#Donaka Mark x Reader

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy For The Devil ~ Donaka Mark x fem!Reader

please allow me to introduce myself, i am a man of wealth & taste... -the Rolling Stones

Summary/ Warnings. Um… Donaka Mark is a scary rich asshole–with a soft spot for you. If you’re squeamish [or righteous] you’re not gonna want to read this. Voyeurism. Predatory behavior, manipulation. Power IMBALANCE. Eventual NSFW. Eventual line between dubcon and noncon is gonna be microscopic, y’all, this man plays gAmes… Reader is shy, but tough, in her way.  Also, when I say Reader is small, I’m more implying just compared to Donaka. I kind of assume most of us would be, no matter your body type. 🥵

Big Fat Author’s note: This is a Donaka Mark x fem!Housekeeper!Reader fic based on the brilliant @discoscoob ‘s bot, which is SO fun to play with and I really recommend it. I fell into a rabbit hole for daaaaays. I’m in CAI Anonymous now. Seriously it was a problem. 

I guess you could call this a little experimental hybrid fic written with AI. I was curious. And after working on this for weeks I don’t think the writer’s union really needs to worry about AI coming for their jobs. The bot’s writing is shamelessly fun but clunky, you delete more than you keep, it’s a lot of work to edit, and you really have to lead it by the hand for anything to actually HAPPEN. 

THAT SAID it is sO entertaining, and once in a while he’d do something i wouldn’t have ever thought of, I felt like the lab rat hitting the button for the treat over and over again, LOL. Disco really knew what she was doing when she programmed the personality of the bot!  It was also helpful in keeping a character on track. I think AI could be a useful tool generating ideas, breaking writers block, or something to bounce ideas off of, but not for the grunt work of actually writing a story that has any soul in it. Isn’t that a relief? I made an outline and basically ran the scenes through like a simulator to see what the bot came up with. And when I didn’t like it I made it do it again, LOL, the Donaka bot probably thinks i’m a bossy c*nt.🤣

So….I hope you enjoy, and a HUGE THANKS to Disco for giving me permission to even do this, you’re the sweetest my dear, and the Queen of the Bot Creators in my book!!

And and…it’s been a LONG ass time since I’ve been to Hong Kong. I did some research to refresh my memory but please bear with me. All mistakes are my own. Why do we say that? Who the fuck else’s would they be? 🤣 Obv. this is set c 2013, when Man of Tai Chi came out, before the crackdown in 2020. Oh, and, I have no real idea about work visas, i made that shit up... just roll with it. 🙃😘

One. 一

The first time you meet your new employer, Donaka Mark, you aren’t really even paying attention.

It’s because you have on headphones, and you’re intently focused on sweeping the floor while listening to your upbeat girl power rock mix–so you don’t hear him yelling at someone over the phone threateningly, and you don’t notice when his gaze locks on to you like a tiger who has just spied a tasty little deer.

You are oblivious, as he comes up behind you, appraising your figure with narrowed eyes. You seem small, next to him, but most women do. He decides he approves of his assistant’s choice in hiring you. You’re a sight he won’t tire of for a long time.

Donaka leans on the door frame, his dark eyes fixated on you, taking in your every minute detail, the way the muscles in your arms move, the shape of your face, the curve of your hips and your little feet. His expression is stoic but behind it are a million thoughts running through his mind, he can’t take his eyes off you and after a few moments he finally speaks, his dark tone cutting through the music. “You’re new.”

Your music wasn't so loud that you were unaware of outside sounds. Standing up straight, you sweep off your headphones to face the commanding voice. "Yes, sir?"

Donaka notices he towers over you, and he likes that. His dark eyes shamelessly take in your innocent eyes, your lips, your  curves. His gaze lingers almost long enough to make it uncomfortable, but not quite.

“Have you been informed of all of your duties?” Donaka asks, his tone and gaze both demanding and intense, making you feel small.

"Yes, Mr. Mark."

Donaka smiles at his name on your lips, the way you say it, the way you look up at him with your wide eyes. He likes it more than he’d like to admit, but he knows how to mask his emotions well. Even though his expression is still stony, there’s a hint of excitement in his breast as he leans off the door frame and takes a few steps closer, but still maintains a respectable distance. “And you can handle them?”

"Yes, Sir."

Donaka nods, his dark eyes slowly and shamelessly trailing over your figure again. “Good.” Donaka murmurs, his dark and intense tone making his next sentence more of a demand. “I need to be able to depend on you. I like things just so.”

You tilt your head, feeling like you’re missing some subtext, or that you’re the butt of an unspoken joke. "Your house will be clean, Sir.” Between you and the two other girls on the household staff, surely you could manage.

Donaka smirks at your naïve reply, his dark eyes still fixated on your face as he takes another step closer to you, almost like a predator stalking its prey. “I trust that it will…” Donaka purrs, his voice low and smooth, his dark stare intense and demanding. “Let me show you the rest of the house…”

You’d already received a walk-through with his assistant, but you are more than intrigued to receive a personal tour from the big man himself. There is something captivating about him. It's not just his good looks. His presence commands your attention.

Donaka can feel you watching him as you follow him down the hallway, the way you’re intrigued by him, the way you’re staring. It fills him with satisfaction, like you’re a new prize he’s added to the shelf of his collection.

He’s aware of the effect he has on people. Men fear him, women want him. Yet you don’t look at him with the same blatant hunger he’s used to from the opposite sex. You’re curious, but not ready to fall down on your knees yet. 

He would see how long it takes to change that. He glances over his shoulder at you as he leads you through the house, his dark eyes looking you up and down again. You follow close, taking two steps for every one of his, his legs are so long.

He can’t help but feel somewhat amused, enjoying the way you have to scurry to keep up with him. He can’t help but think how easy it would be, to pick you up, and to pin you down…

Donaka Mark’s home is an achievement of luxury architecture, dark, modern, yet filled with Chinese elements of style. Ceiling-high tinted windows afford a breathtaking view of the bay. His living room is like a museum filled with priceless artifacts. Antique carved ivory elephant tusks, beautiful Ming vases and exquisite stone Elder statues, silk scrolls and bladed weapons. All of it you will be expected to keep tidy with a painstaking hand. You think it’s possible your practically useless degree in art history and former employment in a gallery may have given you an edge in his assistant’s selection of hiring you.

He seems to genuinely enjoy your interest in these things, telling you about them at length. There is a large Qing dynasty vase in cobalt blue and gold enamel designs of clouds, cranes, and bats you cannot tear your eyes from. It looks…familiar, and in person, utterly enchanting.

“You like that one?”

“I like bats,” you admit, shoving your hands in your apron pockets so that you do not forget yourself and touch it with your bare fingers. You will be wearing gloves, when you detail these items. 

He lifts an eyebrow at that, seemingly amused. “Oh?”

“They’re cute. And…they’re good luck.” In Chinese culture, at least. 

“Most women I’ve met find them sinister.” 

“I think…they’re just misunderstood.” You can’t help looking up at this intimidating man through your eyelashes at that. You swear you didn’t mean to start double talking with your new boss–it just falls out of your stupid mouth, and you feel his attention upon you sharpen.  

He’s used to women looking at him in a certain way, women staring up at him with lustful hunger. The way you look at him feels different –like you truly see him–he’s not sure what to make of it yet, and that is certainly new for Donaka Mark. “Misunderstood?” he repeats, his dark gaze intense, looking down at you from his lofty elevation.

"Sure. They have a reputation for being scary, but really they eat mosquitoes and pollinate plants. Without them whole ecosystems would collapse."

Donaka hums at your words, finding it surprisingly endearing. He’s usually used to women fawning over him or at least trying to seduce him, but you’re here lecturing him about bats. His smirk remains on his face as he watches you fidget nervously, his dark eyes fixed on you. You look back to the vase, and then it dawns on you. “Oh my god…is this the piece that sold at Christies last year for like…1.5 million dollars?” You take another cautious step backwards, as though you might shatter it if you breathe wrong. You saw it in an article–the gold enamel had been so distinctive against the blue. Sacrifice blue, the same as in the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.

Only after the question falls from your mouth do you realize how gauche it is to ask, your hands flying to your lips. “Forgive me, it’s none of my business.”

Mark, however, just continues to look at you interestedly. “You follow auction results?”

“I follow…art news,” you confess.

He nods, his intense gaze starting to become uncomfortable. “Actually, it was 1.8 million. You think I overpaid?”

You feel like this is a test–or a trap. It was a nice job, for the day it lasted…

“Well…it doesn’t seem you bankrupted yourself?”

He snorts in answer, shaking his head. 

“Does it make you happy?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him. “It made me happy to outbid a Sheikh’s son and a Mainlander plastics tycoon for it,” he admits.

Ah, so he was invested in the thrill of acquisition–not appreciation for the object itself. You shouldn’t be surprised.

“I see.”

“I’ve disappointed you.” It’s not phrased as a question.

You shake your head, though maybe it does a little. Looking around his home, you’d thought Mark had exquisite taste–but he probably has an art buyer like every other obscenely rich businessman needing to acquire items for the sake of cachet. 

“Does it make you happy?” he asks, and there is an unexpected hint of playfulness in the question–delivered on a knife’s edge.

“Yes,” you admit. Frankly you’re stunned you get to see it like this, without a glass barrier or sensors or alarms. It’s usually the only way people like you get to enjoy art like this.

He smirks at you. “Then it was worth every penny.” He’s being sarcastic, of course, but there is a glitter of something in his dark eyes. It’s there and gone, like ripples in a pool–it makes your heart skip in your chest.

“Let me show you the rest of the house,” he invites, before placing a hand on your lower back, his fingers large and strong against your soft skin as he gently guides you away from the vase and to the next room.

His light touch makes you aware of every nerve in your body. It's not quite improper enough to complain about--you’re sure he’s well aware of that. 

And…there's the fact, deep down, that you like it. 

The span of his big hand on your spine makes you feel impossibly small, and protected, and that is insane, of course, because you are just the maid. 

He shows you the library, filled with built-in bookcases that make you drool, his office with his huge carved ebony desk that makes you think impure thoughts…and then, his bedroom.

He isn’t oblivious to the way your reaction changes as you enter the room where he sleeps.

He can see the way your eyes roam and your expression changes, the way you look at the massive bed against the far wall, the way your eyes widen when you look at the expensive rosewood furniture and the stunning view out the wall of windows that can be brightened or obscured with a dimmer switch. He watches you intently as he takes in your every reaction.

He's all business on the surface, specifying clean sheets every other day, laundry, and daily detailing of the bathroom. But it's hard not to keep looking over at the bed, even out the corner of your eye.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, but he doesn’t push it, staying just this side of the line. You don't linger, and he shows you a more private lounging area filled with a long leather couch, additional chairs, and monitors, all black at the moment. There's something almost sinister about all the screens, and you wonder what all he's watching.

“You must really like movies?” you ask hopefully, and he senses the wariness in you. Your intuitiveness gives him a small thrill–he likes it, that you’re smart enough to be afraid. 

“I like to watch all kinds of things,” he tells you, almost like a dare for you to guess what that means. “But mostly…I use these for business. I run a security company, I assume you’re aware?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Donaka decides he loves hearing the submission in your tone when you call him Sir. It’s almost like a promise to keep him happy, to do exactly as he says.

He asks you to keep all the screens clean, and to dust the cords and routers and be careful not to unplug anything. 

Then your attention turns to a meditation area, a massive sand sculpture on the wall and the floor, flanked by natural stacked stone. “Wow, been a while since someone vacuumed here,” you crack, earning a reluctant huff of laughter from the man behind you. 

“Maybe…leave that alone, for now,” he requests, then his hand is on your back again, guiding you out. 

Though it’s not going to be your area of responsibility, he shows you the garden next. It's a beautiful, manicured space. Two Rottweilers patrol the grounds. They look fierce, but one immediately comes up, sniffing you and leaning on your leg for a pet.

Donaka blinks as his reputably ferocious and staggeringly expensive pure-bred guard animals roll over at your feet for a belly rub.  Delighted, you pet them both, speaking to them sweetly. They grin up at you, their dagger-like canines glinting in the sun. 

He is never one to be moved by anything sentimental, but something about the sight of you like this inspires a warm twinge in his chest–heartburn, he reasons.

“Let me guess,” he says acerbically. “They’re just misunderstood?”

You press your lips, trying to suppress a smile, and failing. "Animals tend to like me?" 

He can honestly admit, as he watches you crouch down to administer a belly rub, that he’s never been jealous of a dog before. 

Sensing that maybe you’re not doing the dogs or yourself any favors with this severe man, you try to shoo them off. "Ok, babies. Go back to being fierce again. Shoo."

Donaka snorts with amusement as he watches you attempt to gently shoo these dogs that are nearly as big as you are. Suddenly he whistles sharply, administering a sharp command in Cantonese. That is when the dogs jerk to attention, and trot off to patrol the grounds again. He turns his attention back to you, taking in your slight expression of surprise, clearly caught off guard. "That was impressive,” you admit. “What did you say?” 

