#and i refuse to let people hate him without knowing him first

[angel-shaw]

Adding on cuz the one about him not liking to drive sparked this

David hates driving in the winter, he hates the roads and how dumb people are

He hates Angel driving in it even more, he might trust them but he’s terrified of something out of their control happening and them getting hurt.

He also won’t let Angel (or any other pack mate really) drive if the car is not 100% safe. If anything is wrong he wants them to stay home, get a ride or he will pay for it to get fixed himself. He refuses for his pack to be put in danger beacuse their tires are worn down or something like that.

Futher more I think angel, babe,sweetheart and probably even Sam and darlin were ether scared to tell David, didn’t think to, or felt like it wasn’t including to them the first time something went wrong with their vehicle in winter

Then David found out and chewed them out for driving dangerously and insisted on fixing it immediately and driving them home himself.

Now it’s just their first thought to call David and be like “hay my car tires are stripped and the roads out here are to icy to be safe” and they know they will be excused from the meeting or David will go out of his way to pick them up and help get the problem fixed.

He even has set up a system where if someone isn’t telling him because they are embarrassed or something to need help, other members or the pack will let him know, and he will help without bringing to much attention to it so they don’t feel bad.

I’m thinking about wrighting a few mini fics about this…

David and Angel Headcannons

(first time posting…little nervous😢)

- David’s Lock Screen is a picture of him and Angel from their wedding

- Angel has glasses and contacts that they wear interchangeably

- David towers over Angel more than they realize

- David has an Instagram thanks to Angel and only posts pictures if they’re also in it

- Angel can’t reach the bottom of the washer and has to physically lean over it to grab smaller articles of clothing

- Angel sleeps on David’s chest every night

- Angel used to be slightly jealous of Darlin when they first found out about them because they thought David used to have a thing for Darlin (he never has)

- All of the pack members treat Angel with the same respect as David (but they mess around with them more)

- They are always touching each other’s hands

- David loves to pick Angel up

- Angel loves David’s leather jacket and often asks him to wear it just so they can look at him in it

- David does let them wear the jacket on occasion (it was also the jacket they wore during the inversion)

- When they’re not wearing David’s leather jacket, Angel wears their own utility jacket that is too big for them

- Angel is the shortest of the mates

- They have at least three vehicles

- Angel tends to bump into things a lot and therefore has quite a few bruises at any given time

- David insisted on building a surround sound system for their basement TV to emulate a movie theater experience

- They have a lot of silly floats for their pool

- David listens to metal and rock bands (like Bad Omens and David Bowie) when he’s by himself because he doesn’t think Angel would like it

- Angel absolutely loves being a Shaw and does not shut up about it

- Angel started calling David “Davey” because of Newsies but they will never admit it

- David has carried Angel to bed on more than one occasion

- David puts his arm out in front of them if he slams on the brakes too hard

- Angel deleted Michael’s number after the cat interaction and has never texted him again since

- David has gotten more comfortable talking to other people since meeting Angel and his social anxiety has eased

- Angel loves shopping with David and subtly “showing him off” now that they’re married

- Angel sleeps better next to David

- David gets misty-eyed when watching sad movies, Angel has never cried due to a movie

- Sometimes it takes David longer to say bye to Angel in the mornings because he’s scared of driving and will just stay there holding them until he feels ready to get on the road

- Angel has expensive taste and since meeting David it’s only gotten worse

- Angel loves fashion but also dresses like a poor college student

- David puts his arm around Angel’s waist when they are walking around (and insists on the sidewalk rule)

- Angel thinks David’s morning voice is the hottest thing ever

- David kisses Angel’s neck periodically and it always catches them off guard

- David’s RBF is terrifying to other people and he doesn’t know how bad it is

- Angel does know and thinks it’s funny

- Angel ties David’s shoes for him so he doesn’t have to bend down as far

- David has done the TikTok trend where he puts Angel on his shoulder

[h2llish]

vil rambles cuz im still sick

listen, everyone who literally views vil as this arrogant asshole who likes looking at himself in the mirror every morning has got to be some of the most blind idiots i've ever seen. his insecurities have played out right in front of us?? he is literally so insecure it's blaringly obvious???

it pisses me off watching people completely mischaracterize him as some harsh, insincere character who would bully and pick at someone's insecurities like a fucking prick.

those who genuinely see and regard vil properly as the type of person who has so many insecurities and stresses from living as an actor/model/etc, have honestly earned my respect. his character is interesting and having him mischaracterized as less peeves me.

