#i am included in this everyone else scenario

[weatherbane]

halsin: -mermaid hair flip- everyone else: pathetic bleating

[cashmere-caveman]

disclaimer something bat hornets nest something something i am aware etc and this is not intended as a hate post in any way but!

one thing that has always baffled me abt merlin is that merlin/lancelot is such an underdog relationship in the fandom bc?? u have tenderness, u have angst, u have death and deception, u have fucking sacrifice, u have understanding (lance was the only knight who actively knew abt merlins magic???? endless potential for shenanigans), u have trust and friendship, u have "came back from the dead wrong", ... like. whats not to love.

also if u must have arthur in there for merthur angst u can go ahead and add in a bit original arthuriana flavour by adding arthur/lance as the third side of the most fucked up devoted triangle u could possibly make like! idk what my point of this post is except to say that i love lance and i think it would be fun if ppl threw him into the mess that is merthur for bonus agony

[sailoryooons]

Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.” 

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 

So he does. 

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 

-

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 

-

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 

Money. This man has money. 

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast. 

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 

“Okay.” 

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“See you soon.”

-

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 

-

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Click. Squeeze. Bang. 

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang. 

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.” 

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

-

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 

Home. 

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.” 

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 

“Fuck.” 

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 

“Mmm.” 

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Shit shit shit shit.” 

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love Part Two

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, OOC, spoilers for the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial of his feelings, possible angst.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Part One

Part Three

Salutations everyone, good to be back on the air~! :)

I understand it’s been a while since I wrote anything, but due to how busy I’ve gotten in real life, updates will be a bit slower until perhaps the summer. Nonetheless, I am committed to writing the best Hazbin Hotel fics for the community so that everyone can enjoy them to their heart’s content!

Special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing desk for collaborating with me on this chapter and helping me bring these fantastic characters to life on the page, and @vikkirosko for being an awesome beta reader alongside @illuminaresblog.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

The reconstruction of the hotel included the kitchen being entirely remodeled. 

Gone were the cabinet doors that hung from its creaky hinges, the marble floors that never shined bright no matter how many times Niffty scrubbed them,  the mice’s squeaking and an ice box that couldn’t fit all of the foodstuff to feed several people. Dark matte cabinets held the dining ware and bowls, stacked up in neat little rows and protected by glass doors on either side of a large wrought iron stove top and the range hood. The cedar countertops glowed under the lights, stretching from the island in the middle of the room to the small dining room table stationed on the right side. Copper pots and pans were suspended in the air above the island, so whenever it was time to start cooking, Angel or Lucifer would have to pull out the ones needed and put them away after the meal. The icebox was now bigger, stainless steel with a bottom drawer to place frozen items in. 

Overall, it was a massive improvement from the previous one with additional space and a little footstool for Niffty to make the midday meals. Alastor…he was usually in charge of the evening ones, though the others have recently started to contribute to making their own dishes. The successes of those evenings varied, though they all tasted delicious to you. 

 Niffty had all but pushed you into a chair at the dining table as soon as you entered the kitchen with Husk. You watched her tiny frame skitter across the marble floor, plating stacked sandwiches held together with toothpicks stabbed through the middle and potato salad and two other side dishes before it appeared in front of you. She must have prepared some tea for you as well, seeing an ivory teapot and a cup already filled to the brim, steam rising and emitting a fragrant aroma that tickled your nose. 

You thanked her graciously for the meal, even though you were quite sure that you were not going to be able to finish it all before you had to leave for Alastor’s radio station. Twenty minutes was not what Charlie would qualify as a proper lunch break. 

The tiny housekeeper  repeated the same ritual with Husk though she directly handed his plate to him before she gave you an annoyed look that clearly said, finish your meal, all of it, and got distracted with the sight of a roach and began to chase it down with her needle. Husk merely shook his head and sat down next to you on the right side of the table. He picked at his food, clearly not in the mood to eat because his mind was on something else. However, you did not pry. Vaggie had spoken to you about respecting people’s privacy in your first week of arriving at the hotel; just because someone doesn’t seem happy, it didn’t mean you had a right to address it. Talking about it might help, and sometimes it doesn’t. If anything…just let the sleeping dogs lie. 

You eyed the clock. Ten minutes left, and you were only halfway through the meal. You ate the sandwiches, and only had a spoonful of the potato salad. You were about to take another bite from a different side dish when Husk spoke up, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth. 

“I saw what happened in the greenhouse.”

You blinked. Husk….he had seen the confrontation between you and Alastor? You carefully lowered the spoon down the plate, tapping against the porcelain. “There’s nothing to worry about, Husk.” You replied calmly, your attention entirely focused on the meal in front of you. “He will not harm me. He simply wants to talk about my performance on the job.”

“That’s bullshit.” Husk hissed. “We both know it ain’t just ‘cause he’s the facility manager of this place, or that you’re slackin’ off,  it’s ‘cause he hates it when people question his authority!” He slammed a fist against the table, causing the silverware and glassware to wobble momentarily before righting themselves again. “[First Name], I saw. I know what he did, and you really have no idea who you’re gonna be alone with in what, five minutes?”

“Seven. And I know who Alastor is. He is a serial killer, a cannibal, and an overlord who broadcasts his carnage on the radio.” you said, raising the tea cup to your mouth as you took a languid sip,  placing it back down the saucer a moment later with a clink. You looked at him. “He is also in a weakened physical state. He will not admit that he has not fully recovered from the war.”

“I swear to God, do not make me go to the princess and Vaggie about this, because I fucking will -”

“Telling them what he did will not change his tactics. He will simply find another way to intimidate me.” You cut off. “You know him better than anyone else, Husk. He is clever, manipulative, and will do anything to get what he wants.”

Husk shot a baffled look at you, eyebrows raised and yellow irises narrowed slightly. “You really don’t see how he looks at you, do you?”

You blinked. “As an enemy? Yes.” Hostility, anger, shock, humiliation. You had seen those expressions many times on that battlefield when you charged across No Man’s Land with the Major’s battalion, cutting through the enemy lines with anything in reach and at your disposal. A weapon of war, a loyal dog to the Major. You watched Husk’s face fall into disbelief, then aggravation before he slapped a paw across his face. You tilted your head to the side. What was wrong? Why was he upset? Is it something you had said? You watched the bartender stand up from the table, walk towards the lower cabinets, crouching down and pulling out a hidden bottle of whiskey. He uncorked it, and took a swing from it before turning back towards you, frowning.

“Ya might have been a soldier, ya might have things that would turn shit white and ya not be scared of Alastor…but you should be. He’s been gone for seven years, and no one knows why, but I can say with certainty that he’s much stronger than before. If you’re gonna talk to him, just….just don’t mention….he’s no different than I am, all right?” That was all he said before almost bolting towards the door, leaving you alone in the kitchen. 

No different than what Husk is. You thought, picking up both of the half-eaten plates from the table, throwing the reminder in the trash, washing and rinsing them off under the tap before setting them down in the dish rack. What does that mean? Alastor does not drink nor does he gamble. Husk is under his commanding unit, a soldier. Your brow furrowed. Did Husk….knows something about Alastor that he doesn’t want others to know? How did Alastor rise to power so quickly and overthrow the overlords who had been dominant in Hell for centuries? 

You would have to think about this possibility later, because when you looked at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, you realized you were already late for your meeting with Alastor. 

Shadows were handy little helpers to have, Alastor notes. Not only could they provide protection to the staff when he had other matters to attend to in the Pentagram but they were excellent spies. To be his ears and gather all of the delicious secrets he could uncover from enemies that were actually some semblance of a threat to his plans, or just because he was bored and liked to keep tabs on the latest bits of gossip. He loved to share this information with Rosie over tea-time when the subject of their discussions was not revolved around the ornery old bitch, Susan.

Although they have proven themselves to be useful time and time again, these little helpers were also sentient and created their own discord, much to the frustration of their creator. As much as you can say you’ve been keeping a distance from Alastor, he unfortunately can’t say the same. His shadows as of late have found themselves almost constantly attached to you. Through darkened hallways to under your leaves at the greenhouse, they were always at your side. Ready to step in and assist you in any way they can, even if he won’t lift a finger. 

Regardless of how annoyed he has been with them recently,  they had repeated word for word of your conversation with Husk. They know you are late but have said that you are walking towards him and not from way to him, whispering how you were turning right at the end of the corridor and about to come across the staircase leading up to the radio station. They adored you, much to his annoyance. It had already been difficult to even comprehend the idea that he had feelings for you, and his shadows, unfortunately, reflected the darker parts of him that he wished to be locked up for all eternity. The weaknesses that were a threat to his own goals. 