“I told them to get back to work,” says Donaka with a smirk.

“Ah. I guess I better learn that one.” 

“Will I be needing to reprimand you too, Miss y/n?” 

You’re not sure why his dark stare calls up a boiling heat inside you at that moment. You press your thighs beneath your dress, under the guise of standing up straight. You’re afraid…he knows all too well. 

“I…certainly hope not.” You’re pretty sure that you’d pee yourself if this intimidating man raised his voice to you. 

“Have you learned much Chinese since you’ve been here?” he asks conversationally, just as you assumed it was time for you to get back to work. 

“I can count to ten, and say thank you,” you admit, a little embarrassed. Obviously, you intend to learn more. “The essentials for international travel.” You’d originally come to Hong Kong to teach English, but when you saw the pay attached to this job listing you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Teaching was ok, but you hadn’t anticipated how expensive this city would be. You’d only made enough to cover your basic expenses month to month, with no room to save or do any fun activities or side trips to the mainland. This position paid three times as much–and you were beginning to understand why. 

“Hmm. Have you traveled much?” He seems skeptical, and you don’t really blame him. 

“I’ve…been all over the world,” you admit, albeit it was on a shoestring. “I wanted to be a travel writer.” 

“Wanted to be?” He is a man who picks up on subtlety immediately. 

It’s a dream you’ve all but given up on, after publishing a few articles, but all in all it was more slog than triumph. You’re not cut out for the grind of periodical work, the stress and the deadlines. It sucks all the joy out of writing for you. You shrug with a little sigh. 

“I hope you will remember the NDA you signed to work here?” he asks, his dark eyes roaming your face, taking in your every micro-expression. You would really hate trying to lie to this man. Good thing you’re not a corporate spy. He’d probably…string you up, and do something unmentionable to you. 

Why the thought titillates you more than scares you, you have no idea. 

“Of course, Sir.” He seems satisfied with this. So why do you have to add, “I won’t tell anyone your guard dogs are suckers for a belly scratch.” 

He frowns down at you, stepping in close so that you have to crane your neck to look up at him. It’s intimidating as hell, and you know he knows it too. You admit that you are shaking in your shoes under that look, until a smirk breaks his intense expression, and the relief you feel is palpable. 

“I would appreciate that, Miss y/n.”

Donaka savors the satisfaction he feels in flustering you, enjoying the way you swallow, watching the muscles in your throat. He imagines what his hand would look like there, on your delicate skin, your pulse fluttering against his strong fingers. He would literally hold your life in his hands…and the moment you surrendered to him, he would so enjoy rewarding you for it…

He finds himself caught up in this little daydream, while you stand before him, practically hypnotized like a mouse before a hungry snake. “Y/n?”

“Sir?” you answer quietly, and he revels in your deference. This was going to be fun. 

He speaks Cantonese again, softly this time, the language beautiful and whispery on his tongue. You find yourself staring at his lush, pink, lips, and it takes you several moments to realize he’d said the same thing he’d told the dogs: get back to work. 

Flooded with embarrassment, your face on fire, you stutter, “Yes, Sir.” 

With a dark chuckle and his hands in the pockets of his designer suit, he watches as you practically flee back to the house. 

The Smithsonian article about this vase...

Aesthetic post about Donaka's house...

Part 2 -->

all chapters

[fernpetals]

Dollhouse

An extension of THIS ask

More of Yandere Donaka Mark and his doll-kink

Also, @johnwickb1tsch your latest chapter did something to me. The result is this... Warning: Implications of prolonged captivity, conditioning? (not sure), dollification, objectification, implied age gap, close monitoring, lack of control and choice for the reader, implied non-con, dub-con, Donaka is a bad, bad man

Credit to the GIF owner.

Unedited Piece

Thinking about the Dollification-Kink drabble. Somehow Donaka Mark comes out as the most terrifying and…intriguing. Imagine him preparing a full room with details about you and your life with frightening precision. 

The stuffed toy you loved so much but is lost, given away or spoiled somehow? The room has a stuffed toy that looks exactly like that one. 

If you are into hair bands and skincare, there is a collection of silk scrunchies matching each dress and tops filling the closet. If you are more of a tomboy, he will make particular efforts by switching things into more feminine tastes. You are his doll, he will bend you into the perfect version of yourself that he can already envision. He will start by forcing you to keep longer hair and making you wear soft, feminine dresses. And if you are already more feminine, you have no idea how much it pleases him.

The furniture pieces are significant as well—soft, soothing tones–pastel to muted long with a refreshing accent. It is all detailed, including the furniture and the walls—everything is selected with care. The bed is perhaps a little more chilling—it is from your childhood home. Maybe a piece of furniture that has been with your family for generations? Custom woodwork, heavy, gorgeous and screaming ‘vintage’. If it is four-postered, it is easier for him, or he has some ‘improvements’ made, making it perfect for handcuffs. 

When it comes to Donaka, it is hard not to talk about his corruption kink. He is the type to corrupt you, step by step and he is very thorough about him. Imagine him instructing you to touch yourself while he watches. No angle adjustment is needed; no matter where you look or turn, you are facing a lens hidden in plain sight. So, don't skip it and try to lie he will know. I can also see him taking pleasure in exploring different sex toys with you, some of which you did not even know existed, but now you do. Better corporate, the handcuffs are there for a reason. He will have you reduced to a snivelling and mewling mess with tears and your essence leaking. Aren't you a pathetic little doll? trying to fight him? It's funny, really.

Your meals are closely monitored, if you are really craving something, it has to come from either a place he selects or the chef in his kitchen. Your health cannot be compromised---you also have strict meal timings, and a specially prepared diet when you are menstruating.

Even the length of your hair is decided by him, mostly, he prefers you in long hair.

It is a whole world in itself, and once you enter it, it is like his live dollhouse—especially with the number of cameras and bugs. No corner is safe from his eyes.

Imagine him filling a section with selected make-up, somehow for every attire, there is a shade of lipstick, eyeshadow, blush and nail paint that go perfectly with it. Every morning, you are expected to don a dress with a matching pair of undergarments, nail paint and lipstick.

And every night, he takes the pleasure of taking the pretty little dress off, as if he has not been watching you all day when he is not working.

If you are good enough, he might gift you a sweet, little puppy to keep you company.

And when he finally feels that you are improving, and reaching your true potential, he might ease it all a little bit. Wouldn’t you like a nice trip to the boutique and spin for him in all the dresses he’s going to buy you?

****

And thank you @gea-chan96 for the Moodboard

[nwheregirl]

Assigning specific gifs with specific scenarios to Yandere!Keanu characters: (requested by @gea-chan96 🖤/ NSFW-DARK THEMES!)

This one:

With:

Useless to say, he’s a very violent yandere. He’s the type to scare his darling to death or even slap them. He’s a kidnapper type of yandere, too.

This one:

With:

Donaka is a possessive and manipulative yandere, he would probably become your sugar daddy as a way to lure into your life and make you trust him. Not a kidnapper, uses sex as punishments.

This one:

With:

KING OF KIDNAPPERS! He’s a possessive and jealous yandere, yet gentle. Gives you rules and acts authoritative. I imagine a Daddy/Little Girl dynamic. His punishments are bdsm-ish. Loves to use his belts on you.

This one:

With:

HEAR ME OUT-Not a kidnapper, but an husband!Yandere. He hides his dark side until your marriage and you both moving to NY. He’s a public denigrator/public sex type of punisher. Spanks you on his desk at work, touches your ass at parties in front of everyone…and muuuuch worse.

This one:

With:

IN MY DON JOHN BRAINROT. I mean- it’s the 16th century so a man has no need to be possessive over a woman since they were already seen as a property but…making you marry him as soon as he can, talking to your fathers about marrying you without your consent, making you wear what he likes on you, always standing right next to you at parties, always having trusted men around you when he’s away (he’s a soldier after all)…do I need to say anything else?

[ur-fav-h-anon]

I Get Off

Finally, the Donaka fic. it's only been a month to the day that I haunted Julia's blog with this. My excuse is that I got distracted by watching CSI.

TW's: Implied consent (I don't know what else to call it. Its not noncon, and not really dubcon.), voyeurism, power imbalance, fingering (but no penetration. I prommy it makes sense), Donaka cares in his own way.

You’re not exactly sure what it was that tipped him over the edge. The best guess you could make in your thinking impaired state is that it was an accumulation of many, many small things, some of which may not even be your fault. But, however it happened, whatever caused it, it was of little importance to you right now. 

You hadn't processed what was happening until he had forced you into an unused bedroom of his house. It was only once you saw the camera set up, pointing at the bed that you understood at least partly what was about to happen. Normally his cameras were hidden, out of view and unnoticeable. He wanted you to see this one, he wanted you to know that whatever he did to you in here, people were watching. He had then ordered you on the bed and made you sit on the end so he could adjust the camera. Once he was sure the camera was set up to his liking he ordered you to strip as he turned around to open a familiar silver briefcase. 

Had he started streaming? There was really no way to know. All you knew was that you needed to strip for him. So you do. Maybe if you had known what was going on you would have made a show out of it, taking your time stripping off your light camisole and loose skirt. By the time you're down to just your panties and bra he's turned around again, now  donning the mask and heavy gloves that you know so so well. His dark eyes are unreadable from where they show through the eyeholes, you think he could be amused but really you don't know. Instead of thinking about it you focus on stripping off your underwear, but he interrupts you with a hand.

He manhandles you down on the bed, splaying you out just so. what you don't notice, too busy with the feeling of his hands on your body, is how he adjusts your head in a roundabout manner, until it's nestled comfortably against him. What you don't know is that from where he rests it your face is completely out of frame, the view of the camera starting at your collarbones.

Your bra is already off on the floor but your panties are still on, something he remedies with dexterity that you often forget he's capable of. You know he does just about everything in life the same way he practises martial arts, heavy and sure. So it's easy to forget that he's capable of more than that at times. 

Once you're bare he adjusts your legs again, making sure that you're at a good angle for his touch more than for the view of the camera. He rests a hand down on your core, just cupping it gently as he settles you, his other hand on your lower stomach to hold you where he wants. As soon as he's satisfied, the hand over your core starts to explore, just moving in gentle strokes, top to bottom, to make sure you're wet and ready for the pleasure almost pain he's going to inflict on you. He can feel you, not with the thick leather of the glove in the way, but he knows your body, he knows when you're ready. And when you are, he starts his torture of you

One of his fingers finds your clit and starts to circle, drawing whines and moans out of you with ease. What you don't know as he draws sound after sound out of you is that he's the only one that can hear them. There's no sound on the stream. He may show you off, but you belong to him, only he has the privilege of hearing the noises you make and seeing the way your face twists in pleasure.  

He stares down at you from behind the mask, dark eyes watching you as he works you up to the peak then denying you. He does it again and again, swirling thick gloved fingers in tight circles over your clit. He knows you well enough to tell just by the noises that pour out of your mouth how close you are to that sweet peak. 

You are his, his bird in hand. He knows exactly with how much pressure to hold you. He knows exactly how many times he can deny you before you become squirmy and hard to handle. And its when you reach that point that he switches tactics. Painful denial becomes intense pleasure. 

You know the exact moment he chooses to switch, even through hazed, glassy eyes you can see the moment the look in his dark stare switches from dangerous amusement to ravenous hunger. 

He works you up again, but this time, he doesn't slow down on you. No. This time he speeds up, almost brutally forcing you up and over the highest peak of pleasure. And he doesn't slow down then either. He maintains the tight, fast, heavy circles as you writhe and shutter and scream for him. He forces orgasm after orgasm out of you, giving you what feels like as many as he denied you. You have no idea what either of those numbers are, they are lost, first to the frustration of denial, then to the overwhelming pure ecstasy he inflicts.

It doesn't take long for you for the pleasure to consume you completely and just like he knows how much denial you can take, he knows exactly how far to ecstasy he can send you. It wouldn't do to break you, at least that's what he tells himself as he removes his hand from your core. He peels off the leather glove, dropping it on the bed beside you to avoid smearing your wetness on your skin, something he knows you hate. You're too far gone to react as his bare hand gently caresses your body and adjusts you into a position to cover your modesty. 

And just like that, the show is over.

He removes the remaining glove and mask and strips off his suit jacket. He doesn't bother to redress you in your own clothes, instead manipulating your pliable body into the jacket that dwarfs you. He's only gentle like this in moments you won't remember, times when you're not in your body to witness the almost tenderness with which he picks you up and takes you to the small room you've claimed as your own. He cleans you up and settles you in the nest of blankets you call a bed. You're safe there, all tucked up and observed at every angle by his looming eyes.

Later, when he's settled back in his office, watching you sleep contently, he looks over the almost obscene amount of money his showing of you generated and plots exactly how he's going to spend it on you.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Prompt "Donaka Mark + Non-con Exibithionism ", please?