i don't like to compare trauma, even in characters. trauma is different and revealed in every person differently.

and yes, vil has trauma. living life under spotlight and having his entire life on screen for everyone to see, is his trauma. while he may enjoy his line of work, and has a very supportive father in his corner, that does not make it any easier for someone who grew up under expectations and ridicule since the moment he started walking.

vil's insecurities stem from his roles in movies; he's been casted and sought out for the role of a villain even when he only ever wished to play the hero. since he first played the villain role as a child, bullying the hero (neige) he was automatically perceived as a villain outside of the role as well. and while he may not seem all that bothered, i think it does get to him. to constantly be casted as a villain because he "fits that role so well", and then to have people see him as a villain outside of it can be dehumanizing and painful ━ hence, his insecurities.

a lot of people fail to realize that the life of a celebrity isn't all its chalked up to be. they're human too, they have insecurities and flaws, parts of themselves they don't want others to see. and i think vil does a good job at presenting that.

his overblot revealed that sometimes our insecurities build up and spill over and we may do things we regret. in this case, paired with magic, it was an attempt on a rival's life.

unlike leona or maybe azul, he does regret his actions. he admits his wrongs and that he let his insecurities lead him down a path that could've been disastrous had it not been for rook and everyone else.

i understand that his confidence can be misleading; "if he's so insecure why is so confident?" because idiots, a person with insecurities can also have confidence. while vil is insecure about his stand in beauty, he's also confident in his looks. his insecurities about his looks come from his one-sided rivalry with neige. neige receives more compliments and views and offers, so that comes back to vil and he views himself inferior.

a lot of people seem to think he hates neige. but he doesn't, even he has admitted that he's only jealous. he holds a lot of respect for neige. he knows about neige's tough childhood, and he knows how hard he works, but he does not pity him for it all the same. his feelings for neige have only been jealousy brought on by the views of fans and media, and believe it or not, jealousy is not hate.

vil is genuinely a decent person. after his overblot he continues to thank those that helped in stopping him, and then proceeds to take responsibility for being the reason they were all so tired during the competition. he even takes his own money to offer to everyone after he broke his promise to split the earnings when they won. he also isn't upset with rook for voting for the winning team; he respects that he was able to do so without feeling much guilt. (while i still want to fight his ass. fuck you, you damn peacock spitting mf /affectionate). and then proceeds to give his money to the mc so they can fix up the dorm.

i understand his first impression wasn't great. even i thought i'd hate him, but after getting to know him, i saw that my opinion on him was stupid; understandable at first, sure, but false.

he's strict, yeah, but he means well. he just wants everyone to be healthy, and that includes routine and taking care of your body. it may seem a bit obsessive, but it's his way of caring for those around him, even if it isn't how, you like it or how you'd prefer to be cared for.

i think what i like about vil, is that he genuinely tries to make things right. unlike those before him, he wishes to apologize for the trouble he caused and wants to avoid having his jealousy take ahold of him so strongly again.

and addressing those that seem to think he would attack a person's insecurities, you're wrong. i doubt he'd try to hurt a person by pointing out their own insecurities when he himself has insecurities. he knows what it's like to have your insecurities take hold of you and consume your thoughts, why would he do that to another person? if he does find himself saying something that might be an insecurity for another person, i don't think he'd do so on purpose. he probably intended to help, but in the process hurt them. i just don't believe he'd want to hurt someone by rubbing their insecurities in their face.

overall, he's not a bad person or some asshole who would hurt someone on purpose. he's confident but insecure, and he's strict but means well. stop regarding him so wrongly please, it's actually fucking annoying.

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[lemonlover1110]

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑

Sukuna

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your husband was an heir, and you have to fulfill the order.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), spitting, slight use of tummy mouth, double penetration, tit sucking (and biting), breeding kink, degrading, sukuna is... sukuna but fluffier to his wife

*he's been on my mind lately and I'm going insane

10k Event Masterlist

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“I want an heir.” Sukuna brings up one fateful night as you walk over to lay down beside him. It’s not a request, it’s an order that you must fulfill, just like everything that involves Sukuna. Strangely enough, Sukuna has been the one that’s been delaying having a child since you’ve been nearly begging him to have a baby with him for the past year. It seems he’s finally given in to the idea though.