He could not act like an altruist or a lovesick fool. He hungered for power. He craved freedom. Nothing should stop him from carrying out what he wants. If he wrangled the truth out of you, to know that you despised him and did not care about him in any capacity….he will be satisfied. 

Will he though? 

His train of thought was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. Putting on his best smile and straightening out his bowtie, Alastor walked across the room and opened it. He looked down, and saw you staring at him. Your appearance wasn’t as ruffled as he had suspected it to be from being late for an appointment, just a few [Hair Color] strands loose from the hairstyle you wear every day ... .but he supposed he can let it slide this time. He’d rather not hear Niffty complain to him about how you aren’t eating your meals.

“Well, well, there you are~! And here I was wondering if you had forgotten! Come, come, take a seat!” He said, gesturing to the couch sitting adjacent to the soundboard where he sat. He did not even want to look at you, not at this moment. He could feel the shadows purring in delight under his feet, no doubt staring at you with such adoration that it made him gag. He reigned them with a pulse of his power just before a slippery fellow tried to crawl towards the couch and perch over your shoulder. 

He took a seat, and so did you after smoothing out the skirts of your dress. You looked at him straight in the eye, spine straight and gloved hands folded neatly in your lap. 

“So, you are aware as to why you are here, yes~?”

“...I am.”

“And why is that?” He pressed.

“Because I questioned your authority. You tried to frighten me, and you had failed.” You replied. “In my defense, you were in no position to exert yourself when you are still possessing an injury that you will not speak about to the others. I have no intention of saying that to anyone here. I only ask that you do not harm Charlie or the others here in the hotel, or I will keep the promise I made to you less than an hour ago. You will be killed by my hand or I will die trying. People keep secrets because it is necessary for their survival, and the others around them. How can I be sure….that you will not raise your hand and strike us down as soon as your wings are unclipped?”

Alastor’s eyes widened slightly as a wave of high-pitched radio static left his teeth and bounced off the walls before he quickly recollected himself. Goodness, always the blunt one, weren’t you? Inhaling sharply through his nostrils, he made sure his grin stretched all the way to his ears, never showing you what is really going through his mind. Annoyance. Frustration. Adoration. Amusement. 

“Well, those words are the very reason why you are here, my dear.” He stood up from his chair, slowly walking around the soundboard, running a finger across the polished wood. His eyes were fixed on yours and you did not look away. Good. Keep your focus on him and nothing else. 

“By meddling in my affairs, even if it was unintentional on your part, is putting the rest of the hotel in danger. I cannot be compromised under any circumstances, lest I anger the one whom I have an agreement with.”

“The one who is responsible for your rise in power?” He blinked, stopping in his steps for a moment.  Ah. You caught on without him having to spell out to you. Unless dear old Husk had said something to you? No. The shadows have told him that he merely mentioned the seven years that the Radio Demon was gone, nothing beyond what everyone else already knew.  

He nodded, swiveling on his feet and because he felt like it, a jaunty little spin before he sat on the coffee table,  right in front of you and crossing his legs with such elegance that it would make a French girl jealous. 

“Indeed. And trust me when I say they are much more powerful than Charlie’s dear father. That is to say, not even Lucifer can protect you or anyone else from what is about to or could happen should I be compromised. And I know how much you care about the staff here, even sweet little Niffty. Which is why…I want to make a deal.” He held out his hand towards you. “Keep what has happened at the radio station and anything else beyond these four walls to yourself. Never share what you know, not even to Charlie. In exchange for your silence, I will not harm anyone here in the hotel unless we know for certain that they are a threat. Well?” He tilted his head to the side. “Do we have a deal?”

You stared at his hand, then raised your own to your lips, carefully tugging off the glove with your teeth until it fell into your lap. The adamantine skeletal fingers curled around his own, solidifying the deal between the two of you. Alastor felt a burst of power course through him, felt the stitches on his mouth and eyes tugging, the walls turning emerald and the shadows danced around them in celebration. Then the magic subsided, yet the warmth, the burning sensations from your prosthetics seeping through the leather gloves did not. A chirping of radio static left his mouth upon feeling his hand being squeezed to an almost painful degree. When he looked at you, he saw emotions swirling in your eyes that he had not seen from you yet.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Resentmentment.

These were emotions he had caused. Him, the one who was holding your hand tightly because he made a simple deal for yourr silence, and not her soul. So why does he feel conflicted? He had gotten what he wanted, to push you away from him, to banish these uninvited feelings from his chest. But this deal did not give him any satisfaction. It caused him…pain. The kind of pain that he cannot explain. It was not the pain he felt when he missed an opportunity to have an excellent dinner, and not even the pain that…that Adam had given him.

For whatever reason, he could not stop himself from bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss across the knuckles even when the angelic steel instantly burned his mouth upon contact. When he realized what he had done, he pulled away as if he had been struck again by his drunken father and promptly left his office, disappearing into the darkness and subsequently from the hotel altogether.

He did not like this. He did not like these feelings. He did not like how he never had the opportunity to ask him if you cared about him, loved him…yet why did your opinion matter? Why did he want to hear you say, out of your volition, that you love him too? To a man who is supposed to feel nothing at all?!

Times like this, there was only one person who could provide light on this precarious situation without daring to judge him. The Pentagram’s most delightful, daring, and dangerous overlord of Cannibal Town. Rosie. His oldest and dearest friend. 

He supposed it had been long enough since the two of them had tea together, hasn’t it?

Alastor inhaled a shaky breath, allowing himself to materialize on the streets near the Jazz District and smiled brightly as if he wasn’t having an existential crisis, humming a merry tune under his breath that made nearby demons tremble in fear. 

Taglist: @alastor-simp @the-cat-queen-peasants @pinkgoldweebgirl @rorusena @whenitgrowsbright @aria-tempest @aconfusedwonderland @victheauthor @luthefriendlywitch @lunaramune @candyladycry @22carolina08 @ladydoe8 @lanxianschoenheit @hellbornediamonddreams @imperfectbloodmoon @francisnyx @sillypumpkins @no1sillybilly @faux-ecrivain @bones4thecats @frompeach @frenchtoastmafia @oucx @navierkalani @solandis-does-stuff @anielly-2010 @tonightwrites @mentallyunstablenoodle @bladeismine @asianfrustration13 @kameyo-kumo @solesurvivorjen @realifezompire @blumin8 @chewbrry @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @zenix108 @ang3lofdivinity @yourdoorisunlocked @nunezs-stuff @ccruzmoon

[genderkoolaid]

i am genuinely confused by something you said in your joan of arc post & i would love if you could clarify. you said "women afab can be trans. men amab can be trans." i understand how that applies to intersex people, who may be assigned a sex they identify with but have other sex characteristics that they get dysphoria from. or theyre assigned as one sex but once puberty hit they developed far more traits of the other sex, so they had to transition back to what they used to be. i understand those scenarios. but as far as we know, joan of arc wasnt intersex & you dont bring up intersex in your post. how can a non-intersex person transition to something they already are & have been for their entire life? changing how one presents, like changing their style of clothes to better suit their gender & personality, doesnt count as "transitioning" imo, cis people do that aaall the time, multiple times throughout their lives. so what do you actually mean by this??

So my definition of trans is very much inspired by Leslie Feinberg's definition of trans(gender): An umbrella term for "everyone who challenges the boundaries of sex and gender," in which ze specifically includes cross-dressing and GNC people who are men AMAB and women AFAB. I would define trans as being inclusive of anyone who queers sex and/or gender.

In my humble nonbinary opinion, we way over-rely on the idea of trans as being about identifying as a gender that isn't your assigned sex. I, for example, was assigned female and identify as (amongst other genders) a woman, but my womanhood is very much trans. For one, I was on T for two years and intend to get bottom surgery, but I was also alienated from typical cis girlhood for my entire life and my womanhood is inherently tied to me also being a man and abinary. My womanhood is not cisnormative at all.

"Woman" and "man" (and male and female) are all constructs. Just because someone may call themself a woman, and have been assigned female at birth, does not mean they identify as the same kind of woman that society expects and demands them to. There are different ways of constructing womanhood. The "gender identity that isn't AGAB" definition was built on the idea of trans people as going from one binary point to the other, with the assumption that "woman" and "man" are still Real Things with one natural meaning. Attempts at being nb-inclusive have basically just said "well nonbinary isn't a gender assigned at birth, so its trans!" which is completely true, but it also ignores all the nonbinary and genderqueer people whose genders are more nuanced than that.