This got out of hand. I hope you don’t mind trigger warnings: noncon, cameras, implied sexual violence, marks and bruises, nsfw, just don’t read it ok

See, you’d think this would be lots of fun. A joyride. A walk on the wild side. A little thrill to keep you on your toes. A one night werewolf, as the saying goes. The warnings didn’t bother you, and neither did the prophesied consequences. You suppose maybe you were more than a bit smitten with him—infatuated, even; little pathetic pink hearts glowing neon in place of your pupils whenever he sauntered into the room with all the confidence of an apex predator. He had grabbed your wrist that night, not that your cunt needed any excuses to get wetter, big, long fingered hand closing around your entire forearm and acting as a match to the blazing fire within your blood. The urge to defy him, not out of hatred, but out of yearning for his discipline—a strict, stinging gloved hand to your cheek, a boot on your throat, a leather belt wrapped around your wrists—overtook you. “Take your hands off of me,” you said, all the venom that should have been in your tone instead curdling your belly. You didn’t think you would be this nervous, maybe having played this game before, but the way he smiled—instead of scowling or screaming or lashing out—it was terrifying. Maybe you should have run, then, when he brushed stray hair back behind your ear and appraised you like you were a wild horse or a new Lamborghini. Maybe you should have known that being a wicked little brat is only fun if the one taming you isn’t a sadistic psychopath with every ability to make sure no one ever sees or hears from you again. But you didn’t run, or heed, or try to shrink yourself in his presence. No, you did the opposite. You made sure Donaka Mark knew who you were, and it was a mistake. And now here you are, covered in black and blue and red, once pretty skin deformed with painful marks and slashes all in various stages of healing. It didn’t take long for him to learn the delicate places on your body; the ones most susceptible to pain, pleasure, agony. The ones most ticklish and tender and untouched. Like a prized employee, he works with a smile. Pulls back on your hair to make you look up at him with blown, lightless eyes. All the life fucked and beaten out of you, all of your once feisty spirit shivering at his boots. “How are we today, princess?” He asks, almost fondly. You know better, though. After all, he’s the reason for the machines below, relentlessly buzzing away at your cunt and your sanity. You gurgle through the thick leather gag, and he tsks. “Maybe a few more hours, then.” He makes you look up at the camera with your drool, tear covered face, and places a gentle kiss on your temple. “Smile for the paying customers, honey.”

[valentinxd]

What do you think would be Donaka's kinks? :3

Ohhh yay let’s answer this based on my limited knowledge of this asshole

also female reader

I keep thinking outside of the usual power play he would love dressing up the reader, everything about her he wants to reshape and mold

Probably starting off as a sugar daddy to get you invested

Absolute yandere, more mental though

he would never hurt you physically- can’t do it he hates seeing your pretty skin marred with bruises unless you’re being naughty

would be into shibaku

breeding kink?

I secretly could see him being you trying to dominate him and absolutely failing. you can try and he finds it so cute you think you’re in control. you’re not, you never were

[ruskaroma]

IMAGINE after donaka spoiling you/letting you go shopping with your girlfriends using his black card he fucks you so hard, you're so overstimulated, you have been squirting, crying, and screaming at his cock :((

shut up. SHUT UP—

“you are so fucking spoiled,” donaka mutters as he watch his cock thrust in your cunny, so wet and slippery. the way your pussy lips stretch around his cock and how you’re still struggling to take it even after all this time has got to be one of the most ego-lifting experience he has ever been through. “my spoiled little girl. just can’t enough of me, can you?”

“d-daddy, daddy, d-daddy–” you chant, face buried into the mattress as his heavy balls slap against your thighs. you’re drooling and fucked out, eyes rolling back to your head as you struggle to grip the sheets so you wouldn’t lose your balance. “f-feel so sensitive, d-daddy – b-baby’s pussy is so sensitive –”

“yeah? my baby’s pussy already so sensitive?” donaka sneers, pulling your hair roughly and leaning down to your face to see just how fucked out you look. mascara smudged and drool dripping down your chin. “too bad daddy’s only getting started.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Indebted

Donaka Mark x Reader. Requested

Masterlists

Warnings- SMUT/NSFW, kidnapping, dub-con, degrading language, mentions of vaginal fingering, mentions of masturbation, oral sex(male receiving), mouth f**king, rough sex.

The black, fabric bag over her head had reduced her surroundings to pitch darkness, while the strip of fabric caught between her bruised lips and tied around her head prevented Y/n from doing much more than emitting muffled screams and tired whimpers. Chloroform had burnt her nostrils and she could still feel the sting on her face, only soothed by the warm moisture of her slow tears. The cable ties binding her hands in front of her were cutting into the soft skin at her wrists while the chain around her ankle kept her tethered to what she figured was a post that couldn’t have been more than a foot away.

Y/n had been alone in the room for a while, or at least, she thought she had; she hadn’t heard anyone else for a while, not even footsteps. She’d given up on trying to call for help for a while by then too, after her throat had gone sore and her voice had gone hoarse as a consequence of exertion. That wasn’t how the night was supposed to go, getting snatched out of a night club had been the furthest thing from her mind when she’d practically begged her father to let her and a small group of close friends join him on his business trip to Hong Kong. They were supposed to go to the club, have some drinks, maybe meet some guys and take them back to the hotel. But Y/n had made the dire mistake of going out to the back of the club to get some air alone, not even realizing that she was being followed.

Leaning against whatever was behind her, Y/n twisted her wrists around in their binding, soft, pained noises escaping her dry throat, and ever so often, when she shifted her leg, she heard the metal chain jingle against the cold floor. The air around her wasn’t necessarily cold, but her skimpy, black, sequence dress didn’t afford her much warmth, leaving her arms, the top of her chest and most of her back and legs exposed to the temperate atmosphere. The floor under her bare legs felt smooth, though not cold enough to be tile and after a while, she’d deduced that she’d been left sitting on finished concrete. The ceiling must have been high and the walls were probably far apart too, because Y/n could have sworn that every sound she made was amplified by subtle echos.

At some point, she’d stopped trying to figure out who’d taken her and why and had started wondering if her friends were looking for her. Had they told her father? If they had, he must have been beside himself with worry- it had been just the two of them since she was a kid and he’d hated the idea of her going out that night, arguing that she shouldn’t be partying that late in a strange place. Maybe if she’d listened to him, she wouldn’t have been in trouble.

Her fretting against the zip ties continued for a while, though when the sound of deadbolts shifting and then a heavy door creaking open disturbed the silence, Y/n froze. Like every other sound, the person’s steps echoed and she could only tell they were drawing nearer based on the sound of their footfalls. When they stopped, Y/n was almost positive that the person was in front of her, and then a shuffling ensued the bag over her head was ripped off in one, hasty, fluid motion. The sight wasn’t anything like she’d expected though. Y/n had expected an answer; a face.

But there was none.

Or rather, there was one but it was protected by a black mask lacking of any defining features, with only spaces for his dark, burnt-coffee hued eyes. It went menacingly well with his tailored, charcoal suit, though the mouth area didn’t seem to be for any other purpose above aesthetic, though he didn’t seem to be interested in speaking anyway. The man did however, reach out to caress the side of her face, tilting his head slightly to the left as he did. His touch elicited a shudder and Y/n sucked in a breath before trying, and failing, to speak through her gag. Then, after she'd spent a few minutes too many trying to form words around the strip of cotton, he put his pointer to her parted lips in a gesture that was synonymous with ‘shh’.

When Y/n jerked her head away, the act was returned with a slap that filled the quiet and made her right cheek sting. Crying out, she gasped as a fresh wave of moisture rained from her tired, reddened eyes. Heaved breaths racked her chest as Y/n sobbed, and presumably as a punishment for what he’d taken as apparent disrespect, the man put the bag over her head again, once more plunging Y/n into darkness.

When she came to, the bag had been pulled off from over her head again and she'd found that she wasn’t in the empty, concrete walled and floored room any longer. She’d been put to sit in a leather chair in what appeared to be an office, a very nice one with modern decor and expensive furnishings. Dark colors contrasted with rich hints of brown and gold, and Y/n found that she was actually grateful for the dimness of the room so her eyes wouldn’t have too much of a hard time adjusting after what had felt like hours in unending, suffocating blackness.

The the confines of her leather upholstered chair, Y/n’s hands were still bound at the wrists and by then, her ankles had been bonded too, one angle, cut and bruised from the assault of the old chain, tied to the other, unblemished one by a thick, white cable tie. She appeared to be alone, and Y/n was moments away in taking solitude when, from behind her, someone opened the door.

Barefoot, clad in black slacks with a black t-shirt, the man entered with the confidence of a prowling wolf, and while Y/n couldn’t be certain that the man with the mask had been the same one as the one standing before her right now, Y/n found that she did know him. Donaka Mark, the whole reason for her father’s trip to Hong Kong. Y/n had only met him once, and it was very briefly, when he’d joined them at breakfast back at their hotel to talk about a partnership between her father’s company and his. She couldn’t have fathomed why he’d have wanted to kidnap her though; he was her father’s business partner, things had seemingly been going well

Unless they hadn’t, her father had a bad habit of only ever telling Y/n what he decided she needed to know.

“Your father is a smart man. Too smart,” he began, “So he should have known that I’d notice him trying to leave Hong Kong without making good on his end of the deal.”

“Twenty five million dollars is a lot of money,” Donaka added with a hum, “And at first, I told myself that if I took you, he’d give it back to me. You know, an eye for an eye, that kind of thing,” he strode into the room, hands fitted into his pockets as he made his way over to the larger, more imposing chair on the other side of the impressively large desk, “But I think I have a better idea,” he sank into the chair with debonair and ease. “I’m gonna let you repay his debt.”

Y/n’s brows furrowed, and she tried to question Donaka on his meaning, but it was to no avail, she was still gagged. “I’m going to make you an offer, and you can choose to accept. Nod if you understand." Y/n nodded. “Good. I’ll untie you, ungag you,” he gestured casually, “And you can leave, but then first thing tomorrow, a cleaning lady will find your father dead in his hotel room,” Y/n gasped, eyes brimming with tears once more, “Or, when I untie, you can stay here with me, just for one night, and just like that, his debt is all gone,” he enticed.

One night? Just like that? Y/n could admit that she was sheltered, but she would hardly consider herself naive and she knew that when Donaka said ‘just like that���, it was merely a blanket term for something more salacious. She didn’t respond though, and it had less to do with the fact that she actually couldn’t and more to do with the fact that she didn't know what to say. Sure, when she'd first met Donaka, back at the hotel, she'd found him enthralling, and the edge of danger that clung to him only made her imagination run a little wilder, but Y/n would have never thought, not in a million years, that she'd be asked to sell herself like that. Use her body to repay a debt that wasn't her own.

She watched closely as Donaka rose from his seat, collecting a silver pair of scissors from a drawer before coming over to where she was sitting. In a series of fluid motions, he gave the chair a tug and shifted it so she'd face him, proceeding to take a knee in front of her right before easily cutting the ties. The gag was the last thing to go, and too scared to produce even a peep, Y/n met his gaze with fear brimming hers.

"Well," he stood, dusting off his thighs with emphasis, "Its up to you now."

She stood in front of the mirror, wrapped in a silk, crimson hued dressing gown with delicate, lace trim at the thigh length hem and around the sleeves. Nerves like acid coursed through her veins and Y/n couldn't help but feel a little dirty. With absolute certainty, she'd probably be disgusted with herself for the rest of her life. She'd put a price on her body, a twenty-five-million-dollar tag.

It didn't matter how alluring she found Donaka, or how initially thrilling his darkness was, doing what she was about to was downright shameful. But it was not without good reason, at least she had that comfort; even if he’d given her a choice, she didn’t really have one. It was the right thing to do, the only thing she could do. At least he’d given her some time to clean up, allowed her the opportunity to preserve some of her dignity.

With a shudder, she gave her reflection in the bathroom mirror one last, sweeping glace, fixing her hair and adjusting the shoulders on the robe. Sucking in a breath, Y/n assumed her bravest face and gravitated to the door, taking the cool, crystal knob in her hand and turning gently. From the minute it was opened, it was almost as if her soul had vacated her being, and Y/n was working purely on muscle memory and instinct. She had become a spectator in her own life, standing by as she pushed herself to commit acts that weren't necessarily on her own volition.

Sometimes, the answer came before the choice.

Upon entering the large, stylishly minimal bedroom, Y/n immediately felt Donaka’s eyes rove over her sparsely clad frame, the feeling raising goosebumps along her silken skin. “Open the robe,” he ordered coldly, and in one clumsy motion, she tugged on the tie, letting the bow fall open, revealing her unclad frame underneath. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, “Just like I thought.”