“What was that, Suku?” You ask, stopping in your tracks because he’s caught you off guard. He stands up from where he lays, towering over you. You look up at him, waiting for him to repeat himself but you should know better than anyone that your husband doesn’t like to repeat himself. But this time he does,

“It’s about time you give me an heir.” Which makes a smile spread across your face because it’s what you’ve been wanting. Sukuna has been the one that has been refusing to have a child so you don’t understand why he words it like that– But either way, you’re happy and ready to fulfill his every need. Before you can even agree to his order, his bottom hands are undoing your robe to get you undressed while his mouth goes down to your lips.

Sukuna has grown accustomed to kissing you, and handling your body more gently since you’ve asked him to. Compared to the beginning, he treats you like a petal. You like to think it’s his way of expressing his love for you since he’s not very vocal about it, and you know he doesn’t particularly enjoy kissing. His tongue meets yours while his hands try to undo the robe without tearing the fabric into pieces since he knows it’s one of your favorites.

He bites down on your lip causing a cry to leave your throat while he gives up on properly taking off your robe. You hear as the fabric rips, and maybe another time you would be upset about it but you’re too consumed by him to care. He’ll just get you another one. His two lower hands roam down your bare body. One hand gropes your breasts, his rough fingers pinching your nipples. He gets to your cunt, lightly slapping it before he runs two fingers through your cunt.

He pulls away from the kiss, letting your soft moans into the air when he begins to play with your clit. Sex for him has always been a selfish act but ever since his first night with you, he’s found pleasure in pleasing you. The sound of your moans in the air while he toys with you is the sweetest melody. He found it dumb at first, but now there are nights where he’s simply buried between your thighs with the purpose of making you come as much as he can. 

Sukuna picks you up and puts you down on the bed. Taking a moment to appreciate how beautiful his wife looks when she’s under him. Fuck, you’re so fucking small compared to him. It’s nothing new, really, all the people that Sukuna has been with are miniscule compared to him. But he just loves the way that you look under him since he’s never seen a more beautiful human being. He’d never tell that to you though.

Sukune begins to tease your entrance, threatening to push a finger into your cunt but he doesn’t. He runs his fingers through your folds, while his thumb plays with your clit. He lowers his head, his tongue circling your nipple before his mouth wraps around it and he begins to suck.

“Can you put a finger in, Suku? Please…” You ask him, your needy cunt in need of his fingers inside of you. He bites down on your nipple, causing a cry to leave your lips before he unlatches and lifts his head up. 

“I hate beggars.” Sukuna reminds you, and you’re about to apologize but he shoves three fingers into your mouth, gagging you with them before you can even get a word out. He really knows you better than anyone. “My woman doesn’t apologize to anyone either. Not even her own husband.”

Sukuna finally pushes two fingers inside your pussy, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers are just so fucking big, and they reach every right spot. Sukuna feels you moan around his fingers before he takes them out of your mouth. He curves the fingers inside your cunt so they hit against your sweet spot. One hand goes to your breasts, and he begins to play with your nipples. 

“It feels so good, Suku.” You moan, your back arching as pleasure consumes you. Sukuna’s multiple hands are… Everything.

He takes his fingers out of your cunt, moving the wet digits down to your asshole. He spits down on your cunt and spreads his saliva down. He presses his fingers against your asshole as he lowers his head. He kisses from your lower abdomen to your pussy, where his tongue then runs through your folds and then up to your clit. His tongue begins to flick your clit while he pushes two fingers into your asshole, making you moan loudly.

“Fuck– Fuck!” You yell, as Sukuna also pushes two fingers into your cunt again. It’s like music to Sukuna’s ears. It’s too much for you, two fingers in your ass, two in your pussy, and his tongue on your clit. Both holes squeeze around his fingers as his tongue lays flat on your clit.

“Sukuna! Shit, it’s so fucking good.” You bite down your lip, trying to not bring too much attention to yourself. Unluckily for you, as soon as Sukuna knows that you’re making yourself quiet, he stops. He lifts his head up and takes his fingers out of your pussy and asshole, leaving your holes to clench around nothing.

“I want my woman to be loud. Don’t be a fucking bitch, do you hear me?” Sukuna kneels, towering over you again and you nod in response. You use your forearm to hold yourself up and look at him. He undoes his robe, and you lick your lips as you watch your husband get completely naked. Your thighs come together as your eyes fall on his two thick cocks, feeling excitement consume you. Sukuna smirks, watching you prompt yourself up to get his cocks in your mouth. He stops you, his hand going on your chin. “You’re a cute little bitch… You’ll be okay. You can handle them both, right?”