On Jeanne d'Arc specifically, I actually have some relevant quotes on this:

(from Vested Interests: Crossdressing and Cultural Anxiety and Clothing and Gender Definition: Joan of Arc respectively)

This is why I included that line: because we often assume, in our exorsexism, that a historical figure must identify as a man/woman (cis), as the opposite (trans), or maybe as neither, but those are the only options. We are still limiting ourselves and these historical figures' by limiting how we understand gender and genderqueerness. To Jeanne, being a cross-dressing female virgin soldier could be its own gender, something different than the genders of cisnormative mothers and nuns.

& as a note: I feel like, a lot of the time, non-intersex people in the community will make exceptions for intersex people (like "well, intersex people can be transfemmascs/male lesbians/etc" but no one else!!!") which. doesn't actually seem that great for intersex people? Like aside from assuming that these genderqueer experiences can only be had by intersex people, it also means that if you identify that way, you must Prove that you are Allowed to be doing that, by both outing yourself as intersex and arguing that you are intersex Enough.

[justxtalking]

my thoughts on this hxh ABCD mess

Being a Togashi fan is such a roller-coaster of emotions. I think I went through all the stages of grief in only one day.

Half of me believes he's trolling.

To be honest, it's better to just take it with a light heart. Togashi is known for joking around about himself, his health and his own story. (I wasn't in the fandom at that moment, but I wonder how everyone reacted when he said everyone was going to die). I consider ending D to be so uncharacteristically him for so many reasons I could talk for hours about it. I find it ironic how he gave a stereotypical-shonen-like ending when he talked several times (even in this interview) about how he likes to surprise himself (and his readers) when he writes. Some other times he explained he likes to play with these shonen stereotypes and just do something different. I mean, he's been doing it since the beginning of his career.

And I'll be honest, ending D sounds like a mockery of shounen.

(And I feel a bit dumb taking this so seriously if he's joking.)

(Though, this also may be the case of "the boy who cried wolf" and he's actually saying the truth this time.)

The other half of me thinks he's being honest.

If he is actually giving us a back-up ending, I find it incredibly sad. Not only because of his health, but also because he felt pressured enough to give us an ending, no matter its form and no matter if it's an ending he doesn't even consider anymore. He shouldn't have been on that position.

It is important to take into account that this is not an ending he wants or even considers anymore, it is an ending we can take if he's not able to finish HunterXHunter. We need to realize there's a lot of circumstances we don't know about or may not be considering for him to give us this ending as an option at that moment. And what type of ending too.

I seriously want for him to be able to finish Hunter X Hunter the way he truly wants, not worrying about anything else. He's thinking about three plausible scenarios that may see the light of day or not. And no matter what he ends up choosing, he should choose whatever he wants. It's his story, no ours. And it may even be his last story (I know it's sad, I want him to keep on writing forever, but it's true). Honestly, a part of me wants him to choose the A scenario because that's where seems to be less drama, but actually I want him to choose the C scenario. Even if that ending is Gon married to a lizard with beautiful lizard-babies in the Dark Continent. And that's because that ending is what he would actually want to do with the story.

(I really am curious about it, though. I know I wouldn't be able to guess even in a million years, but I'm still curious. And I so want to read the whole interview and see the whole episode, since there were more questions about other things.)

For the shippers

I know this feels like a punch in the gut or something even worst. I felt it too. And it's totally valid to feel like we do and not agreeing with ending D. Even as a non-shipper because what do you mean, Gon did what?

Everyone who follows me knows I'm a proud Killugon and Leopika shipper. And I will keep on being one even if Hunter X Hunter transforms into Boruto and I have to see Grandpa Gon (the more I say it, the more it sounds like a joke).

Honestly, I always considered the gay ships were never going to be explicitly canon.(Kishimoto traumatized me). Not because of lack of material, but because there's a whole context and a lot of external circumstances we sometimes forget about (and Kishimoto traumatized me). There was a reason why Togashi couldn't make his queer manga in the 90s, which, I'm sorry, I don't consider it to be that long ago. And there is a reason why he can't explicitly say that characters like Pouf or Hisoka are gay (despite being totally obvious and them being villains).

I still find it admirable how Togashi included so many queer elements in his stories and got away with it. And he's a mangaka that does shonen. And not just any shonen, a battle manga in Shonen Jump. (He included a trans man in Level E and made him transition. The way Togashi explains some things about this character may be a bit problematic, but Togashi still did this). And those queer elements are still there and are still as canon as when he wrote it the first time. Pouf is as gay as he is dramatic. And Ging and Pariston still have that sexual tension (and I'm 100% sure they fucked or they are going to fuck in the near future or both). And Killua is still the queerest boy I've seen in the longest time.

Sometimes, I think there's a possibility of Killugon being canon. But only because of Togashi's history and tastes. He may feel a bit rebellious and just go with it, he's so unpredictable that I'm always expecting anything and everything from him (I mean, he did what he did with Hisoka and Illumi and so many other things). However, he's an introvert, I'm not sure if he actually wants the attention he would get if he actually goes with it. And that is something we should also respect. (I do think the most plausible option is Killugon to be as ambiguous as they are now.)

In relation to ending D, I don't think we should worry that much. At the end of the day, it is an ending he doesn't consider anymore. (At least we can sleep well knowing that the ending he wants to do doesn't have to do with Grandpa Gon). What's important is what he writes and does in the manga. That is what speaks louder than anything.

Though, I do think it's going to be a pain in the ass interacting with other fans. I'm not looking forward to it. (At least they are going to stop saying that Kurapika will die, I hope!). What I'm looking forward to is the new Killugon content in the fandom.

My personal take

Gon =/= Ging. I could say a lot about this, since one of the things I love the most about Hunter X Hunter is what he did with these two and Gon's arc, but I think this is clear enough.

So!

After saying all of this, I think the only thing we should consider as canon is the manga. If he doesn't write it, it didn't happen.

If he's saying the truth, he may be thinking about how to finish Hunter X Hunter sooner or later. Even though so many fans say that they want an ending, I feel like we are not ready. Not even for Gon marrying a lizard and having beautiful lizard-babies in the Dark Continent.

I hope I was coherent enough. I have no answers, only thoughts and thoughts! I feel like we can only speculate and ending D is so confusing because how did we even get there?

I may be going through all the stages of grief again tomorrow, but I wanted to share my thoughts (at least partially). I may erase it if I feel too uncomfortable, but yeah!

Conclusion: Let's just take it with a light heart and wait to see what happens! (I know it's hard).

[keishawantskisses]

Oh, nothing much, just a list of reasons why I am so excited to permashift to my ultimate 4d reality //better current reality//

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

— EXPERIENCING DESIRED SCENARIOS

I am a hardcore daydreamer just like my brother and sister shifters(you guys🫵🏾), and I can't wait to really live the silly imagines I always have in my head. Even if it's something relatively small, I will still get to live every second of them.

Idk if some of you guys will remember that one post where I mentioned Googlebox? But I'm mentioning it again🙄 because I scripted me, my love of my life, his sister who is my bff, my own girl bff and her boyfriend are part of the program teehee. I swear no one will ever understand how much of a comfort show Googlebox is to me and in general.

The idea of being on TV whilst watching TV and relaxing with my favourite people and eating my favourite food just makes me melt. It's such a core memory to me and idk I just love showing off how perfect my family is to everyone else

— FOOD

I can't wait for all the delicious food I'll get to eat. There will never be a single time where I have to eat something I don't like or don't want to ever again, because why should I have to? I'm mostly excited to have stuff like popeyes, McDonald's, seafood boils, those Korean and Japanese foods you see on mukbangs, loads of fruit bowls (I really do love fruit), basically everything meat/barbecue, pasta including ramen, and sweets too cus🧍🏿‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

— NO UGLY CLOTHES ALLOWED

Never will there be a day or night where I will ever need to wear clothes that don't suit me or clothes I don't like. My closet is going to be full of the cutest and gorgeous late 90s and early 2000s skirts, shirts, bellbottoms, flares, jackets, oversized ts, shorts, belts, slippers, jewelry, panties and bras etc etc

— ALREADY COMPLETED WORK

In my better cr, I scripted that I am already miles ahead of everyone in college work (and best believe all my work is at distinction level) so I have all the time in the world to do what I want until the next brief; I also scripted the date of month that I will wake up in my better cr in is the 16th April last week so I will have only 3 days of college next week (because i go in on mondays, tuesdays, wendsays and Thursdays) and 4 weeks of freedom to myself. (I also scripted my teachers let me do my own art work in my free time in class, cus sometimes all a girl wants to do is draw their ocs🥺)

— CURRENTLY IN MY MOVING ERA

In better cr, I am kind of in the planning process of moving out of my house to my apartment penthouse with my friend group. I'm thinking of moving out at 18 or 19 years old since I'm 17 rn and I still want to explore my better cr house cus it's wayyyy better than this one. But even once I've moved out I'll probably keep visiting my old home where my mum and her husband lives because.