Still dressed in his t-shirt and slacks, Donaka stood from a spot on the king sized bed, adorned with dark, gothic sheets. With a devious smirk, he approached her, touching her bruised cheek in a backhanded caress. “Tell me you want this,” he urged, clouding her judgment as he stepped closer. The power he wielded, it was intoxicating, she’d always liked a man who could take what he wanted.

“I want this,” Y/n submitted, the tremor in her voice making her feel small and vulnerable.

“I know you do,” he whispered, one hand gripping her hip while the other inched lower, skimming her arm before grazing a pebbled nipple. “Beg for it, beg me to fuck you,” he pressed, kissing the corner of her mouth, just as his hand dipped lower, cupping her cunt, the gesture stealing her breath in a sharp gasp, “I said beg for it, bitch.” Donaka squeezed her hip.

“Please,” Y/n pleaded in a quivering whimper, “Please, I want you. I need you,” she crooned.

Donaka flashed her a wide, wicked grin that almost made her blood run cold, “Very good,” he praised, and when his thumb invaded her folds, pressing down on her cilt, Y/n all but melted into his broad chest. “This wouldn’t be much fun if you didn’t want this, would it?” His breath was hot against her ear, and he sealed them with a lingering peck near her lobe.

As his finger circled the swollen bundle of nerves, Y/n’s toes curled and she felt her arousal being spread around by his hand. She couldn’t tell if she still hated it, her mind knew it was vile, but her body said otherwise; she wanted him, part of her really did. “Please,” the plea escaped her lips in a sudden gasp when Donaka’s middle finger slipped into her core.

“I want to feel your mouth on my cock,” he disclosed, fucking her with his fingers, reducing her legs to jelly, “Your pretty little mouth,” he swiped a chaste kiss off her lips, “I’m gonna fuck your mouth, bitch,” he sped up his ministrations, bring her close to tipping over the edge before swiftly removing his fingers. “Get down on your knees.”

Frustrated, Y/n dropped to the floor, knees unceremoniously hitting the marble tile with a soft thump. Shaking hands rose to the button and zipper of his pants, undoing them with unsteady movements and as she did, Donaka brushed her hair away from her face in a gentle movement. At that point, she was woefully surprised by his touches, they felt like a calm before the storm, gentle but with malicious connotations.

Exhaling softly, Y/n tugged his pants and boxers down, unwittingly salivating at the sight of his impressive cock springing free; erect with a drizzle of precum leaking from its rosy tip. “Open your mouth,” he snarled suddenly, harshly tugging on her hair, and eliciting a surprised yelp, Y/n followed direction. His length filled her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, causing her to gag. Wrapping her hair tightly around his fist, Donaka held Y/n’s head in place, rolling his hips aggressively; pulling out near completely before driving his length into her agape mouth again.

Her cheeks were hollowed out and Y/n was having a hard time catching her breath, but still, a rush of arousal had pooled in her center, making her thighs warm and silky when she pressed them together. With one hand, she grabbed his thigh, sinking her nails into his skin and keeping herself steady, while the other reached between her legs, tips of her fingers brushing her longing.

“Your mouth feels so fucking good,” he growled, low and primal, hitting the back of her throat more often than not. When her teeth grazed his shaft, Donaka hissed, jerking his hips violently in appreciation. “You’re fucking gorgeous like this, you were meant to be a little slut,” he snared. Y/n moaned around him, eventually struggling against his grip to match his pace as she pleasured herself, her fingers hardly enough to get her off.

Grinding on her fingers, Y/n, now eager to taste him fought against his hand, though, just as she felt the tension in his thigh, Donaka ripped himself away from her mouth, pulling her up by her hair suddenly, her hand consequently falling away from her eager center. “I’m not done with you yet,” he grabbed her face roughly in his hands, pressing his lips to hers in a fervent kiss, laced with unchecked passion and untamed aggression. Pushing the robe off her shoulders, paying no mind to it as it billowed to the floor, he hastily guided her to the bed, pushing her to the made surface.

Without much consideration to where his clothes fell, Donaka stripped himself before joining Y/n on the bed, climbing over her. “You’re like a doll,” he grunted with a chuckle as he grabbed her legs, angling them so her ass was slightly elevated. “A sexy fuck doll,” he added, smacking the flesh, the sting resulting in a stunned yelp, "I've been thinking about this since the minute we met."

Her face was buried in the sheets and so when Donaka sheathed himself inside of her drenched pussy, not affording Y/n a moment to adjust to his girth before striking up a pattern of aggressive thrusts, she cried out salaciously. In a death grip, he held onto her hips as he drilled into her and with every aggressive jerk of his expert hips, a lewd groan broke from her dry lips.

Vaguely, Y/n was aware that it should not have felt that good; he was using her as something of a pawn in his game, defaming her. But he was so good at it. His touch had electrified her nerves and the friction of his throbbing veins against her sensitive walls threatened to push Y/n further towards climax.

“Fuck,” Donaka grunted, one had deserting her hip and once more reaching to tangle in her hair, “Tell me how good feels,” he groaned, drilling into her sore cunt.

“It-oh!” Her broken words reverberated off the high walls, “It feels so….so fucking good!” She screamed, throat dry and exertion beading on their skin, “Fuck! Faster!” She cried, raw, carnal desire racking her body and sustaining her.

Without word or question, Donaka sped up, letting her hair go and instead reached to her front to roughly grab her left breast, kneading harshly. Their position left her back feeling contorted, though, much to rapt in the euphoria of it all, Y/n barely paid any mind, instead grabbing fistful of the sheets as she once again neared her tipping point.

“I’m- I'm gonna…..” The words came only in breathless bursts and coherence had long deserted the room. Without further warning, ecstasy, in busts of vibrant color behind her shut lids, overtook Y/n. Consuming her completely. Her skin felt hot, his fingers on them searing, and the gush drenching their thighs and prompting a slick, repetitive sound as he rode through her explosive orgasm felt like physical gratification manifested. Drunken obscenities were muffled into the bed as Y/n clenched around Donaka’s cock, resulting in an unmatched tightness and incomparable friction.

Y/n’s legs had barely stopped quaking and her boneless limbs were still weak when Donaka’s release followed soon after. Thick, generous threads of milky white product mingled with her own, the bursts against her sore walls causing a series of erotic noises to leave her throat. “Fuck!” Donaka managed through bared teeth, slamming into her with slower rigid movements. They were painful, almost assaulting and still, Y/n enjoyed them until the very moment they stopped, a resounding moan signaling the ache of contentedness filling the room as he eventually pulled out, collapsing next to her and rolling onto his back.

Heavy, deep breaths controlled the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest as Y/n went limp and as sense was slowly reintroduced, so was shame. Shame because she’d just given herself up to her own kidnapper, shame because she’d given in so easily. Shame because she’d enjoyed it so much. With the shame came the slow trickle of salty tears, leaking onto the messy sheets.

“See,” Donaka chuckled darkly beside her, and with Y/n's face still turned towards the dresser against the wall, she couldn’t see the smug, joyless grin taunting his handsome features, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She didn’t respond, and sensing her distress, he added some cold comfort, “You should be proud,” she felt him shift on the bed, and when his fingers started trailing up and sown her spine, she had to bite the inside of her mouth, “I blew twenty five million dollars to fuck you,” his next words were closer to her ear, his heat stirring a confusing feeling in the pit of her stomach, “And I’d do it again.”

Y/n was well aware that it shouldn’t have, but somehow, she was proud as he'd suggested, morbidly empowered even. In fact, part of her knew that for certain, she’d offer herself up again, for free, just because she enjoyed it, and because he had used her as some kind of trophy, “Why just one night?” She rasped, curious.

“Because,” Donaka explained softly, apathy weighing down his tone, “I know you’ll be back for more.”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Stress Relief (Donaka x fem!reader)

Summary: Donaka is stressed and it’s your job to help him relax.

Pairing: Donaka x Fem!Reader

Author’s notes: is this me posting filth again? Why, yes, it is! Enjoy because I have no idea how long this will last. LOL

Wordcount: 2688

Warnings: smut (oral m!receiving; fingering). Powerplay; degradation kink; edging, overstimulation; choking. 

Most of your days you spent doing whatever you wanted because you had no worries, not financially or of any type. You were free to hang out with friends, travel, party, and do whatever you wanted.

There were only two rules: you needed to be available to him whenever he called, be it in person or through the camera. And you were exclusively his. No one was allowed to touch you unless he said so. Those two rules were easy enough to follow when it meant having everything you ever dreamt of and more.

That day, you had been in your apartment reading when the message came in, making the smartwatch around your wrist vibrate:

Zen space. Lilac. NOW.

You had no idea what had happened and you preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of Donaka’s business, but you recognize that tone, even through text. He was stressed and furious and it was your job to help him relax.

Wasting no time, you set your book aside and headed to your bedroom, considering for a second if you should take a quick shower first, make sure your skin was silky soft and scented just like he preferred, but decided against it. Making Donaka wait was never an option so you just changed into the requested lingerie.

It was a pale lavender babydoll, with a lace front that revealed almost every inch of your body and tiny panties that barely covered your sex. You also put on the diamond choker he had gifted you even though he hadn’t explicitly asked for it, before taking the private lift that took you straight to his loft on the floor above.

The elevator opened in his home office and you noticed the room was dimly lit, the wall of screens was on standby offering a soft blue glow. The black leather couch was empty as you expected so you turned your attention to the left corner of the room, his Zen space, where he went to meditate or cool off.

Donaka was sitting on the glass bench, back turned to the rest of the room and facing the wall of concentric circles, his bare feet resting on the platform that separated the smooth and polished dark floor from the finely grated white sand. His hands rested on his spread knees and there was a slight hunch on his shoulders, the weight of his stress.

By his feet, in front of him, laid a thin pillow to protect your skin from the unforgiving sand and you were glad for it. You would, of course, kneel on it and endure the grains digging into your skin if that was what Donaka wanted but he didn’t get off on pain. Not yours at least.

You moved towards him in silence, resisting the urge to brush your fingers over his broad shoulders and back, before kneeling in front of him, sitting on your heels and looking up at the man that gave you everything and owned your heart.

His eyes pinned you in place and made your breath hitch. Cold fury clouded the brown orbs and his lips were pressed together tightly, jaw clenched tight. The sight made your body shudder with want and you pressed your thighs together.

There was something so arousing about seeing Donaka this enraged. Seeing the violence in his eyes and knowing that it would take him barely any effort to snap you in half or choke the life out of you. The knowledge that he was the kind of man that killed without even blinking but for some reason, he chose never to harm you. Most of the time, Donaka chose tender caresses and measured touches designed to bring you the kind of ecstasy that you had never experienced before.

Today his fingers trailed against your cheek in a featherlike touch, his thumb brushing over your lips, and at the faintest pressure, you parted them, letting the thick digit enter your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it before sucking greedily just as you wanted to do to another part of his body.

You watched his eyes darkening as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled more of his thumb into your mouth and moaned under your breath at the knot building between your legs, making your core pulse and dampening your panties.

Donaka’s other hand reached for the button and zipper of his trousers, releasing his half-hard cock from its confinements. He pulled his thumb free from your mouth, palm cradling your nape before he nudged your forward.

You licked your lips and inched closer, mouth salivating at the treat in front of you. You want his long, thick cock in your mouth. You wanted to feel it fully hardening between your lips, under your talented tongue. You needed to taste his bitter precum, a flavor you were slowly becoming addicted to… but all that could only happen after Donaka’s permission.

Sometimes it would come almost immediately. He would push you down his hard shaft, making you gag on it, fucking your mouth with abandon and using you like you were worth little more than your holes. In those days, he would come all over your face, zip himself up, and leave you to take care of yourself.

However, on days like today, when he was tense and furious with whatever had bothered him at work, he preferred to drag it out. To make you work for it, sometimes even beg to have his cock in your mouth. When he finally allowed it, Donaka would fuck your mouth oh so slowly, pushing deeper and deeper, until tears started to spring in your eyes, spit ran down your chin and your juices soaked your panties in such a way that all you and he could smell was the scent of your desperate arousal.

“What do you want?” He asked and his low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine.

“Your cock, sir.” You whispered, peering at him from under your lashes. “Will you fuck my mouth, please? Make me choke on it?”

There was a barely-there twist in the corners of his mouth and your heart leaped in your chest. How you loved to make him feel good. It was like a drug.

“Such a good girl,” Donaka said, his thumb caressing your jaw. “My little cockslut.”

“Yes, sir,” you all but whimpered, pressing your thighs together once again because your cunt throbbed and you had never in your life thought you would get this turned on by being used like this, but by God, his words made you shudder with desire, body hot and ready for anything that Donaka was willing to give you.

With his hand still on your nape, controlling your pace, he nudged you forward once more, holding his cock with his free hand and letting the tip rub against your wanting lips. Donaka wasn’t one for much noise, but there was a slight hitch on his breath that told you he was enjoying the soft, almost ghost-like touch on the sensitive and swollen head of his member.