“Yes, lord.” You nod in response, and Sukuna treats you as if you were a doll– More gently than he would treat an actual doll but he moves you as if you were one. He forces you to hold your legs to your chest, and the large tongue on his mouth licks your pussy, and moves down to your asshole. He’ll be sweet with you, especially since you brought back the name that you hadn’t used since your marriage.

The tongue teases the entrance of your asshole but Sukuna stops before anything else happens. He lays his cocks down on your lower abdomen, and you deeply inhale. You wonder how it’ll fit inside of you, but it always fits so you shouldn’t worry.

Sukuna doesn’t bother teasing the cock that goes in your pussy, immediately pushing it in which causes a loud moan to leave your lips. He doesn’t waste time in putting the second cock in your ass, and once you’re stuffed with him, he begins to move. He’s gentler with his thrusts this time, which you certainly appreciate since he didn’t give you time to adjust. 

He’s grown impatient with the idea of you giving him an heir, he can’t waste anymore time. And fuck, he just needs to feel you wrapped around his cocks. You don’t seem to be struggling either way, quite the opposite, you moan in pleasure with his every movement.

“I’m going to fill your womb up with my seed, and you’re going to give me what I deserve.” Sukuna says through gritted teeth to not let out another sound that hints at how good you’re making him feel. Sukuna will never say anything that could hint at him being happy with someone else– The most you’ve ever gotten from him was a marriage… order. Sukuna didn’t propose marriage, he simply told you that you two would be getting married. But you know that the face that he’s making and the way he talks, he’s feeling good. 

“I’ll give you what you want, lord.” You respond as his cocks hits every right spot, filling you with so much pleasure. His thrusts pick up speed, and your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head. Sukuna’s hand begins to play with your clit, and you begin to squeeze around him even more, causing him to hiss. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you big and round with his child. Sukuna can’t wait for his seed to bless your womb and all the changes that it’ll bring to your body. He can’t wait to steal some of the milk that’s meant for his child.

“Going to fill you up with my child.” Sukuna groans as you squeeze around his cocks. It’s too much for you, especially after he’s worked you up. You’re loudly moaning his name, just like he wants you to. He wants the servants to hear how he pleases his woman. It’s all too much for you since he’s filling up both of your holes and toying with your clit.

You shut your eyes, and see white as you squirt all over him, causing a chuckle to leave his throat. He lightly slaps your clit as you make a mess all over him. Sukuna can’t help but praise you for it, which is definitely something rare, “That’s my good wife.”

Sukuna bites his tongue, loving how tight and warm your holes feel. But you won’t get a noise out of him. His hand goes to your throat, however, it just rests there while his thumb presses against your lips, “The only woman worthy of carrying my child.”

Sukuna gets rougher with his thrusts as his release approaches. The thought of you carrying his baby makes him go insane. He’ll make sure it happens soon, he’ll fuck you every night until there’s confirmation that you’re expecting his successor. 

He mutters your name before he fills you up with his cum. He doesn’t dare to pull out until both of your holes are completely filled with his seed. When Sukuna pulls out, he lays down beside you. He brings you into his embrace while you take deep breaths.

Sukuna kisses the top of your head, one of his hands running up and down your back. Maybe Sukuna hasn’t exactly been fond of kissing before, but it’s definitely his favorite thing to do with you now.

[silkythewriter]

Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!

Warnings!:non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)(｡•́︿•̀｡)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime

❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

“Each time I find myself

Flat on my face

I pick myself up and get back in the race!”

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!

Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?

At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!

He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.

He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!

He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!

Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience

Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.

This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.

Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.

Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.

Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!

Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too

He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.

He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.

He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out

NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.

Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!

Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.

It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.

And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.

He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.

He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.

But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!

Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course

Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.

If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always

Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!

Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.

He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet

He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. （；へ：）but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… (￣▽￣����

He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!

Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!

Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.

He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!

You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.

Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!

Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic! Fire Nation Royal Family x Non-bender Reader

Part 2

With Ozai:

At first he didn't accept the fact that you, his youngest child, is a non-bender, and ignored your existence.

That was until he noticed how his older brother, Iroh, spends time with you, Ozai got extremely jealous.

And decided to spend time with you, only to realize that you are his favorite child, and felt like an actual father.

Yes, you can't firebend nor do you even have the ability to protect yourself.

But why would you need to protect yourself when your father is going to be the Phoenix king of the fire nation?