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

Overall, I am so excited to experience everything I have ever dreamed of. I know I deserve my freedom and peace, excitement, and joy. Being able to just do what I want when I want and always knowing that no matter what, everything is going to be okay.

Life is so amazing, and it's so worth living. I know I will manifest my desired reality in no time, and I know all of the stress, time, anxiety, and patience won't be for nothing. Life is mine to explore, and I can't wait to do so

@4ellieluv @livingmydreamlife5555 @theshifterbear @cocozydiaries

[lovable-liar]

OMG THOUGHTS: being hasan's partner and another host on fear&? recently started watching the podcast and there's so much chaos going on lol

𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗮𝗻 + 𝗙𝗲𝗮𝗿& 𝗖𝗼-𝗵𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

🔞 One slightly NSFW point

So much to say, so little time…

I’m gonna break this down into scenarios and actual episodes!

QT absolutely lets you come to see Taylor, no questions asked. She loves you.

Will gets you a onesie based on your FAVORITE thing in this episode: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmFb4kgGJ7c&t=2307s

Helping Hasan with his ear and being there to see this and having basically the same reaction as Hasan (41:06): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urq6k1eL3xw&t=2989s

Your guys’ reactions go viral on twitter and some couples make them into matching pfps.

(Maybe, possibly, trying it out with him?)

Sitting in between him and Will (you would definitely be best friends with Austin and QT but you are by far closest with Will)

On the days that you guys have had an argument, you sit next to QT and Austin sits between Will and Hasan instead, but later in the pod you guys make up:

“Welcome back to the Fear& podcast, today I am joined with my co-hosts: Will, Austin, QT and Y/N.”

“Oh, so I’m Y/N now?”

“Okay- can we just- establish for the podcast. Austin, QT and I got here and found Hasan and Y/N giving each other the silent treatment and I’d just love for you guys to tell the viewers why.” Will points out, sounding very amused.

“He called me Kaya.”

“It was an accident!”

“You think I’m a dog!”

“No I don’t!”

“Yeah, you do! You think I’m a big, slobbering dog!”

“Y/N.”

But then, Austin and Will get up to help the postmates guy get to the house (because you’re in a gated community) and QT has to take a call, leaving you and Hasan alone (minus Marche.)

“I didn’t mean to call you Kaya.”

“Mhm?”

“I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

“Sure you are.”

“I love Kaya.”

"Okay?"

“I love you.”

“Okay?”

“In a way it’s a compliment.”

“To be equated to a big, slobbering dog?”

“No. To be equated to another thing I love very much, regardless of what it is! I mean, at least I didn’t objectify you like Steven Crowder did with his wife recently!”

“You have such a way with words, Hasan.”

“I’m very sorry, though, darling.”

“I forgive you. I’m sorry for giving you the silent treatment instead of talking about it.”

The chaos is INSANE!

Getting to have a gossip section with QT every episode <3

Being SUPER hungover (whether you drank or not) on an episode after going to the Abbey with Austin.

If you crochet or knit (like I do) you definitely make a blanket big enough for all of you to share, you make coasters for everyone (including for guests to take home) and even make everyone their own sweater with the “Fear&” logo on it for every holiday <3

Sitting on Hasan’s lap during this episode because there aren’t enough seats: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIB-ArzKvAk&t=144s

Schlatt teaching you chopsticks on this episode: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBUQE-LnoaE&t=3922s

Then you teach Hasan how to play and you guys get really competitive over it that you have a whole segment on why Schlatt loves playing it so much and why he would burden such a healthy relationship with such a major competitive sport 

Telling relationship stories <3

Either QT taking your food requests over anyone else, or, helping her make requests!

Being BY FAR the funniest host on the podcast, people ask you if your back hurts having to carry it on twitter

Having Kaya in your lap all the time (when she starts getting bigger, she’s able to lay over all three of your laps at the same time)

You and Hasan often spend hours brainstorming episode ideas, discussing potential guests, and planning the overall direction of the podcast

While Hasan is known for his passionate and outspoken approach, your hosting style balances the dynamic. You provide a more measured and analytical perspective, creating a harmonious on-air chemistry that the audience appreciates

When you and Hasan disagree on a topic, it often leads to passionate debates on the podcast. These debates are respectful and engaging, showcasing your ability to “argue” and uphold a healthy, loving relationship

He will ALWAYS respect and ultimately agree with your opinion on who to bring onto the podcast

You both have your own rituals during podcasts to calm everyone down.

People have made compilations of you telling everyone to “breathe” like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVO9f04c2R0

Decorating the room with trinkets you find!

Decorating everyone’s mic with stickers that pertain to them <3

Giving the table a theme every now and again like making it look like a dinner table during the Mormon episode, making it look like a little laboratory, etc.

Doing activities! With the laboratory table in mind, I’m thinking doing those kid’s science kits where you can grow your own crystals, make a robot, and make an erupting volcano!

Making gingerbread houses with everyone (including Marche) even if it’s not the holidays

Painting pottery <3

Drawing

Writing all your worries and frustrations on a plate, only to smash them behind the paywall <3

[shiftingconfessions]

It really annoys me when people say that permashifting/respawning (I will clarify permashifting and respawning at the end) is pathetic, selfish, sad, "giving up", and anything of the sort.

People are just living their own lives. They are doing what they've decided to do. If it's fulfilling to them, then so be it. It's their lives. There are endless possibilities and if their life is not fulfilling to them (especially if they're hurt or endangered) I cannot comprehend why it would be pathetic, selfish, sad, "giving up" or anything else.

People could argue the same thing about moving out of your parent's house. Oh, so you want to give up on your childhood? Give up on your parents? You want to selfishly live your own life and become your own independent person? What if your parents need your help with something but you live far away? None of those arguments are fair in any of these scenarios.

People are doing what works for and is best for them. Nothing is one-size-fits-all, so what they're doing is not going to work for everyone - and that's fine. But judging other people is completely unnecessary.

I usually tend to not engage with these discussions, because - 1) everyone is entitled to their opinions and they have them - 2) at the end of the day I am the only person who is going to live MY life so I absolutely will do what I want regardless of other people/entities. I've just thought about this and don't have anyone to talk to. Thank you for letting me rant lol.

For clarifications;

Reality shifting = generally travelling from one reality to a different reality.

Permashifting = reality shifting from one reality to a different reality, while intending to stay in that different reality permanently, and keeping ties between both realities intact.

Respawning = reality shifting from one reality to a different reality, while intending to stay in that different reality permanently, and NOT keeping ties between both realities intact. This DOES NOT inherently include the death of the vessel. As nothing is impossible, it is possible to return to the previous reality, but less likely since the ties are no longer intact.

.

[spider999sposts]

All this Miguel O’Hara content 🥵🥵🥵

Genuinely unsure if I’ve submitted this already, I am getting LOST in these fics, but what about a scenario involving that famous upside-down kiss but with Miguel O’Hara??

I’ve had daydreams of Miguel starting to frequent the coffee shop I tend to go to when having some work projects to do- we have some interactions, short chats; “another spreadsheet?” / me forgetting I have my pen in my mouth while typing, “neff-“ *taking pen out* “never underestimate the power of a good spreadsheet”

Just like… flirty friendly strangers. Then somehow ends up in an interaction with spiderman 2099 in that classic rainy upside-down kiss style 😩😮‍💨🥵

Your fics don’t help my feral obsession for this man and I’m so curious as to what you’d come up with, I neeeeed him 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Not Really Strangers — Miguel O'Hara

🕸synopsis: miguel o'hara gets his very own spiderkiss

🕸genre: fluff

🕸tags: miguel o'hara × reader

🕸a.n: thank you for requesting anon! so fun to write a version of this idea <3 requests are open everyone <3

Working at the Daily Bugle, meant that for most of the time, you had to do work that was not yours.

Your job didn't even include this in the work description when you first applied, you were suppose to be writing articles on what is happening in Nueva York, not making excel sheets of sales and marketing. At first, you did it to fill in for your pregnant co-worker in sales, but ever since she went on maternity leave, your boss, J. Jonah Jameson had designated you the office's sales rep, apparently, without even taking off some of your own work load.

Getting anything done in the office was near impossible nowadays with everyone looming over you, asking if you were done, if the spreadsheets were coming along, if the articles were finished, so you'd dissappear for a couple of hours when the office was at its busiest, taking your laptop and working at the coffeehouse right infront of the building you worked at.