Your lips parted a little, letting your tongue brush against the velvety head and Donaka sucked in a deep breath, especially when the tip of your tongue probed against his slit, bringing forth a pearly white drop of his precum and making him harden fully.

God, your cunt ached in need to be filled but you knew you couldn’t touch yourself. Not until he allowed and that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Not until he had his release and part of you wanted to just suck him fully into your mouth, end this torturous teasing. Even if it meant a serious punishment later (or maybe especially because it would lead to a punishment).

However, the bittersweet pleasure of the edging and denial was like a drug too, making your orgasm be nearly blinding so you hanged on, gathering every little bit of patience you could find so you could continue to just lick the tip like a lollipop that you wanted to last forever.

After a few more moments of that painfully slow game, Donaka’s grip on your nape tightened, his blunt nails digging lightly against your skin, and you knew he was ready for more. You met his dark gaze, eyes hooded with pleasure lips parted in a soft pant as he watched you and he didn’t even need to tell you what to do.

“Sir, may I suck you now, please?” you pouted and kissed the head of cock for good measure, batting your lashes like a needy child and Donaka smirked.

“Yes, angel, you may.”

You didn’t need to be told twice and engulfed the thick and hard shaft into your mouth, whimpering at the burst of flavor on your tongue as he let out a small grunt of pleasure, his shoulders finally relaxing as he tilted his head back and just enjoyed your work.

You pushed him deeper into your mouth until your nose was almost pressing against the thick dark curls surrounding his member. The open fly of his dress pants scratching your chin as you hollowed your cheeks and hummed. Donaka cursed low and grunted, his hips raising lightly, driving even deeper, and you gagged, tears burning your eyes. Your clit was almost painfully swollen and each rub of the lace of your panties was torture. You needed just a little bit of…

“Take your hand off that cunt, angel.”

You had no idea how he knew. His head was still tilted back, eyes nearly closed but you didn’t dare to disobey a direct command. With a pitiful whimper and one last flick on your needy clit, you pulled your hand away, crossing them behind your back and Donaka’s smirked.

“That’s better.” He looked back at you, tugging you away until his cock slipped from your lips with a pop, and you gulped a breath. “No one ever taught you that you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you without permission?”

You said nothing because you didn’t have an answer to that.

“And to whom that little pussy belongs, angel?”

“You, sir.” Your voice was small and raspy from the abuse on your throat.

“Exactly.”

He petted your cheek once, before pushing you back toward his cock, and dutifully, you took him into your mouth again, letting your jaw slack so his shaft could slip in and out as he guided you to bob your head at a faster pace. His cock pulsed against your lips, and you could tell he was close. Soon enough, Donaka’s hot cum would be coating your tongue and you couldn’t wait. You were desperate for it.

Before him, you had never allowed a guy to cum in your mouth. Then again, before Donaka, the was plenty you didn’t let men do to you. He changed your life, and you knew you would never be able to go back.

His grip on you tightened again as he pulled you closer until your nose was buried against his pubes and you forced yourself to relax as best as you could as he let out a final grunt and pumped his cum down your throat.

The hot and sticky ribbons making you gag again and tears run down your cheeks as you blubbered and squeezed your wrists to hold them still. Only when he was completely spent, Donaka let you pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening with your spit and his cum as you coughed and gasped for much-needed air.

He only allowed you a moment, before he was forcing to sit on his thigh, your trembling legs spread as he pushed your panties aside and glided his long fingers over your soaked hairs and sensitive lips.

“My dirty little cockslut is this wet from sucking me,” he mocked with a biting tone, and you whimpered. “Do you want to cum, angel?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

His fingers rubbed over your clit, making you gasp and whine, the pleasure overwhelming to the point of hurting but you still thrust your hips up, seeking more.

“Please…” you were almost crying now, desperate for it. Exactly like Donaka like it. “Please, please, please. Oh God, please…”

Thick and fat tears ran down your cheeks and the same hand that had been around your nape, came to your throat, surrounding the choker and forcing you to tilt your face enough so he could lick away your tears and his two fingers finally entered you.

Your cries were high-pitched and needy as Donaka fingered you hard and fast, the heel of his large palm slapping your clit as he curled his digits and the hand on your throat tightened in just the right way.

Your climax hit you like a storm, lighting up every single one of your nerve-ends. Your vision darkened, your body tensed, your back arched and a wild moan tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and throbbed and you squirted all over his hand and knee.

For a while you were nothing more than a conglomerate of nerves busting with pleasure that seemed to last forever as Donaka continued to thrust his fingers, pressing the rugged wall of your cunt and rubbing your clit, dragging out your bliss until another lightning struck and you came again in what it felt like was just seconds later, but you knew it had to be longer. Time seemed to shorten and stretch at once as you rode his hand, gasping, wheezing, and crying?

You couldn’t tell if that pitiful sound was really coming from your mouth, not when your body was electrified like that, your muscles spasming and feeling like jelly and you had to reach behind yourself for Donaka’s shoulders to hold yourself because surely you would slide to the ground if you didn’t.

And just as the blinding light of your pleasure was starting to dimmish and you thought you would be able to see and feel and talk and breath again, his hand restarted his motions and you cried because it was almost painful now. That sweet, incessant ache that made you seek it, and you could faintly hear sobs and pleas of stop and no more. You couldn’t take another.

“Safeword?” Donaka’s voice sounded clear in your ear, and it was on the tip of your tongue. You knew if it crossed your lips, he would stop, but your vocal cords refused to utter it. “Safeword, angel.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, like a kid with a secret, and shook your head. His lips drew into a pleased smile against your cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

His kiss on your jaw was almost soft and loving before his fingers restarted their dance inside you. Even faster than before and your hips were rocking against it, actively seeking out your third orgasm despite the aching of your abused clit.

Once again, as the climax overtook you, your body went rigid and seized, your vision whited-out and for several blissful moments, that intense pleasure made time fall away, leaving only the most perfect peace and comfort, like slipping into a hot bath after a long day, letting the scented water wash away any hint of tension in your body before you laid in your bed, the duvet and pillows soft like a lover’s caress, welcoming you to an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When you finally opened your eyes again, after what it felt like just a couple of seconds, you were in your bed, cleaned and tucked tight, the only evidence of your previous activities was the sweet ache between your legs whenever you moved and a deep, sad sigh escaped your lips.

It was always like this: Donaka fucked your brains out, then he would take care of you, clean you up and tuck you in and no matter how much your blissed-out self, begged for it – and you knew you always did – he would never stay. But this was the deal you made. You took whatever he gave you. You didn’t complain and you didn’t demand more.

You couldn’t. Too afraid of losing what little you already had.

xxx

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

All I want for Christmas is You

Summary: Donaka could ask for what he wants. Because he would get it. But sometimes breaking someone to get what he wants, is so much more fun.

Pairing: Donaka Mark x OFC (Sara Morgan)

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: stalking (very questionable behavior, okay?) mentions of sextoys (if you need a warning for that)

A/N: I thought I should at least write one of the Christmas Challenge Prompts, so here is my creepy take on “All I want for Christmas is you”

Masterlist

Donaka didn’t make much out of christmas. It had been just like any other day his whole life. He didn’t get into the festive mood. Which could have to do with the fact that it was harder to pay people to like you on days like christmas when they wanted to be with their own families.

He never understood the urge of people to do something for their loved ones just to see them happy. That was until he saw her eyes on the first company christmas party a couple years ago for the first time. It had been her first year outside of the states and she had just started working for one of his employees. Sara Morgan. A beautiful and intelligent young woman who always had a smile on her face. She had been in charge of planning the christmas party and Donaka himself had to admit he felt like he’d been thrown into a snow globe back then. Every surface had been covered in snow. Everything was blinking.

He didn’t notice it at first. His need to know more about her. It started with reading in on her file. Then he hired a private investigator to find out everything about her. Like a miracle (he initiated) she slowly climbed up the positions in his company until just at the beginning of this very year she became his secretary.

That’s when Donaka made the decision. He wanted her. He wanted her for himself. He wanted to be the only one who saw that smile. That little smile when got a compliment. How she would blush and shake her head before she looked up with a soft smile.

It was around the beginning of december when his plan finally was set into motion. He saw the courier arrive at her desk just outside his office with a package. Donaka got up from his seat behind his desk to make his way to her.

Of course he could just have asked her out. Like people do. But Donaka wanted her to come to him. Something that would never happen cause Sara would never sleep with her boss. He knew how all the former managers had tried it. So Donaka made a plan. A plan that would end with Sara having no other choice but to come to him.

“Anything interesting Miss Morgan?” He asked as he walked to her desk.

“Uhm…” She was flustered, that he could tell. “Just the signed contracts we have been waiting for. I’ll get them to legal right away.” She said quickly.

“And that package?” He gestured towards the package.

“I… It’s addressed to me. I’m not sure…”

“You know we don’t allow personal deliveries around here.” He said.

“I.. I know. And I don’t know who sent it. It’s probably a mistake….”

“Only one way to find out.” He nodded towards her. She looked up at him, her beautiful green eyes pleading with him. When Donaka didn’t make a move to leave she sighed and began to open her package. He followed her every move with his eyes. The way she held the scissors to open the package. Her fingers as she grabbed the wrapped box inside.

“From your secret admirer.” She whispered reading the card and frowned before she carefully unwrapped the box. A little smile sneaked to her face.

“These are beautiful.” Sara took out the bouquet of blue roses, bringing them to her nose to smell them.

“Blue?” Donaka asked.

“It’s my favorite color.”

“Seems like someone knows you very well.” Donaka said, as he turned around to leave for his meeting, suppressing his grin.

It was on day four when things started to get a little weird for Sara. She was still wondering who sent the flowers when another package arrived the day after. Her favorite chocolates. She shared them with Donaka on their way out to a meeting she had to accompany him. He had asked her if she had an idea who it was that sends the gifts, but she had no idea. Deep inside she had hoped it was him. Donaka Mark was an impressive and handsome man. A man she would never have. But the thought of him being interested in someone like her made her wait for the next day with excitement.

On day three, after lunch she came back to a piece of her favorite cake and her favorite tea waiting for her on her desk. Thankfully Donaka was nowhere to be seen. As much as she enjoyed the gifts, getting them at work, for everyone to see seemed a little unprofessional. Even if she had the tiniest hope it was him who sent the fits.

When day four arrived and the mailman set a package down in front of her that contained her favorite perfume, things started to get a little weird. The gifts in the following days got more personal and she kissed the idea of her boss sending these gifts goodbye.

It was a week later when Donaka noticed a change in her behaviour. She seemed on edge. Of course he knew why. He started out with innocent stuff he sent to her, but two days ago there was a very revealing Victoria's secret set delivered to her. He had fun at the store, imagining her in all these sexy outfits. Though he prefers his women to be not wearing anything at all.

Yesterday something had been delivered to her home address. Photos of herself in her bedroom. He smiled to himself. Changing. His plan was in full action.

“Sara?” He said, making her jump as he got out of his office.

“Yes Sir?” She asked, her voice high.

“Is everything set for today’s christmas party?” He asked. Of course she was still in charge of everything christmas.

“Oh yes. If it’s okay I would like to head over to the restaurant in an hour to check if everything is in order.” She looked up. He noticed the circles around her eyes.

“Of course Sara. But…” He stepped closer. “Are you okay? You look like you didn’t sleep last night.” He asked concerned.

“I… Thank you for asking. It’s just been some busy days.” She forced a smile.

“You know you can talk to me if there’s anything bothering you, right?” Donaka said.

“Of course Sir.” Her smile didn’t look as forced as before.

“I mean it. And of course you can head off to the restaurant. I will be a little late today.”

“I’ll save a seat for you, Sir.” Sara whispered. Donaka winked at her before left.

Sara couldn’t shake the feeling off that she was being watched. She left the restaurant just in time to get ready at home before she got back again. She noticed that she hadn’t received a package yet. And she hoped it would stay this way. What started out as a nice distraction from a secret admirer slowly was becoming a case for the local police. She still hadn’t figured out how that person got the photos of her in her apartment.

She knew all she had to do was tell her boss who basically ruled the city, but she didn’t want Donaka to know. He had enough to deal with himself. The man worked around the clock. How he managed to look this good doing it, was a miracle to her. Of course she noticed how attractive he was. She wasn’t blind. But she also knew that she was at least 20 years younger and that he kind of seemed like he wasn’t interested in women. Or men for that matter. He either was asexuel or had a sex slave. At least that’s what her very wild imagination came up with. Smiling at the bartender she took a glass of champagne to calm her nerves. Her co-workers slowly arrived and soon her creepy secret santa was the last thing on her mind. Her former boss, Marcus was just about to tell another one of his stories, when she felt a hand on her shoulder making her jump.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Donaka said. Sara looked up, taking in her boss who was dressed in all black with a deep red tie.

“It’s okay, Sir. Glad you could make it.” She smiled a little shy before she looked away and talked to her colleagues. Donaka loved the dress she was wearing. Like a present ready to unwrap. She was wearing another perfume than usual. Her hair was styled in waves and on her left shoulder. She looked beautiful.

