbed the bloodbane you had purchased soaking it on one of your own daggers.

"If you're going to kill me, at least do me the kindness of getting to see who is actually killing me." You sighed heavily. "Can I give you a word of advice as well? Shackles only work when you aren't dealing with someone who can pick a lock. You also talk way too much."

You had anticipated this, truthfully. You caught his wrist as he went to swing on you and leg swept him to the ground. "The shackles you were in were coated in faebane and bloodbane, torture Master." You straddled his hips as he held his chest to catch his breath. "My hands were also covered in it so you just welcomed it right back into your bloodstream."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I do nightly," you did something Azriel wasn't expecting then, lifting the skin of the mask off of your face and throwing it to the fire to cancel the magic it also held on your body.

He was right. You were illyrian. An absolutely beautiful illyrian. Long dark hair falling into loose curls, long dark lashes, tan skin, spell binding hazel eyes. "Definitely Illyrian," he coughed out. "At least I'm going to die looking at something beautiful." He had you at the comment. You stilled completely hand barely wrapped around the dagger. "Has no one ever told you that you were beautiful?" He watched you blink, eyes glazing over and shutting as if he had called a painful memory forward. "Can I know your name?"

"No one," you whispered again. "I am no one." You finally looked at him, and you both felt it. You both felt that painful snap. A snap that now shattered your world. You were about to kill your mate. The one thing you'd always hoped would rescue you from the loneliness of your lifestyle. You dropped the dagger, feeling as if someone had just split your world in two.

"You don't have to do this," he cooed softly to you. "You don't have to kill me. We can talk about this. I can help you. Take you somewhere safe." You stared at him ad he tentatively stepped towards you, hands grabbing your upper arms. "I won't hurt you. No one is ever going to hurt you again."

You knew he meant it. You handed him a vial, the only antidote you had, and then the free faebaned shackles you had also hidden. Turned so he could shackle you behind your back.

He was so gentle as he did, kissing the back of your head. "You're going to be safe, little hellcat. I promise."

You heard and smelled them before you saw them. "Well what happened here, Az?" A playful male voice asked. You heard the parchment on the desk moving and closed your eyes as the scent of citrus and sea moved closer to you.

"Hmm. A no one. Who'd you piss off, Azriel?"

"King of Rusk," the playful voice was no longer playful. "The assassin known by the name Eden was specifically requested." It quoted the letter reading the rest of it slowly. "She must be Eden."

You felt the male in front of you trying to rummage through your mind, and looked up at him. His eyes were filled with sympathy and heartache. "You poor creature. I am so sorry, darling." He looked at Azriel. "Put her in one of the nicer cells at the prison until we can trust her." His hand went up as Azriel, as your mate's breath hitched. "She was sent here to kill you, Az. Regardless of the bond, she is dangerous. Ensure she is given real food, she hasn't ate since she came to Velaris almost a week ago. I'm going to need her in better health to untangle the mess they have her in."

2 weeks later

Rhys sat on the chair across from the small bed he had allowed to be brought into your cell. Watching as you pulled your legs up and hid your face in your knees.

"You should have a camp brand. It would have been done when you were a babe since you are female. Do you have any odd scars?" His voice was always gentle with you.

"I can't remember," you answered honestly. You hardly remembered Illyria. Hardly remembered you were even Illyrian or what that even meant. "I remember when I was taken to the school-"

"When you were sold like a pig for slaughter to sell swords, darling." He interrupted. "You weren't taken to a school. You were taken to a temple that purchases children they believe have potential to become assassins if they can wipe their memories and humanity well enough. They unfortunately succeeded with you. Every memory you have is locked in a box in your mind."

"They used food," you whispered softly. "If I asked about something, my first punishment was food. First a week, then two. After that it was poisoning."

"Which is why you can touch fae and blood banes." You could sense the pain in his voice. "Are you comfortable taking the dress off for me? I want to see if I can find your brand." You complied, standing slowly to lift the soft cotton dress Azriel had given you off your frame.