You used to make fun of those who sat at coffee shops, with their big headphones and overpriced drinks, but now you realised how much you actually got done when no one was hanging over your shoulder, asking if you got it done. You've adopted a habit out of going to this café, to the point where you were recognised by the baristas and some of the regulars.

You never really spoke with any of the other regular customers, always gave them a polite wave or just said 'Goodmorning' or 'Have a good one.' depending on the person. None of them made any attempts at speaking with you, so you never really paid them any mind either. They were just familiar faces who made this place feel a little more homely.

Your first encounter with one of the regulars though, was certainly something.

You remember seeing him a couple of times, who wouldn't remember seeing that? Tall man, muscular arms, massive back, soft tufts of blackish brown hair and a brooding look, a nice ass—maybe a little too nice, always wearing that white jacket over any kind of shirt. He'd always come in, order the same coffee, every time.

His voice was queit, he mumbled most of the time and he had a deep, low voice, "One large americano, please." He'd get his drink, sip on it while scrolling through his phone or messing with his watch, then leave. You watched him do this routine one too many times, and one day you caught his name. "One large ameircano for Miguel!"

You never really did anything beyond stare at him, glancing at him between breaks after crunching numbers on your computer. He was just another –attractive– stranger. Nothing too special about him. No need to freak out.

That was until you were holding up the line one day, while looking for your wallet. You were nervously checking all your pockets, getting more and more nervous when you heard the irritation of the customers behind you. You almost had a breakdown when you heard someone walking over, bumping into everyone else. "Sorry—Lo siento—Hello." It was him, him and his...glorious chest and round ass. Him and his stupidly high cheekbones and plump lips. "Add one large americano to that, please. What's the total at?"

"17.75 dollars."

"Tsk, La inflación está afectando todo, ¿eh?"

[Inflation is affecting everything, huh?]

He pulled out his wallet and slid the money over the counter before you could even register. The line moved when the two of you made your way out of it, standing to the side to get your drinks. "Thank you, you didn't have to do that." You said, a blush creeping on your face. He didn't seem like a person who smiled very much, but he gave you a small grin, shaking his head. "Don't mention it. Besides, you really were holding up that line."

You laugh, even though it wasn't all that funny. "I..couldn't find my wallet. That never happens. I think I just left it back at the office. I'll fetch it to pay you back–"

"Oh, no need, my treat. I've wanted to buy you a drink for a while now."

From there, you start talking. You tell him why you became a regular, your hectic office and your demanding boss. He tells you he comes to avoid how hectic it gets too, tells you he works at Alchemax, and you salute him for surviving this long, he tells you it's all thanks to the coffee breaks he gets here and you laugh.

From here on out, you two keep bumping into each other at the coffeeshop. He'd come over and sit with you when it was too crowded, and it slowly became a thing with him, your thing with him. He'd sit at your table, watching you work and occasionally chatting with you, asking how it's going.

"What does a journalist have to do with sales?"

"Tvat—"You took the pen out of your mouth, putting it behind your ear. "—That is what I said!" He laughed, taking a sip of his coffee.

"It's cute how irritated you get. Here, let me help you."

Other days, when he seems a little busier, he flashs you one of those smiles of his, and drops a paper bag on the table before leaving, always containing some kind of sugary pastry to keep you going.

"I've got to run today, but make sure you eat well."

"Oh, are you concerned about me?"

"Of course I am, you're my periodista favorito." [Favourite Journalist]

"Spanglish!"

"Give me a break."

When he's on the phone and rushing out, he'd wave and wink, mouthing you a 'Goodluck' as he walked out the door.

And when you were working late, he'd offer to walk you home, saying it's the gentlemanly thing to do.

"That is me.."

"Ah, not so far from work, huh?"

"Not at all. Thank you for walking me."

"Of course, hermosa, wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you."

"Not with you around."

You didn't see Miguel very often after that, you mentally crused yourself for not asking for his number, but you had to remind yourself, you came here to get work done, to get spreadsheets filled out, to get articles written, not to daydream about a –gloriously handsome– man like its a school crush.

You ended up working over time back at your desk, going home at hours that you should probably be compensated for. Today was just one of those days. Your co-workers had all left, leaving you to lock the office. Once you were done, you exited the building, the cold autumn air flowing through your lungs and the pouring rain dampening your hair. You moved quickly, there were no taxis at this hour, so you pulled your coat closer to your body and made your way down the street. You didn't live too far from where the Daily Bugle was, but with this weather, you much preferred to be in a vehicle.

It was getting a little harder to see, the downpour was getting heavier and your vision was getting blurry. It didn't help how you could hear a pair of footsteps behind you—Make that two pairs of footsteps behind you. This time of night made people of every kind come out of the shadows. You just had to get to your neighbourhood and everything will be fine.

"Oi, sweetcheeks, wait up!"

"We just wanna have a chat, baby, stop walking so damn fast!"

You were practically speeding infront of them, trying to lose them by moving in between buildings. Maybe it wasn't the smartest of decisions, because by the third time, you found yourself met with a dead end. The two men from earlier seemed to have picked up a friend, and the three of them were approaching you in a menacing manner. You saw one of them holding something in his hand, the blade glinted in the pitch darkness. The other two lunged at you, pinning you to the wall. You let out a loud scream and started kicking, but it was to no avail. The armed man stepped closer to you, running his blade across your clothes, with a disgusting grin on his face.

"Gonna be a nice night, eh?"

You moved, kicking him between his legs. He recoiled, taking his time straightening up while his two filthy friends held you back tighter.

"We've got a fiesty one, h—"

A man moved out of the shadows, a familiar blue and red glow following him as he lunged at the perpetrator, knocking the swiss knife from his hand. The two men let you go and launched themselves at him, while the other one struggled to grab his knife from off the ground. Your not-so-unknown hero knocked out the two henchmen, webbing them to each other and kicking them to the side while he swiftly handled the third one. He was fast, incredibly fast, you could hear the man struggle to keep up with him, until he was finally knocked out near his two friends.

You stood mesmerised, staring at his massive back as he stood looming over the three of them. "¿Tu madre no te ha enseñado modales?" He grumbled. He must've felt your gaze, because he looked back at you. Your eyes met his red irsis, as he stood unmasked, the only thing concealing his face was the darkness you stood in.

[Has your mother taught you no manners?]

You took a few steps towards him, and he immediately moved, launching himself up. "Hey, wait!" You ran up to the street, looking up at the roofs of the two buildings you stood between. Behind you, you could hear a ziiiip! and when you turned around, your not-so-friendly masked hero stared at you, hanging upside down.

"Oh my god, hey." You smiled at him, putting your hands on your heart. It felt like was going to jump out of your chest.

"Hey." He replied, "¿Qué es algo bonito como que haces tan tarde en la noche?"

[What's a pretty thing like you doing this late at night?]

His voice sounded like you've heard it before, the way he rolled his r's and that thick spanish accent of his made him feel a little too familiar to you.

"I—I was working late." You replied after a bit, the glow of his suit reflecting in your eyes. "Spreadsheets again?" He asked, and the question made you laugh. "Yeah! My boss needed them finished."

"You shouldn't stay this late out." His tone was authoritative, "Especially all alone. Who knows what would've happened if I wasn't...in the area."

Unknown to you, he wasn't exactly 'in the area', he was making sure you'd get home safe. Just like he did every other night you went home late.

"Usually I have a friend that walks me home, but I haven't seen him in a while." You explain, before nodding. "But you're right. I won't stay this late again."

"Ah, good. Take care of yourself."

"Are you always this concerned about the people you save?"

"Just the pretty ones."

Your skin heated up, and you took a step towards him with a smile. "That's not very fair of you, Mr. Spiderman. I'm a journalist you know, I could hold this against you."

"But you won't." He chuckled, and you tilted your head at his playfulness. "You like me too much."

"My boss doesn't though, writing something negative about you could give me a raise."

"Mm, that's your thanks for saving you?"

You laugh, and move a bit closer to him so your faces were inches apart. A moment of silence fell upon the two of you, as you gently hooked your finger against the fabric of his mask.

"Wait—" One of his big hands wrapped around your wrist, but he quickly removed it, holding on to his red webs instead.

You lowered his mask and set it gently on his sharp nose. You could see his tanned skin glistening with rain droplets, his plump lips were parted and there was a recognisable small scar on his neck, peeking from under the suit. You wrapped your hands around his warm cheeks, and leaned in, pressing your lips to his. They were soft, just like how you imagined they would be. He kissed you back, closing his eyes under the mask, letting himself savour this moment as much as he could. You were ever so gentle, your breath hitched in your throat and your mouth slightly open.