“How are you spending your holidays, Sir?” He heard her ask. He blinked, surprised that he had gotten lost in his thoughts so quickly.

“I work. Like every year.” Donaka answered.

“Not a big fan of christmas?” Sara asked.

“Never had anyone to celebrate it with.” He shrugged. He could read in her face that she had questions, but she knew better as to ask him personal questions in front of anyone. In the last months when she had stayed longer to work with him, he had answered a question or two about his personal life. Something he never did before.

“I’m gonna head out for a cigarette.” He squeezed her shoulder before he nodded at the people surrounding them and walked outside on the big patio.

He was just about to finish his cigarette when he heard the click of heels behind him. Turning around he saw Sara looking at him.

“All of this looks beautiful.” He said.

“Thank you Sir.” She smiled.

“Donaka please.” He added. Everytime he heard the word Sir leave her lips he felt his cock twitch.

“Donaka.” Her smile got wider. She slowly walked outside, admiring the city view as he finished his cigarette.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sara said after a while.

“Of course.”

“If… If you had the feeling that you were being watched… What would you do?” He turned his head towards her, seeing her suck in her bottom lip.

“I would ask my security to do a better job. Do you think someones watching you?” He asked concern in his voice. He stepped closer to her, making her tilt her head up so she could look at him.

“I’m… “ She shook her head. “No. Probably watched too many scary movies lately.” She closed her eyes.

“You know that you can talk to me, right?” Donaka said quietly, suppressing the urge to brush away the stray of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

“Of course.” She smiled. “Thank you Donaka.”

The party was in full motion when the secret santa gifts were given out. Sara sat next to Donaka the whole evening and they actually talked. About everything. She found out about his love for motorcycles and he learned that she always wanted to be a cook but ended up working this job because she didn’t have enough money to open her own restaurant.

Donaka opened his present and actually had to laugh at the blinking reindeer ears. It was probably the champagne but he put them on, much to the delight of his employees and Sara.

“Looks good. We should change the Christmas cards to pictures of you wearing these.”

“Careful Miss Morgan. I’m still your boss.” Donaka teased.

“Of course Sir.” She winked at him. Shaking her head she unwrapped her gift and he could see her hands shaking.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

“Yeah. Just…. Nevermind.” She shook her head. He looked at her face in the moment she opened the package. Of course he knew what was inside. It was risky, but he hoped that this would finally make her run into his arms.

He saw the forced smile on her face as she opened the lid, her hands still shaking. Sara didn’t want to open a present in front of her boss.

“Oh my god…” She whispered, seeing the pink vibrator and closing the box immediately. Shaking her head she set it down on the table before she practically fled outside. This couldn’t be happening. Sara ran outside, thankful that there weren’t any people around as she tried to get air into her lungs. She didn’t even realize Donaka was following her until she felt hands on her upper arms.

“Breathe with me. In…. and out….” He said looking at her. It took a couple minutes before she finally calmed down. Letting her head fall against his chest. Donaka carefully wrapped his arms around her until she was safe in his arms. Looking over her shoulder he guided them both out of sight.

“What happened there?” He whispered.

“I… These gifts I got the whole week. They were nice in the beginning but… a couple days ago I got lingerie. Very revealing lingerie. And yesterday…. Yesterday someone sent pictures to my home address of myself in my apartment and I have no idea who took them. Or who sent them. I thought I’d be safe today but…”

“I saw the gift you just got.” Donaka said.

She shook her head. Terrified.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Donaka asked.

“You’re my boss. You have more important stuff to take care of.” Sighing he leaned back, his hand tilting her chin up.

“I’d like to think we are friends, Sara.”

“You do?”

“Of course. And now tell me everything that happened, so I can take care of it.”

“You should have told me right away Sara. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna let my security deal with it. And you’re not going home tonight. You can stay with me. Or in a hotel. I don’t want you going home until this is dealt with.”

“But… I can’t possibly…”

“I don’t accept any arguments. It’s with me or in a hotel with one of my bodyguards outside.” He said sternly. Sara looked at him. Donaka looked genuinely concerned. And she was genuinely scared to go home alone. Sighing, she finally nodded.

“I’ll go with you. It’s probably easier, your home is like fort knox.”

“Thank you.” He breathed out and allowed himself to kiss her forehead before he pulled her closer, his chin on top of her head.

A familiar song reached their ears “I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know, make my wish come true. All I want for christmas is you…”

“I’ll keep you safe, Sara.” He said, thankful that Sara couldn’t see the smirk on his face.

[johnwickb1tsch]

rager.

a donaka mark x reader x john wick disaster. 6475 words. warnings: the usual sex and violence, not necessarily in that order...

-Once upon a time, Donaka Mark might have loved you. Or at least, the closest thing to love a narcissist like him can manage. It was mostly lust, you suppose, and the novelty of discovering the unexplored corners of someone new. It didn’t take long for that to turn into possession, and the first time he let the mask slip, revealing the dark beast within, you knew you’d made a grievous error, putting yourself in this man’s hands. 

He had no intention of ever letting you go. 

-He liked to control every aspect of your day. What you ate. What you wore. Who you talked to. Where you went. How you exercised. How you fucked.

What had started as the most exhilarating carnal adventure of your life had devolved into degradation and fear. 

You wanted to go home. The first time you told him this, he’d laughed in your face. 

-He started bringing you to watch the matches in his underground fighting ring. To scare you, mostly, but maybe also to enforce what you already knew: Donaka Mark was not a man to be trifled with. 

You’d been terrified, the first time you watched him snap a man’s neck for refusing to play out his demands for a live action Mortal Kombat show. After the fourth or fifth time…you just felt numb. It was later, that it scared you, when his massive hands cradled the globe of your head, and you knew he could break you like a twig. There was something about the almost clinical way he looked at you in those moments, and you were sure that deep down, a part of him wanted to. 

-You are in the middle of one of your frequent spats, boarding a yacht that belongs to a Russian arms dealer, a friend of Donaka’s who greatly enjoys the illicit entertainment your paramour puts on offer. “Do you always have to be such a whore?” 

You’d dared to take the hand offered you by one of the crew manning the speedboat that would ferry you out to the yacht moored in international waters. There had been a swell, and you were teetering on the four inch Red Bottoms Donaka had selected for you, and you absolutely would have fallen into the dark South China sea if the young man hadn’t caught you. Donaka was making it into something entirely fabricated by his own jealousy–lately, his favorite game, and he would punish you accordingly for his own amusement. 

At the end of your rope, you foolishly snap back, “If I was a whore I’d be having a lot more fun than this.” 

The fire in his eyes is like the fallout of an atom bomb. “You think so? That can be arranged, sweetheart.” 

The blood in your veins turns to ice as once again, you realize your quick temper and fat mouth has pushed him too far. You try not to think about how once, it had felt like he meant it when he used that endearment for you, and how afraid you are for what he has in mind now. 

-Credit where credit is due: no one throws a rager like the Russian Mob. The music is loud, the vodka flows like water, and there is dancing like this is their last night on earth. You make your way through the press of the crowd on his arm, Donaka glad handing like the charming snake he is, so very at home amongst these members of the Brotherhood, their wives, their girlfriends, and their whores. Once upon a time you would have been oblivious to it; but now, you sense the danger in the air like a coming storm. Some of the fighters in Donaka’s enterprise have this heaviness about them. A feeling that at any given moment, anything could go down. It makes your hair stand on end, and you can’t stop yourself from gripping Donaka’s arm harder. Once, he would have comforted you, patted your hand, paid you a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Now the glance he throws you is cold and dark and treacherous as the deepest ocean trench. 

Your heart sinks like a stone. 

-You enter a lounge off the main deck that is filled with couches, tables, a bar, and so many Russians. They are dressed to the nines in suits that undoubtedly cost more than an economy car, but the scars and tattoos on their skin tell you exactly who they are. There are women too, beautiful, scantily clad ones, draped across laps and posted behind chairs rubbing shoulders. The men are talking boisterously, one of them telling a story and the others laughing uproariously. One of them pantomimes aiming a gun, and the spray of blood. It wins shouts of approval, raucous triumphant laughter, and more vodka poured. 

-You notice that out of this entire brigata only one man sits quietly, a silent shadow who barely smiles, nodding his head but making no sound. He is heart wrenchingly handsome, in an all black suit and tie, and when he turns his gaze to you it is as though something shifts inside you; like his midnight dark eyes can see directly into your soul. You’ve seen him before, in the crowd at Donaka’s fights, a dark tower standing behind his otets like a guard dog ready to do what he must. You’re certain he’s a killer, even though you never spoke to him, never got this close to him–even then it was like a physical thread pulled your attention from across the crowded room. You simply could not look away. 

-You only manage to tear your eyes away now when Donaka starts speaking to one of the older men seated in the crowd, shaking his hand. “Viggo Mikailovich, your friends throw the best parties.”

“We do what we can, Mr. Mark.” Viggo’s eyes turn to you, assessing you up and down with his heavy gaze while asking, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Very much. I brought a little present for your boys.”

He pushes you firmly into the middle of the circle of the boisterously drunk men, and finally you realize what he intends as your punishment tonight. Eyes wide, you whirl to look at him, to beg him, but he’s already walking away on those long legs, smirking at you over his shoulder. 

Bastard. Fucking bastard!

You don’t speak Russian, but you hear the excitement in the male voices behind you, around you, you feel the catcalls and dirty innuendos, the threat in their playful tones like oil upon your skin. You start to shake, with fear or rage, you do not know. 

-You take a step as though to chase after Donaka, but an iron grip closes around your wrist. Startled, you look down to see the man in black with the soulful eyes has wrapped his–admittedly huge–hand around you. Caught in his gaze like a mouse hypnotized by a cobra, you stare down with fearful fascination. Please let me go?

The words die on your tongue. Somehow, you know they will do you no good. 

You notice that the suggestive comments silenced the minute this man put a hand on you. 

Who is he? 

One of the men makes a plaintive statement, which the man in black answers succinctly, but with a resolve like stone. No one dares challenge him. You feel them fall back, like wolves retreating into the shadows of the trees. You look down at him, and you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You’d be a fucking fool to think he’s rescued you–but he’s not like the others. That much is clear. He holds your gaze as he kisses your knuckles without a word, and you feel your knees turn to jelly, your treacherous cunt fluttering in answer. 

-He pulls you down–not unkindly, but leaving no room for argument. You find yourself slowly foldied into his lap, perched on his long legs, tucked into the warm curve of his solid torso. You know you have a screwloose, but something in the lizard part of your brain purrs, despite the bad situation you know you’re in. The lace hem of your little Dolce and Gabbana black dress has ridden up your thigh. You are flabbergasted as he smoothes it back down with a light-fingered touch. “Better?” he asks, his big hand on your knee, and you don't know why you’re surprised he speaks English. You are surprised he seems to give a damn about your comfort. “Yes. Thank you,” you say softly. 

-You are practically nose to nose with this man. It’s been a long time since you were this close to a man who wasn't Donaka, the intoxicatingly warm spice of his cologne filling your nostrils. It gives the illusion of intimacy in the loud and crowded room. His answering smile is ever so slight–a barely detectable tick of the corner of his mouth. 

He doesn't say anything else, turning his attention back to the revelers in his group, though his fingertips draw light, maddening lines across your bare shoulder, down your arm. You shudder, and his gaze slides back to you again. Embarrassed, you try to cover, “What are they saying?”

A long sigh escapes him, all the weight of the world in that slow expulsion of air. “You don't want to know.”

You get the feeling that this man is as tired of this world as you are, and for some crazy reason, you almost feel safe in his arms. 

-You could melt into a puddle, when after a little while he turns back to you, catching your lips so gently with his that your toes curl inside your pumps. It’s like a breath of spring, like something that died in you comes back to life. There’s a slow-burning fire in his eyes, and he stands with you in his arms, setting you on your feet. “Come with me,” he says, and hand in hand you go to the bar, get a drink, and go deeper into the bowels of the boat. His friends bellow and tease him, as the two of you go. He waves them off with a little smile, answering with that brand of manly banter that translates across all languages, something in Russian to you that sounds like “Shut up, assholes.”

-You wander the crowded boat until you find a [relatively] quiet place at the stern. You lean on the gunwale together, shoulder to shoulder, watching the dark waves below as you nurse your drinks. 

“So…what’s your name?” you ask, starting with the basics. 

“John.”

You lift your eyebrows. “John?”

“It’s easier than Jardani.”

You look up at him, suddenly wondering how many parts of himself he's had to hide, to survive in his world. 

“I can handle Jardani,” you say, and he smiles a little, but you feel like maybe you're the butt of the joke. 

“What about you, pretty girl?”

“Y/n.”

He nods, peering down at you like he can mine all your secrets with a look. 

“Y/n, you do not seem to belong here,” he ventures. 