Rhys stood and walked around you in a circle, hand pausing as it grazed over a scar on the side of your hip. "They cut it out of you." You watched him from the mirror as he proceeded to your back, breath hitching and his eyes closing. "Were your wings removed by them or before?" Rhysand watched as your eyes glazed over, as your mind heard a male screaming at you. As your mind heard what he could only assume were your terrified screams from childhood. "Before." His voice cracked. "I know who did, though."

That night in Windhaven, Rhys slammed Devlon's face into the desk. "Who is she?" He forced her to stare at the drawing one of the twins had done of you. "I've heard you screaming at her in her memories. Who the fuck is she?"

Devlon shook his head. "I had nothing to do with what happened to her."

"That's not what I'm asking." Rhys was growling. "Tell me willingly or Azriel will carve it out of you." Rhys held his mind, pulling at it slightly until the male screamed an answer.

"She a bastard of my oldest son." Devlon answered. "He thought getting rid of her would make his and that whore he was laying with lives easier. They sold her. I didn't know."

Azriel growled and lunged. "Her name. What's her name?"

"Y/n," Devlon panted. "Y/n."

1 month later

Countless days were spent with Rhysand in your mind, unwinding memories like a spool of yarn in the paws of a kitten. He had taken mercy on you today after a brutal session that ended with you collapsing into Azriel's arms.

Azriel sat across from you, eating the soup he had brought to share with you. "Rhys might let me move you to the House of Wind," he spoke between spoons. "You'd be warded to a room there between myself and Cassian, but you'd at least have a window and a view." You felt his heart pinch when you looked at him.

His eyes filled with sadness, with longing, with sympathy. "I know it isn't much. But it's better than here." You nodded, pushing the soup away. "Are you not hungry?"

"I don't like leaks," you responded gently.

Azriel laughed softly. "I've never heard an illyrian complain about food before. I can have Rhys bring you something else tonight. Is there anything specific you want?"

You were in no position to ask for anything special. Especially not what your mind was trapped on. But you didn't realize Azriel sensed it through the bond and had immediately asked Rhys to go to the bakery you had walked by and almost went into every day. "You aren't our prisoner, little hellcat." Azriel put his bowl down and moved to kneel in front of you. "You are my mate, and I know it feels like an empty promise, but I promise you that once Rhys believes your mind is safe and secure, you will have more freedoms. You're here because we do not know the extent you were controlled at. Surely you know what other organizations do to their assassins?"

You did. Your body shivered at the thought of the spiders they used to turn the fae who worked for them into nothing more than a mindless shell. "Winter has this tea," you started slowly. "I don't remember what it is. But it's sweet but spicy?" Azriel rose a brow. "Not like my mouth is on fire spicy, but.. like… tooth paste?"

He smiled. "I have that at home. I will bring some to you tomorrow." He leaned forward to kiss your forehead and then rested his forehead against yours. "You are so brave, y/n."

He watched as your eyes glazed over. As your mouth slightly parted and your body stilled.

You were trapped in a memory. A memory of another little male, his wings held high and proud on his back as you two ran and played. He was wearing rags, covered in dirt. You knew this memory, you had dreams about it. "Wait for me!" You heard yourself giggle. "Cassian, wait for me. Why do you run so fast?"

"Because, y/n, I gotta be fast if I'm going to be better than everyone else here some day!"

That bright smile, that playful voice. Rhys was dead silent in the corner, sharing the memory with Azriel. "Az, go get him."

Rhys sat with you as Cassian entered the cell. He watched as Rhys cradled you to him. "Cassian, can you sit down please?"

The general nodded, continuing to watch. His eyes glazed over as Rhys showed him the memory and the countless others that followed.

Cassian's voice was choked. "I thought she had died. Her dad came screaming one day his daughter had been taken. Her wings were… they were pinned to his cabin door, Rhys." Cassian felt sick thinking back to his childhood crush's wings hanging limply by the membranes, blood soaking the wood porch and steps. "It Was a few weeks before you came."