You pulled back after a few minutes, and he leaned forward, not really ready to let go of you. He fought the urges he's been feeling ever since the first time he saw you in the coffeeshop, but if it were up to him, he would've had you kiss him until the two of you were breathless.

"That is my thanks." You replied, taking a step back with a smile on your face. "I'll see you around, right?" You asked, and he nodded. "You will."

You turned your back to him and made your way out to the street, the smile still on your face.

"Oh, and spiderman?"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't tell you about the spreadsheets."

His cheeks flushed as he watched you go, he followed you on the rooftops until he made sure you entered the apartment building safely.

His gizmo beeped, and a notification caught his eye.

Canon Event Completed.

[cho-aaacho]

Stupid fucking idea that me and my sister made up:

Evil Wesker but with energetic henchman reader. Kinda cartoon villain like but it was too funny me and my sister kept giggling about it.

Imagine Wesker and the reader are trying to infect the world with Uroboros and Chris keeps fucking up Wesker’s plans.

Reader is like “Cheer up boss, we’ll get Chris next time! You’ll reach godhood in no time!”

Wesker hates, but also loves the fact that they’re willing, and energetic to help him achieve his goal. Kinda protective over them.

But imagine at the end of RE5 instead of dying, Wesker is just locked up in some maximum security prison.

But it’s just a little more bearable with the reader with them.

“Aw shucks. Well we didn’t get it this time. But i’m sure next time we’ll get it! Have faith boss!”

A very small, smile itches its way onto his lips. Maybe life imprisonment wouldn’t be so bad with you around.

Haha. What a fantastic idea! I have a scenario about this. I hope you love it!

Wesker is really good at being a leader. We can see how he carries S.T.A.R.S. and how he has a good relationship with them. Despite only acting, no one can detect that at all. So he's a good actor or just a psychopath?

He has charm and charisma, and everyone seems to depend on him. His charisma allowed him to entice people to do his dirty work. Narcissists are known to be charismatic, intelligent beyond the human realm, and highly manipulative.

Even no one notices when he's hacking a Bravo team's helicopter, which is the end game for them.

However, during his days in Tricell, he found someone interesting. And it's you. He barely talks with anyone at the Tricell facility; it's not because he hates them. He just doesn't have time to chit-chat.

At the time, his mind was consumed with Spencer and, of course, Uroboros. But one day, you told him something, and it was simply a strange conversation.

You say, "Let go of anything holding you back and die. There's nothing wrong with harboring dislikes toward others."

Realizing that he was only wasting his time, he started tracking and eliminating Spencer while ambitiously pursuing the Uroboros project. You've never seen him like this before; even Irving and Excella were upset by his unusual behavior. 

Wesker even tells you about his Uroboros plans, including a backup plan in case he fails. You could not help but listen to him. Because he appears to be pleased with how you respond to him and reply to him. 

"Okay, boss, do as you wish. Even if you try to burn everything down, the world around us remains the same. But it will feel different if you are not beside me."

After facing defeat by Chris and imprisonment, he doesn't hate or feel upset. It contradicted his nature, as he despised being defeated, especially by his archenemy.

Nothing else matters to him as long as he has you...

"Hey, Wesker... it's impressive that BSAA was able to lock us up. But don't worry; it's only a mild prison. After this, Chris will lose interest in us and eventually retire. At that moment, we will shine and return. If Chris wants to stop, he will. It's human nature."

He just... smiled. It was the first time you saw him relaxed like this. Though you are not worth it for that smile, you were really happy with that little detail about him.

"It appears I have your attention, Wesker. I am pleased to see you smiling. Let us try again and see if we can defeat Chris or those who support him, friends, and families."

[keyotosprompts]

i quite literally had a marathon through your acc cus ur prompts are soo goooodd!!

i am currently working on a little oc story and desperately need a creative person's help. basically, my oc is Spiderwoman. she has a mask like Silk from Marvel but its nanotech (like a hologram on her face). i need prompts on how to unmask her. to set the scene its basically like the movie ATSV, where my oc is fighting a villain and at the end of it she meets the other vigilantes and then unmasks herself but idk how and what will cause her to do so (she does it willingly ofc). to make it even more dramatic shes a pretty pretty girl so everyone is like :0 when seeing her unmasked and i just need prompts on how she does so.

i hope this made sense, i am NOT good at wording bc eng isnt my first language but i hope you understood. LOVE U SM, STAY HYDRATED, MWAHH<3

mask off

superhero unmasking prompts hey! thank u for the compliment! ur oc story sounds super cool btw. i always love superhero stories (i have developed an oc for dcu and she's been active in my brain for the last 9 years)

⇴ person a nervously looks around as their mask begins to disappear. their heart is pounding in their chest as the anticipation in the air begins to rise.

⇴ person a takes off their mask to build trust with her new friends (friends, not coworkers!)

⇴ "um. surprise?" "you did not tell me you looked like that."

⇴ ^ "yeah, i think that's the point of a mask."

⇴ person a finally feels safe and comfortable around the other vigilantes, which allows her to finally take off her mask like everyone else has.

⇴ alternatively... person a sees that everyone else has taken their masks off and then takes their own mask off to join the crowd (this one is a lot less sentimental, as person a has no problem revealing their secret identity).

⇴ "wait. you have nanotech masks!? why doesn't my universe have a nanotech mask??"

okay, so i gave u some dialogue and some scenarios, but the superhero nerd in me wants to give u some tips too.

unmasking: reasons

⇴ as a way to build trust

⇴ as a way to build comradery

⇴ because they're all spidermen/spiderwomen/spiderpeople, so there's no reason to keep a secret identity in the first place

⇴ unmasking as a big plotpoint (could be the oc's climax or a way to build relationships between other characters)

unmasking yourself is personal in any circumstance. for example, even though all the spiderpeople in ATSV are seen unmasked, those people are only unmasked around the other spiderpeople, not around the people in their own universe.

when your oc is unmasking, make it a big plot point. how important is their secret identity? are they scared of unmasking after fighting the villain? what are the stakes at hand here?

unmasking: dialogue

since your oc is very pretty, think to yourself of how you would react when seeing a very beautiful person.

⇴ think of how you would respond, and then try to apply it to the other characters. of course, make sure it's not out of character.

if whatever you're thinking is not in line with what one of the characters would think, then don't include it (even if it's for the sake of storytelling).

⇴ when describing how characters are reacting, sometimes (instead of dialogue) using physical characteristics are better.

for example

"you're gorgeous!" person b gasps

person b gapes at person a for a few seconds. their eyes seem like they're bulging out of their head, and suddenly their mouth feels a lot drier than usual. a gulp escapes person b's mouth before saying, "you're gorgeous!"

doesn't that add a lot more? of course, write however you'd like, but if you really want to emphasize a character's beauty, try using physical reactions as well.

[errihaienx]

Hello!! Can I have a request hq characters reaction on being prank by their girlfriend. The prank will be the girlfriend will be fake texting someone while laughing while they are doing something on their phone. Thank youuu, love ur works btw. 🫶🏼

Hiii i am not quite sure who among all of the hq characters shall i write reaction on. so i applied multiple characters(characters who i am familiar with, i can't include everyone T^T) by the reaction that i think they will have during the prank! thank you for loving my works ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ♡

(REQ!)

quick disclaimer: these scenarios don't affect the original plot of the series. any information or events that contradict the original plot are purely fictional. (i do not own any of the characters) (I did not proofread this)

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀ ⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀HQ MEN REACTING TO YOUR 'FAKE TEXTING SOMEONE' PRANK

SUNA, Tsukishima, Kenma, Kunimi

"I KNEW IT BUT WHY AM I SO GRUMPY"

Actually saw and knew about the trend, but he didn't expect you to do this, so when he found out you were following the trend, he was taken aback.

though what he couldn't understand is why the hell is he grumpy and displeased about it even though he knows that it is just a prank

"Heyy, your mouth could reach the ground, stop pouting! you knew it was a prank, so why are you acting like that"

"You're such a child, why are you even doing those things?" he said sharply.

If you've just been his girlfriend for a short time, his remarks will hurt you, but at this point you just know that it's either his love language or he was born that way.

"So who's the grumpy one because I did some 'childish stuff'?" you laughed

You returned to the prank and began typing random letters while giggling, and then your phone was taken away in a matter of seconds.

"Hey! what are you doing!"

He checked your phone with strained brows, then handed it to you, his countenance considerably calmer now.

"What did you do?"