“I don’t think…any of the women do,” you answer. You know they’re sex workers, doing what they have to do, or what they’ve been forced to do–and you know you’re no better than any of them.

“You know what I mean. Where are you from?”

You tell him, and he nods like he already knew. 

“And what did you do, before?”

“I…worked in an art gallery.” This makes him smile a little, inexplicably wistful.

“And how did Donaka Mark get his claws into you?” 

“I was visiting a friend from school in Hong Kong. I met Donaka at this insanely lavish party thrown by her parents’ friends at their house on The Peak. I’d never known anyone like him, who actually talked to me like I was a person. He…was charming, and I guess…I was dazzled by it all.”

You feel like you’re making a confession to this man you do not know, but once you start you can’t stop. 

“He invited me over to see his art collection, and I never really left.  He asked me to stay, so I did. It was…the stupidest mistake I’ve ever made in my life, I found out.” You hate it, that tears start rolling from your eyes. It hurts to look back on the beginning, on your earnest hopes. You’d fallen in love with a foolishly open heart, blind to the red flags that you realize now were there all along. “He was good to me at first but it was just a trap. He…won’t let me leave.  He won't let me see my friend, or any of her contacts. He has my passport, and he won’t let me even go near my embassy.”

You feel so fucking ridiculous, but this man just nods. Not judging you. As though he understands the way men like Donaka chew people up and spit them out all too well. 

-You hug yourself, goose pimples erupting down your skin. “Are you cold?” You nod, because it’s partly true. There’s a chill that runs deeper than your skin, something physical warmth can’t touch. He motions to take off his jacket for you, but you suddenly feel bold, maybe from the drink you’d consumed, or maybe…because he seems kind. You slowly step in to snuggle into his body, sliding your arms under his jacket. He closes his eyes, enjoying it as much as you as you tuck under his chin. He strokes your hair, and eventually it's you who turns your face up, hoping for another kiss. He looks down at you with those soulful dark eyes, and its as though every cell in your body quivers with anticipation before he ducks his head, and his soft lips touch yours. It's gentle at first, but then it grows into this heady, hungry thing–you pull back with a gasp, looking up at him with your big, woodland creature eyes. Here you are again, in the arms of something that could eat you in one bite–and you want to be devoured. 

If you ever make it home…you should get your head examined. 

It doesn’t stop you from asking breathily, “Do you want…to go somewhere?” 

He takes your meaning perfectly well, that intense gaze upon you. “Are you sure?”

You nod without hesitance, and he closes his eyes, presses his forehead to yours as though you’ve just told him something that could save his life. He knows he should refuse. You are just a pretty, soft little thing that doesn’t belong in this world. He shouldn’t even be allowed to look at you, much less touch you. But he can’t say no. You’re in his arms–and he can’t say no. 

He is not a good man. He knows this very well. 

He takes your hand, and leads you back to the hall, then to a stairwell, where you go down into the boat. It takes you a few tries, before you find a stateroom where you can be alone. Once inside he locks the door behind you, before pressing you into the wall with a devouring kiss that makes you see stars. That gentle man from before is not gone, but he is hungry, and you are all too happy to offer yourself up like a feast for him to devour. 

“I've wanted you…since the moment I saw you,” he admits. “On that asshole’s arm, across the room at the fight…I knew you weren't happy with him.”

You make a sound that is dangerously close to a sob. 

“I wanted you too,” you admit, and the fury of his answering kiss steals your breath away. 

Clothes are shed, buckles and buttons undone–his solid weight presses you down into the bed while you are only wearing your panties, and his skin against yours is a divine thing. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your chest, kissing your neck, your collarbone, and you could weep because it’s been a long time since you’ve heard that with any sort of tenderness in it. 

“So are you,” you answer truthfully, your hands running down the ladder of his ribs, the taut muscles of his back and torso, past the perfect dimples at the small of his back and into the loosened waistband of his trousers. The firm curve of his buttocks feel like they were sculpted by God himself, or at least Michelangelo, which is close enough.

You spread your legs for him, inviting him in, and he rolls his hips against you. You want him inside you, but he is kissing down your body with something else in mind, his tongue teasing the taut peaks of you nipples. 

“Can I taste you, pretty girl?” he asks, already pulling your panties down your thighs. 

“Oh god,” you answer, which isn't really a negative or an affirmation. But he keeps going, and the sound you make as his tongue dips into your folds is barely human. You feel him chuckle against you, a deep rumble that resonates inside you, vibrating against your clit and you almost cum on that alone.

“John…Jardani,” you sigh as he drives you towards heaven with his tongue, teasing you with slow circles before lapping hard at your bud, a finger slipped just barely inside you. It’s so wonderful you could die. 

Maybe you will, if Donaka finds out that not only did you sleep with someone else, but you enjoyed the hell out of it too. It seems his little punishment backfired, for now, but in the end he’ll make you pay somehow. He always does. 

“You're going…to make me cum,” you warn him. He makes a sound inside your wet pussy that sounds like ‘Good.’

“But I want…to cum with you inside me.”

This gets his attention, this beautiful man looking up the line of your naked body at you with a sharp hunger in his midnight dark eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

He presses a wet kiss to your singing clit, and you're not sure of anything.

“Yes,” you manage shakily, and he wipes his mouth on the sheets, standing to shed the rest of his clothes. You are mesmerized, watching the precise way he moves. You're grateful, when he produces a condom from his pocket, tearing the foil and rolling it on his impressive manhood. “Thank you.”

He just nods, occupied looking down at you with an intensity that nearly makes you squirm, positioning himself between your legs. His tip at your weeping entrance is a revelation; his thick length pressing inside you the best thing you’ve felt…ever, maybe. A few thrusts and he is seated completely inside you, buried to the hilt. You are incapable of keeping your eyes open, your head tilted back in bliss. But he does not move, and you feel him looking down at you, his arm around your shoulders holding you close. “John?” 

He kisses you so gently it breaks your heart, his nose brushing yours. “I’m here. Are you?” 

You don’t understand exactly, why fat tears roll down from the corners of your eyes. 

“I don’t think…you belong here either,” you say. He seems…too kind, and you find it hard to reconcile that with the man who commands such fear in his crew that no one dares challenge him even while full to the gills with distilled liquid courage. 

“I never had a choice,” he tells you quietly, and you believe that, nodding as you hide in the bed of his neck. Maybe this is a strange conversation to have, while a man is inside you, but everything feels too raw, too vivid, and your sanity teeters on a knife’s edge. You kiss his neck, breathing him in. If you’re going to die soon…at least you got to have this. Something real, and good, in the most unexpected place. 

Life is so strange and cruel and sometimes–it’s wonderful. 

“Please…don’t stop?” 

He kisses you again, passionately, desperately, and you sense that maybe he’s close to breaking too. He groans in your mouth as he starts to move inside you, slow thrusts that allow you to savor every inch of him, his delicious girth stretching you wide. You shift your legs up, the angle tightening your hole for him, winning you a growl that sends a thrill from your spine to your aching center. His thrusts become faster, more erratic, and you think he might cum just like this. You find you crave the triumph of it, wanting to give him something to remember you by. “So fucking good for me, malyshka,” he rasps, withdrawing to guide you into turning over. His hands are so sure, so exacting as he arranges you how he wants, your ass in the air and your face in the pillows. Your pussy flutters and pulses, missing him, hungry to be filled again. You melt as you feel his kisses down your spine, and the slow pressure of him pushing inside you again. Just when you think it can’t get any better, strong, blunt fingers strum at your slippery clit, and your focus of the world narrows to wanting one thing. 

“You going to cum on my big cock for me, sweetheart?” 

You whine in answer, yearning, clenching around him. He shudders, thrusting deeper, making you jump. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

You realize you would give this man anything, for making love to you, when for so long you’ve only felt like a thing to be used. It might be this thought, as much as his masterful manipulations and his perfect member, that fills you up with pleasure until you break, a spine-cracking orgasm ripping through you. You feel him arch back, riding you through the furious fluttering of your walls squeezing him, greedy to be filled. Soon after he cums with a shuddering groan, his big hands on your hips, fingertips digging into your tender flesh hard enough to bruise. 

He collapses over you, his dead weight and searing warmth enveloping you a wonderful thing, even if you can’t breathe. He whispers something softly in Russian into your hair, sweeping it back to kiss your neck, sending a luscious shudder down your spine. Slowly as though his strength is sapped he moves to the side, tossing the condom and drawing you into his arms. The small smile he pays you, the gentle kiss he offers, and the sadness in his dark eyes feels like a slow-twisting dagger in your heart, an exquisite pain you simultaneously loathe and savor. 

You know what’s coming next won’t be good, and maybe it makes this small slice of bliss with him all the more glorious. With his big hand on the back of your head he tucks you into his shoulder and the two of you doze, tangled up for just a few minutes longer in paradise together. 

-A little later he wakes you, sweeping the hair from your eyes and kissing you softly. “We have to go back,” he tells you regretfully, and you nod, knowing you can’t hide here all night. The two of you dress slowly, in no hurry to return to the hedonistic revelry above. But you suspect he has a job to do, and you…can’t escape your keeper this easily. He helps you with your dress, though his strong hands on your curves through the silk just lights the fire within you all over again. You sit back to watch him with a fascination that borders on obscene, entranced by his hands on his buttons, his tie, and the deft way he secures his weapons about his trim waist. He carries a lot of firepower, for being at a party. You suppose threats to his boss can come at any time, at any place. 

-Hand in hand you return topside. The party hasn’t exactly wound down, though everyone is clearly very drunk. You find that Donaka is in the lounge, speaking to Viggo Tarasov again like they are old friends. His sharp gaze takes in the two of you across the room, his eyes narrowing, and within a moment you know that he is pissed. He stands as you approach, your grip on John involuntarily tightening with fear. “Time to go,” says Donaka, in that tone that brooks no argument from his subordinates. 

But when you resignedly try to walk around, John holds you a step behind him.  

“I thought she was a gift?” 

“Just for the evening,” Donaka clarifies, leveling an assessing gaze at the man in black. 

“You should have said. I’m afraid I’ve ruined her for you.” Donaka straightens, a barely banked rage seething in his eyes, all while you press your lips, trying not to laugh out loud for the spite of it. 

Oh shit.

“How unfortunate for her,” Donaka finally answers, eerily calm, next leveling his gaze upon you. You will be the one to pay the price for this embarrassment in front of all these Russian gangsters. “Come on, y/n. Play time’s over.” He holds out his hand for you, and you know if you do not obey him…he will end you. 

But still, John does not let you go by. 

“It’s bad manners, giving a gift to take it back.” 

“I’m sorry you misunderstood.” 

“I’ve heard you think you’re a warrior,” John says cooly, his words so matter of fact. “So, let’s fight for her.” 

Everyone in the room goes silent, all eyes on the three of you. 

“You…don’t want to do that, Mr. Mark,” says Viggo, shifting in his chair uneasily. He says something low in Russian to John, that you assume translates to ‘Give him his bitch back.’

But you know that was the worst thing to say to the man who keeps you like a toy. Donaka Mark prides himself as a fighter. He’s not a bragging man, but he does not like the thought that he can be beat, by anyone. 

“We can fight,” says Donaka, looking John up and down. “But I’ll warn you, I don’t spar for points.”

A low murmur runs through the crowd at this challenge. Unruffled, John nods. “Me neither.” 

You think about the dastardly things you’ve witnessed Donaka do over the past year, and you squeeze your lover’s hand, afraid. “John…” you whisper urgently. “I know he looks civilized, but…he’s a killer.” 

John simply nods, answering at a volume meant only for you, “We’re all killers here, milaya.” 

Maybe you suspected it was true, but you’re still afraid, if for anything just because this man has become precious to you, and that feels like a promise from the universe to hurt him somehow. 

-It takes place on the main deck on the front of the yacht. Everyone gathers around, eager to see what will happen, though you can’t help but notice several of the Russians seem uncharacteristically solemn. The combatants remove their suit jackets, their ties, and roll up the sleeves of their made-to-measure shirts. It’s to be a hand to hand affair, man to man, no weapons. John leaves you with Tarasov, as though he deemed the older man a safe place for you. “You must have left quite an impression, for John Wick to fight for you,” says the mafiya king. 

“I…didn’t ask him to,” you answer for some reason. And for some reason, this makes the older man snort with amusement.   

-The fury of their combat is a spectacle to behold. They are evenly matched in height and weight. At first it seems like Donaka might have the upper hand, landing a few blows, but that is quickly assuaged as the kicks and punches really start to fly. You watch as the gentle man who held you so tenderly is transformed into a finely-honed fighting machine; it is both terrible and fascinating . You dig your nails into your palm as you watch, hard enough to draw blood without even realizing, you are so transfixed. 