"Do you know if they branded her on her hip, Cassian?" The male nodded immediately.

"You two should talk for a little bit," Rhys cupped your face delicately. "I have to go pick up those cookies you've been thinking about. I will be back in a few hours. If another memory comes, scream for me in your mind."

Cassian tooks his place, his hands also coming to cup your cheeks. "You are so beautiful. You know that?"

All three of them made it a point to tell you that now. Surely if three attractive males thought you were beautiful, that had to be true.

A couple weeks later

Rhys was in your mind again, digging and digging while you cried. It was painful. So fucking painful. It felt as though you were being pulled into half by two horses.

Like someone was cutting you limb by limb.

You hated these sessions. Where you had to sit there, gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles had gone white, holding in screams and whimpers, and crying.

"Found it," Rhys smirked. "It's a spell. A damn good one, but still just a spell. Meaning it can be broken." He was still in the jungle he had begun to call your mind, stopping at another memory. "I was wondering who killed him. A shame, really. I would have paid to watch that in person. Many of us would have."

Rhys wrote down the name of a former hybern General you had slaughtered and hung. He had started keeping track. Every king, queen, general, or fae you killed sat in a pretty notebook. 600 names.

600 names lined those pages like a bloodstain in white clothing.

You validated it to yourself. Cruel kings. Corrupt queens. Predators. You were only ever assigned to the worst cases, being too skilled to be wasted on petty killings.

"Stop." Rhys ordered softly. "Do not focus on what you have done. Focus on how we move forward, darling. We have a home Azriel and Cassian like to stay in. I'd like to move you there."

Azriel held you close as he walked you into your new room at the House of Wind. "Cassian is directly across the hall, I am right next to you." You nodded, arms crossing over your chest as you took in the room. Guilt sat deep in your stomach. How much had they spent to decorate it? To furnish it?

You took in the gold hues swirled in with blacks and greys. The wooden desk with hand carved swirls and edges. The couch and chairs. Your eyes locked in on the bed though. A real, plush, 4 poster bed. It would easily fit you and Azriel if you ever desired. Rhys appeared behind you two, his heart tightening at the sentence he knew was about to come out. A sentence all too familiar to him.

"I've never had one."

Azriel looked at you, "A room to yourself?"

You shook your head. "No. A real bed. We were not even allowed to sleep on beds during missions. Only blankets." He watched you walk to the bed, gently squishing a beaded throw pillow in your hands.

"Darling," Rhysand said softly. "I have a friend who believes he can break the spell in your mind. He is concerned about potential consequences, though."

You were too lost and the luxury of the fabric to respond. The silk sheets covering the bed were the softest thing you'd ever felt. Rhysand and Azriel did not say anything, nodding to each other to leave the room with a gentle click behind them.

You pulled the blanket back further on the sheets, and curled yourself into the mattress.

Your eyes began to flutter shut frequently, mind stilling as you felt a wave of comfort and protection come your way. Soon, the light of the room faded, and you walked into a dreamers pathway of sleep.

Helion had come to the House of Wind that night. Flown there blindfolded by Cassian. He stood in Rhysand's office, a deep red wine in one hand as he crossed his arms over his pecs. "So she's at least 300 years old and has been held under a mind control spell for the majority of that time?"

The three illyrian males nodded in response. "Breaking it could kill her if it's done in one shot. Unraveling it, though, releasing her piece by piece may be safest."

Azriel looked down. "How long would that take?"

"Years," Rhysand answered. "Her mind has to heal enough with each break or else her humanity and morals flooding her all at once can have consequences if it doesn't just shatter her mind."

Helion nodded. "Our mind is a delicate place. Having it tampered with that long is dangerous. For us and her. I would need to see it and feel it to fully determine how safe it is."

Azriel nodded. "I'll go get her."

His footsteps felt heavy and defeated as he moved through the House of Wind. He paused at your door, lost in thought, but shook off his doubt as he knocked.

If anyone would be able to help you, it would be Rhysand and Helion.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader

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