"I don't usually check phones coz that's your privacy but I can't help it, stop that antics of yours and just cuddle me that would've been better"

"I don't want to!"

"oh trust me you do"

OIKAWA, Atsumu, Kuroo, Terushima

"YOU DID ME SO DIRTY, I'LL BE DOIN' THE SAME >:("

It was a typical day for you and him; he was busy packing for an international match, at the same time you were laughing on your phone.

"What's the matter, babe?" He asked

He stopped doing his thing while his gaze fall upon you.

"N-nothing! I'm j-just talking with a friend.."

Your nervous chuckle made his eyebrow shot up. When he's packing his belongings, you usually help him, but he thinks it's strange because you're texting and giggling with someone else instead.

You snickered as you swiftly glanced at him, seeing his brow furrowed while stiffly folding his clothes.

That caused him to stare at you again, and this time he can't help himself.

"Babe."

"y-yeah?"

"Who are you texting."

"he's a-"

"He?! I haven't left yet and you are replacing me right away??"

You turned your phone off, trying not to giggle, and reached out your hand to him, which he ignored while looking at you.

"Explain." he sternly said, with his arms crossed.

"It was nothing! I just saw a video online about fake texting and I decided to-"

He interrupted you by laughing dryly. You handed him your phone and told him to check it himself if he was doubtful.

"I don't have to, I believe you. I can't just believe that you did this to me!"

You hugged him because he looked betrayed.

"Just wait until I start giggling and kicking my feet while texting someone!"

His childish words made you roll your eyes; he'll certainly never do this ever. He is totally committed to you.

SAKUSA, Kageyama, Ushijima

"UH YEAH OKAY GO ON, I'M HURT BUT I WON'T BE SAYIN' THAT TO YOU"

Your boyfriend arrived at your shared condo late at night. Tired and feeling a bit drowsy, you knew exactly what he needs. yourself

But, for the time being, he will not be getting that. You're busy pretending to text someone.

"My hugs..?"

You ignored him as you shifted your body so that it looked like you were hiding what you'd been doing.

"Love.. what are you doing?" he asked again

His voice was soft and desperate, so you kept typing random letters and let out a quick giggle that drew his attention.

"Oh are you talking with Sana-san?" he concluded

You finally looked at him with a grin on your face, finding his conclusion amusing.

"No, babe, I was talking with a male friend.. have you eaten?" you returned the question

You could see his eyes widen a little; he knew you didn't have any close male friends, so you expected him to question you. He, however, did not.

"Oh, okay.. go on continue talking to him."

His cold, trying-not-to-sound-jealous voice was hilarious, his ears growing red, and the way he acts in the next minutes confirms his jealousy.

He's always been this way; he's not the very jealous type, and when he is, he attempts to hide it and fails miserably. He'll be stiff and irritable, as though he doesn't know how to act.

After a few minutes had gone and you had not heard from him, you stood up and provided him a back hug.

"Hey baby, I was just kidding.. I missed you so much.."

He shifted his weight and is now facing you with a less tense manner, but his brow wrinkled clearly indicates that he needs a little clarification.

"You preferred to play some pranks on me rather than give me my hugs."

AKAASHI, Iwaizumi, Kita, Hinata, Sugawara, Osamu, Daichi

"I UNDERSTAND YOU MWA (ɔˆ ³(ˆᴗˆc)"

He got confused when he called you for dinner and you were still on your phone, texting and laughing constantly. especially since you had a motto "food always comes first!"

"My love? I called for you, you can continue that later.." He called again

He got your attention, and you acted annoyed by turning your phone off in a tetchy manner.

"Eat first, you were doing what?"

"I was messaging a friend, and he invited me to watch a movie with some of our mutual friends."

You assumed him to question you, but knowing your partner's personality, he didn't. You finished your dinner, but he's still all smiles!

What you expected did not come around, and guess what? He even insisted on driving you to the place you were going.

Because of how things played out, your prank was reversed, and you are now the one who is grumpy.

"Hmmm, why are you acting this way?" he gently asked as he kissed the furrow in your brow.

"Nothing!"

He laughed at your defensive tone, still holding you in his arms;

"I love you.."

THE BOKUTO ( my baby ! ‹𝟹 ) TYPE

he'll be so whiny lol

will be saying these for sure;

"heyyy who are you texting?"

"oh you're talking with a boy, okay! — WHAT A BOY????"

"baby you don't love me anymore??!"

"baby are you happier with him?"

"bAbY dOnT LeAve mE:("

please stop the prank and cuddle this babieee! ₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎♡

HI EVERYONEE!!!! It's almost been a week, i am clearing up my requests and I have a post lineups that will be out very soon! I also got addicted creating dividers lmaoo. anyways, thank you for appreciating my works! see ya in few days! ₍ᐢ⸝⸝› ̫ ‹⸝⸝ᐢ₎

[misc-obeyme]

Lesson 32 spoilers below (including the hard lesson, though it is labelled as such):

My poor baby Levi. After all that, he blamed himself. It's perfectly understandable for him to be upset about MC trying to leave. And yet he was convinced that he didn't deserve to feel that way. Please my heart can't take any more of this.

HOWEVER.

We didn't even get to see his Little D at all. I wonder if we'll see him at some point after the flood? It just seems like we've met everyone else's...

ALSO.

A looooot of talking about MC's special room this time. I no longer think these are the past brothers/characters. At this point, I think these are all the same characters, even Solomon. That's why we've never seen past Solomon. Because he isn't there.

I think it's some kind of spell/curse/magic that has transported everyone back to the past. (Or a simulated version of the past.) Everyone but Solomon and MC lost their memories, making it so their memories start at that moment in the past that they were sent to. It isn't that they are past versions of the brothers. It's that they're the same versions, but sent to the past with their memories wiped. And yet despite whatever magic did that (or perhaps a deliberate flaw of it), they get vibes from MC's old room.

This is the only explanation that makes sense to me anymore. It's the only way they can have feelings about MC's room, the only way characters like Luke can talk about how it feels right to spend time with Simeon and Solomon, likely the only reason we've never met or had to worry about past Solomon. I think this truth is what Solomon told Simeon at the end of season one (I don't quite remember what lesson it was). I think Barbatos knows because for some reason the magic doesn't work on him, but he's going along with it.

It just doesn't make sense otherwise. In this lesson they discuss how the feelings they get from that room are getting stronger.

I think that when MC has made pacts with all of them again, everybody gets their memories back. And this new experience of the past is the one they remember as reality. A way to retcon the past without changing the OG story.

I know people have speculated about this before, I am not at all the first person to think this is the case. But the more I think about it, the more this seems like the only plausible scenario?

And the only scenario in which we aren't abandoning a version of the brothers that we've come to love. Because it's actually been the same set of brothers all along.

Still have no clue who Nightbringer is or what the purpose of doing any of this is. And I could be way off base here. But I guess we'll see.

Hard Lesson:

I would also like to say that of course Solomon made the inside of the boat a freakin' castle. THOUGH. OH SHIT.

I was legit just gonna talk about how funny I thought that was, but isn't it just another example of the fact that Solomon can create entirely different worlds with magic? Though if Solomon is the one who created another world, it seems weird that his magic would also be declining in that world? Though he can clearly make entire ark-castles so maybe it's not as bad as it seemed?

ALTHOUGH I think it would be very interesting if Nightbringer is using Solomon's magic (or making Solomon use his magic) to create this alternate past. And Solomon's magic is fading because he's using so much of it to maintain that place. (MC's magic fading might be more about trying to impart urgency so they'll make pacts faster.)

ANYWAY. This is all speculation obviously lol. Solomon is a silly guy who loves MC so I think the only way he could be actually involved is if Nightbringer is somehow forcing him. (Like he might do all of that if it's going to, say, save MC's life in the end or something.)

Ugh I'm so tired of speculating lol. Any time I'm like okay but what if...? I end up writing myself in circles trying to figure things out.

This whole Nightbringer thing better be DONE by the end of this season or I am going to be UPSET.

Anyway, we all know you did CPR to save us, Levi, it's okay. You can say it tee hee. <3

[cozage]

Welcome to My Blog!

Hi, I’m Cozage! You can call me Coza. I’m 25, she/they pronouns are preferred, but any are fine. Right now I’m just writing for One Piece, but I’m open to writing for just about anyone within that realm. Please read this whole post before sending a message!

Requests: CLOSED

Pending requests: 50🤭

Masterlist Part 1 | Masterlist Pt 2

Are your requests open?

Not right now! Please do not send me a request when my requests are closed. I ALWAYS delete them, just to be fair. You are always welcome to send me questions and feedback on my writing or ideas for future chapters for my multifics, but please no new requests. Just because I am fulfilling requests, does not mean my requests are open! 