Wick twists Mark up like a pretzel in a complicated move, and maybe would have succeeded in breaking his neck had Donaka not bit him savagely. They go at it again, and when there is a flash of metal you realize Donaka has pulled a knife. You gasp at this betrayal; some of the Russians laugh, and some boo. Donaka slashes at Wick, who succeeds in jumping out of the way, a hair’s breadth ahead of the blade. Wick catches his arm, strikes his wrist, and the blade drops. They grapple, and head-butt, and Donaka manages to get John on the ground with a takedown move. He punches John, landing horrible, bloody blows. But John manages to get his legs around his opponent, flipping him. He swipes the knife, tries to drive it home, but Donaka holds him at bay. The two men hover in violent stasis, snarling at each other with bloody teeth. In a sudden burst of strength Wick strikes the knife, forcing it into Donaka’s chest, and then his throat. 

You watch with horror as the man who has tormented you for the past year slowly bleeds out onto the high-polished deck of the yacht, his blood spreading beneath them in an ever-expanding pool. He is defiant to the end, baring his teeth at his killer like a tiger, but even Donaka Mark cannot survive a hole in his heart. 

You look upon them, dumbfounded, feeling as though John Wick has slayed a dragon for you.   

-Wearily, your hero gets to his feet, accepting a towel to wipe his face and hands before fastidiously unrolling his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs again. Only then does he turn to you, a cut bisecting his brow, his nose bloodied, his lip split. “Are you alright?” he asks, and it’s all you can do not to faint dead onto the floor. 

-Wrapped up in a fluffy robe, you look out over the bird’s eye view of Victoria Harbor glittering like a blanket of aquamarines in the morning sun. Anxiously, you await John Wick’s return. 

The past twelve hours have been a blur. The few security men who had accompanied Donaka surrendered and made no trouble, only wanting to leave with their lives once their meal-ticket was gone. John had bundled you off back to Hong Kong island via one of the speedboat tenders, and promptly checked the two of you into a hotel room in a lavish establishment in the Central district called The Continental. They knew him by name, did not blink at the state of his face, and immediately offered to send up a doctor and a bottle of Blanton’s finest bourbon. 

You took a long hot bath together, and by your count, made love three and a half times before he left “To arrange some things.” (The half was on you–the body was willing, but the flesh weak). You feel like you've been living in a fever dream, high on a mixture of relief and disbelief.

You realize, with the benefit of hindsight, that you really had thought you were going to die. 

-When finally he returns it's as though a tight knot releases in your heart. You greet him with kisses and a long embrace. He may be a seasoned killer, this man relishes being held. It's yet another thing that endears you to this man; it makes you want to never let him go. “It’s all settled,” he tells you. “I got you an open ticket. You can go home once you get your new passport from your embassy. You can stay here as long as it takes to get that taken care of.”

This news should make you ecstatic.

Instead, you stare up at him open-mouthed, gripping his arms with fingers like claws. 

Finally, you remember how to fucking breathe.

“Thank you. I really can’t thank you enough, for everything.”

He smiles ruefully, brushing your hair back from your cheek. “You don't seem happy.”

You close your eyes, because this man sees everything. There's no hiding from him. “I…don’t want to leave you,” you admit point blank, quickly, before you lose your nerve. 

He continues to pet your hair, like soothing an animal that's on the edge of going feral. He reads you like a book. 

“Baby…you've been through so much. You need to go home.”

You nod, knowing he's right. But fuck if it doesn't feel like your heart is breaking. You've actually managed to avoid having a proper breakdown so far–postponing the inevitable, you’re sure–but fuck if there aren’t tears in your eyes. “Will I ever see you again?”

You can tell he's amused with you, even if he's sad too. Not unkindly, he says to you, “Has it occurred to you that you have terrible taste in men?” 

You laugh shakily, mostly at yourself. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve done pretty well for myself lately.” 

He cups your cheeks in his hands, looking down at you like you’re something precious he’ll never see the likes of again. “I want you to promise me you’re going to go home, and fall in love with someone completely boring, and live a good, safe, life. Can you do that for me?” 

You make a face. Not just at the thought of loving someone boring…but loving someone who is not him.  “I will promise you…that I will look after myself with more care, when I get home.” 

He sighs, having to accept it, and he kisses you so sweetly that you understand his heart is breaking too. “Maybe in another life, sweet girl, I could have been the kind of man who deserves a woman like you.”

“You’re not a bad man, John,” you insist. “You’re my hero.”

“Just this once, just for you.”   

You pull him into another embrace, and you realize you are not the only one who is trembling with pent up wishes that life could be different for both of you. 

“Come here,” you say, pulling on his tie. He obeys, allowing you to lead him to a chair. You know he lets you, when you playfully push him down to sit, but you'd be a liar if you pretended you didn't get a thrill out of it anyway. 

“What are you up to, pretty girl?” he asks gently, a warmth in his soft brown eyes, just for you. 

You kiss him lingeringly before sinking to your knees before him, sliding your hands down the length of his muscle-strapped thighs. “I want to thank you,” you say, playing the coquette to mask the fact that your heart is splintering into a thousand pieces as you speak. 

“You don't have to thank me,” he tells you, cupping your cheek in his hand. You lean into his touch, savoring every second you have left with him. 

“Fine, I won’t,” you say cheekily, winning a huff of laughter that feels like a coveted prize. You reach for his belt buckle, and he doesn't stop you. “But I’m still going to suck your dick.” His mouth dances as he tries not to smile– in the end he loses the battle, and then he moans as you free him from his underwear, already hard and proud in your hand. 

“Baby…how am I supposed to let you go?” he rasps as you take him between your lips, swirling the glans with your tongue. You almost forgot how fun sex can be, until John found you. He claimed you,  and then, he set you free. You take him all the way into your throat with gusto, moaning with him as his fingers comb into your hair, gripping lightly as you work him up and down. “Let me have you?” he whimpers. “One last time?”

You withdraw with a pop, your vision unfocused with lust as you look up at this god of a man. You know it’s batshit crazy, but you would stay by his side indefinitely if he would only let you. 

He scoops you into his arms, carries you to the bed, and you make love again while he looks into your eyes. You feel like he's stolen a piece of your soul–you’ll never be the same, and you certainly know you'll carry him with you, in your heart and your memory, for the rest of your life. 

-As the years go by, you honor John Wick’s request in your own way. You do take care of yourself. And, you never really allow yourself to let anyone in again. It's too disappointing, after having known a man like him, and too risky, after having known a man like Donaka Mark.

You've since moved to New York. You work as an art consultant for a large firm, basically telling rich people what to buy for the walls of their multi-million dollar residences. As tiresome as the uber-rich can be, you get to work in a field you love, and draw attention to emerging new artists who deserve it. When you return from your lunch break Tina, the receptionist, tells you that you have a walk-in who requested you specifically waiting in conference room 1. It's not really how things are done at your office, but you know better than to turn your nose up at a prospective client. You set your things down at your desk and go see what awaits you.

He’s standing at the window with his back to you, looking out over Manhattan. Even so…you would know the lines of his body in a smartly tailored suit anywhere. Suddenly, your knees feel like they might go out from under you.

“John?”

Only then does he turn, still so handsome it hurts, his hands in his pockets and his eyes still so filled with warmth for you. “Hello, y/n.”

It takes three tries to find your voice. 

“What are you doing here?”

He looks down for a moment, as though shy about what he has to say. You've literally watched this man kill with his bare hands– what could he possibly feel embarrassed about with you? 

He keeps his deep voice low, as though he's afraid he might spook you. “If I told you I've had a recent change in careers…would you have dinner with me?”

You close your eyes, because it's all you can do not to leap over the hand-crafted conference table. He’s all you've thought about in your free time, since the moment you parted. The memory of this man is imprinted on every cell in your body. Maybe he let you go…but you belong to him.

You realize you've been silent for a long time, when he answers sadly, “But if the answer’s no I completely understand.”

You're at work. You have a reputation to maintain. You have to act like a professional. 

You forget all this, when you cross the room and fling yourself into his arms, answering his question with your mouth on his. 

The rest, as you might guess, Dear Reader, is just history.😉

—-----------------

*otets - the godfather, the big boss  *brigata - brigade, a crime crew in the russian mafiya  *malyshka - babygirl *milaya - darling, honey

I'm pretty sure @sweetwolfcupcake planted the seed for this a while ago when she commented on my Sympathy for the Devil fic "What if John Wick entered the picture?" 🤭 And here we are. You're a genius, dear girl!!😘😘😘

[fernpetals]

Masterlist

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Warning: This blog will contain elements of dark romance like obsessive, possessive, disturbing behavior, violence, and gore.

You are responsible for the content you consume. If you do not like it, slide away, and ignore it; there is no need to play the moral police.

Asks: Dollification

Keep No Secrets

Burn With Me

In This House(Drabble Series): #1 #2 #3

Precious: More of yandere John's dollification kink

Boogeyman II

Asks:

Pretty Eyes

Request #1 (Yandere Constantine x Reader)

The Night is Dark and Full of Terror ✅(Concluded)

Asks: Dollification

Dollhouse: More of yandere Donaka's dollification kink

Request #1 (Yandere Donaka x Reader)

Asks: Dollification

Good Cop, Bad Cop(Drabble Series) II III IV V VI VII

Fragile: More of yandere Tom's dollification kink

[nwheregirl]

Assigning “daddy k!nk” gifs to Keanu characters: (NSFW!! No particular order!) (PT.2) (pt.1 here)

This one:

With:

This one:

With:

This one:

With:

This one:

With:

!!BONUS!! you doing this:

To:

And as usual: have nice fantasies, my loves 🖤😈.

[ur-fav-h-anon]

How do we feel about a loose follow up to the Donaka fic? I’m still fleshing out the idea so I can’t really say what it’ll be about yet tho.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

What do you think would be Donaka's kinks? :3

These ones ❤️ (mood board under the cut)

[valentinxd]

SHAPE YOU.

You’re a disgruntled line cook who Donaka sees as a challenge.

Pairing: Donaka Mark x Female Reader

About Reader: 30-year-old woman, disheveled, sweaty, uncomfortable within one’s skin, borderline exhausted, lack of self-care, quite possibly has identity issues

Note: This isn’t meant for the reader to be “not like other girls” nor do I want to play on that trope, I just love the idea of a well-groomed man wanting to take on a mess of a person. This is also going on with the kinks I previously posted about him wanting to change the reader for his liking. (not the best writing on my end)

Warnings: Mostly in the About Reader part, the reader is insecure and oftentimes in her own head, Donaka wants to change her into what he thinks you should be, sexism on his part? maybe?

You got a job at one of his bars. Most of the women there had great people skills, good at serving, bartending, anything being in public. You didn’t. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to you just didn’t know how. You were always a bit in your head to notice the world around you, you tried retail and hated it. You found the busy hidden world of the kitchen a lot more to your liking.

You got to hide in the back, working away on whatever high priced bullshit nonsense was on the menu, shove your arms in hot water scrubbing dishes, and polishing crystal bar glasses for the bartenders.

You would watch your coworkers, knowing how to dress, how to act, how to smile, what was fashionable and what wasn’t with a sense of awe and love. A part of you wanted to be like them, you just didn’t know how or feel like you had the time to put in the extra effort.

You were always exhausted, always a little too much in your own world to notice. But that didn’t mean someone you weren’t noticed. You just assumed you were just another disheveled food service worker for Donaka Mark, assuming the one percent like him every paid attention to you.

He did.

One of his favorite girls at the bar was in the corner eating some food with a couple other of girls, they had snuck back to the kitchen while you were cleaning up and entered in a “mistake order.” You were aware that being a server and bartender meant little to no breaks especially during peak hours so you made sure to give them something to eat lest they pass out.

All three girls stopped when the tall man looked at them, his dark obsidian eyes narrowing slightly. Out of fear they pointed at the back door. He went to confront to whatever out of line cook that was stealing from him. He found you out back smoking a cigarette, your apron dirty, a few bandaids on your left hand and your hair a greasy mess tied back into an attempted bun.

There was just something about you that interested him, he normally would never pay attention to girls like you as you clearly didn’t put the effort into your appearance but the way you tilted your head and raised your eyebrows with the cigarette lazily in your mouth there he only walked away.

You got told that wasn’t a thing and you should count your days.

At the end of your shift, you walked over to the bar, and one of the workers there gave you a beer. You let your hair down and he came to the conclusion that if he could take innocent people and make them killers he could change every part of you.

So of course you found it odd when he would offer you a better-paying position to be a server. You couldn’t tell your boss no, unless you wanted to sleep in the dirt permanently.

He slowly and gradually got you to change bit by bit, redoing your hair to a better color, changing the style, and wearing more makeup. This didn’t change your normal demeanor however, you would sit awkwardly in a barely-there skirt, pick at the fake nails, and stare off into space. You always felt a bit awkward and uncomfortable in your own skin but that drove his resolve further.

Donaka Mark always got what he wanted, he always did.

At some point, you were going to become the woman he wanted you to be, soul, mind, and body.

Then you would be completely his.