Can I request a part 2 even when your requests are closed?

This is where it gets dicey. The simple answer is: no. HOWEVER, you can pop into my inbox and let me know that you really liked a specific story and ask if I'm going to have a part two (respectfully!) and you might convince me. Almost all of my multi-parters have come from requests, and I'm always looking for new multi-chapter fics to write :)

When do you open for requests?

I close my requests when my inbox reaches 20, and then I reopen it again when I get it back down to 5. You can check the status of my requests at the top of this post. Events have separate rules and guidelines, which are always explained in the post. If I have an event going on, it'll be tagged in the announcement section at the top of this post!

What should I include in my request?

Reader gender (if you dont specify I'll just do non-gendered), characters you want (try to limit it to 3 or 4, or else I might pick and choose from the list and omit some characters), the scenario you want, you can also clarify if you want a headcanon list or a short fic!

Edit to add: Just a friendly reminder, the more characters you add to a request, the more overwhelming it is for me (and more likely it is to get deleted! 3 characters really is the sweet spot!)

What requests do you accept?

Just about anything. I do occasionally post NSFW, but it’s always tagged and marked. I have a few hard no’s, though:

Relationship situations for minors/large age gaps, pedophilia, grooming, incest, noncon (that’s not a cohesive list, but you get the gist).

Do you write for polys?

Maybe! Polys are hard for me to write. I struggle making the relationship balance equal and keeping people in character while also doing justice to a well-written relationship w/o being too corny. But! If you send it in, I'll at least give it a shot :)

Who can I request?

Just about anyone from One Piece, and I'll do my best given the scenario. Some people I will definitely always write for and take almost any request you send are:

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Law, Kidd, Shanks, and Buggy

Everyone else is hit or miss on if I can imagine their scenarios, but I'll do my best. Some people who I really struggle writing are: Crocodile, Doffy, Izou (And I will not write for Gol Roger ever because I hate him 💕)

How detailed should my request be?

Try to keep it a healthy medium! If there are important aspects you want to be included in your story, let me know :) But try to avoid giving me a play-by-play. That level of detail makes me feel trapped and it's hard to take a creative spin on it. If you have a story you are imagining in your head and you want someone to write it...well, have you considered being a writer? :)

I have more than one request...

Try to limit your requests to 1 or 2, please! We want room for other people to have their ideas to come to light. If you have two ideas, you need to submit two separate messages. Please do not put two story ideas together in a request, or I will just write one :)

Do you take commissions? How can I support you?

I don't take commissions yet, but I think they are in the works. When they do appear, they'll appear on my Ko-fi account (where you can also support me through donations if you so feel inclined!)

What tags do you use (for blacklisting or other purposes)?

Most of my blog is writing, but here's how I tag certain things in case you want to blacklist or follow them:

"cozage" - any type of writing for One Piece I do will have this (just to show it's my work)

"coza thoughts" - May be my daily thoughts/info about writing. No substance though, just me.

"coza asks" - messages that I get that aren't requests. Usually just me responding to people

all the pairings also get tagged as well, so if you were to search "Zoro" hashtag on my page, any fics with him would come up

Do you have an AO3?

Yes! Same name as here. I put a lot of my short multi-chapter fics there (but Tumblr gets all the updates first) BUT here’s a link to it. 

Is there anything else I should know?

Please just remember that when you send me a request or a message, I may not always respond to it. I do always read them, though! I just don't always respond because I don't want to clog up my page with posts that aren't content. Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing everyone’s ideas and working together with you all to bring these ideas to life. Send the ask, let me know what you think and how you feel and all of your ideas, but remember that I’m human too! I have feelings and friends and a life outside of writing for our favorite One Piece characters. I look forward to reading your thoughts, and sharing mine with you. 

Love, Coza <3

[wizardfrog69]

Hey again! :D A similar request as the last one, but this time the child is smaller (10-11), and Fyodor and Nikolai raise them together! I just wanna see how good they would be at parenting together TvT (i love your writing!!)

Thaaaank yoooouuuuuu :))))))

Thanks for your request!!!!!

'•.¸♡ parenting ♡¸.•'

Gn!reader (platonic)

Fyodor x Nikolai ig, weather you see it as platonic or not is up to you.

Fluff

Masterlist

Enjoy!

Again, who the fuck knows where Nikolai found a random child but he found you and now he's rasing you with Fyodor.

Tbh they are shit at parenting, like a clown and a manipulative bitch as parents? That child is growing up to be fucked up for real.

Okay, I've calmed down a bit, let's continue.

In this scenario Nikolai and Fyodor live together.

The first time Fyodor met you was when he came home to you sleeping on the sofa and Nikolai making something to drink in the kitchen.

'Why is there a child in out living room?' Fyodor asked, confession lingering in his voice.

'Their name is y/n and they are our new child!' Nikolai explained with a smile while preparing a cup of tea for Fyodor.

'Why?' Fyodor's tone was more of an annoyed one this time.

'Why not?' Nikolai placed a tea bag in a cup before pouring the water in.

Fyodor just sighed and accepted the fact that you were going to live with them now.

Fyodor isn't around that much naturally so you were closer to Nikolai but whenever Fyodor was around he didn't seem as scary as people made him out to be.

Fyodor did try to take care of you properly, educating you if he had the time and when he didn't he told you what to learn and gave you a plan until your next lesson, Fyodor wasn't the best teacher and had a hard time comprehending the fact that you were 10 and 10 year olds (including most of the population) aren't as smart as him.

Does Nikolai try to teach you anything? Nope, maybe some magic tricks here and there but other than that not much. Education is restricting in some ways and doesn't let the mind be creative and learn on its own so they way to be as free as one could get is to not learn stuff which will restrict the person and their imagination, now one should still attend school because you need to learn and stuff.

Since Fyodor is out at work most of the time you are left alone with Nikolai, you're too young to be left alone so Nikolai has to take care of you but he also has work and who else would be a great Babysitter than everyone's favourite: Sigma!

Nikolai said he had to go to work and you couldn't go with him so he took you to a good friend by the name of Sigma.

Without a knock Nikolai burst in through the door and startled a man sitting by a desk doing some paper work. 'Quiz time! Why am I here?' Nikolai announced while you awkwardly stood slightly behind him. Sigma didn't answer and only stared in disbelief at you for a few seconds before practically shouting at Nikolai 'Why on earth do you have a child with you?!'

Nikolai only laughed him off and started to walk up to him. By the time you two were in front of the desk Sigma calmed down and spoke in softer and more calmer tone to you trying to be as nice as he could while not being irritated by Nikolai. 'Is everything okay? Do you need help?'

Nikolai laughed at his questions and asked him to look after you for a while before leaving you there.

Sigma became a regular Babysitter to you and the longer you spend there the more activities became available to you. Sigma get some board games or something so the two of you could play while being there.

But what if Sigma cannot take care of you? Well the only option is bring-your-child-to-work day for Fyodor. He told you to just kinda chill there and stay quiet as he typed away but you cannot expect a child to sit I'm silence for hours and hours on end.

'Fyodor... I'm sorry but I'm hungry.' You were sitting on the floor surrounded by cables and what not. Fyodor stopped his typing and look at you, at the time and back to you, it was (whatever time you eat dinner) so he decided to take you somewhere to eat something.

The most likely scenario is the two of you going back to his house so he can make something for you to eat but if he's in a rush he'll get take out or something.

Since today was more of a busy day for him he told you to get up and the two of you left for town to get something, he wasn't going to call for take out, that would risk people knowing where he lives and that is bad, very bad.

You had a great time out, you did mostly walk in silence to the restaurant and turn back but it was still nice. On your way there you spotted a cat and wanted to pet it but Fyodor was moving quickly ahead and didn't bother to stop for a simple cat.

Once going back the cat was still in its and you ran up to the cat carefully as to not scare it away and started petting it. The cat was woke up but didn't move still enjoying the sun. Fyodor caught up to you rather quickly but instead of moving along not paying attention he stopped and let you pet the cat for a little before telling you that you two have to leave.

You two got back and ate your food making light conversation

I don't believe Fyodor has any other chairs beside his own in his office so you have to sit on the floor or stand.

Overall Nikolai and Fyodor aren't the best parents a child could ask for but not the worst, they care for their child and their wellbeing.

Also Nikolai insists on calling him тато (tato: dad) or pa or something like that.

༺♡༻ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ༺♡༻

Тато is Ukrainian btw

His is longer than expected and honestly I could keep going.

Have a wonderful day/night and do something you enjoy.

-love, Az