Ozai will burn down the world for you.

"You, my sweet child, will grow up in the presence of a very powerful father"

With Ursa:

When Ursa found out that you couldn't bend, she became overprotective of you to the point of paranoia.

Since childhood, she refused to allow you to play with anyone except Zuko.

One time, one of her handmaidens scolded you harshly for playing outside without your mother's permission which resulted in you bursting into tears.

The next day, that handmaiden was fired and Ursa made sure that she gets no other jobs.

While thinking of escaping, she thought to take you with her.

However, Ozai has forbidden that from happening.

"When you find out the truth, promise to come find me"

With Azulon

While still alive, he made sure you had the best education and guards.

Azulon also made sure to have you believe that the fire nation is without mistakes or faults.

He tried manipulating you into believing that just your loyalty to your people is enough duty.

However, you are kind, too kind.

Yet, he Azulon didn't hate you for it even if he considered a weak trait to have in the royal family.

He also still has the flower crown you made him stored away safely so it doesn't rot.

It is rumored that the last word he muttered was your name.

With Iroh

Uncle Iroh isn't really as possessive as the other characters, but he focuses on advising you from time to time.

You enjoy drinking tea with him and gossiping about everything.

Even though, Ozai has forbidden him from speaking with you, you would sneak behind your father's back to drink tea with him.

After the loss of his son in the war, Lu Ten, Iroh felt depressed.

Yet you managed to comfort him with your cheerfulness and playful attitude.

It reminded him of his son.

"The best quality in a princess is her kindness, something which your sister clearly lacks"

With Zuko

Zuko thought you would be like Azula but you have proven him wrong.

You are kind, gentle, and nurturing just like your and his mother.

That's why Zuko always found himself by your side, being your playmate...being your protecter.

His mother told him that it's his duty to protect you from danger considering that he is your older brother.

Even though Azula has never hurt you, but Zuko was always wary of her, especially after his mother disappeared.

When Ozai challenged him to an Agni Kai, you were the first to cry out and plead with him to let Zuko off, but Ozai felt jealous of your relationship with Zuko and was determined to teach his son a lesson.

However when your brother got banished, Zuko took you with him in secret not wanting you to be left with Azula.

"I know the journey will take long but once I restore my honor we can return home together"

With Azula

Azula was extremely jealous when you were born, thinking that you will take all the attention from her.

But she realized that you deserve all the attention.

You didn't treat her like a monster, you weren't scared of her.

Instead you showed her love and called her 'big sister'

You would cling to her as a toddler, whenever there was lightning, you would secretly sneak to her room and sleep beside her.

"How can you be scared of lightning, we control it, silly"

Mai and Ty Lee saw how Azula softens whenever you are around.

And when Azula discovered that you have left with Zuko, she destroyed everything in her way and burned a few servants.

"She's mine, and only MINE"

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[pomefioredove]

a private meeting

summary: yuu makes a list of the top five cutest third years. the following conversation type of post: short fic characters: cater, trey, leona, rook, vil, idia mentioned, lilia, malleus additional info: romantic?? platonic?? idk, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, this is more for character interactions. and fun

"I'm sure you're all well aware of why we're here,"

The eight gentleman standing around the dark, candlelit room look between each other.

Leona yawns.

"How long is this gonna take, exactly? I was dragged outta bed for this,"

Vil glares. "Hush. I wanted to deal with this matter in the quietest manner possible, without disturbing the prefect. Sevens know what happens when your egos go unchecked,"

"Look who's talking,"

Another glare, but Vil chooses not to waste any more time.

"Two nights ago, the prefect hosted a slumber party for Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, and our own Epel Felmier,"

"I remember that," Lilia says, rubbing his chin. "Sebek was invited, but refused in case someone attacked Malleus whilst he was away."

Malleus shakes his head.

"During this event, the prefect created a list of the top five "cutest third years", as we all know. And, to avoid any childish squabbling, I've gathered you all here to open it as an ensemble. Rook?"

A slim, folded sheet of notebook paper appears from the dark of Rook Hunt's pocket. He holds it up, as if presenting it to the heavens.

"Where did you even find that?" Trey asks, adjusting his glasses.

"Facile! It was buried under a stack of homework assignments in our dearest Trickster's bedroom," the blond says merrily.

"Logistically speaking, that's almost too easy. Are we sure it isn't a fake?" Ortho pipes up.

"Ortho?" Vil asks. "What are you doing here?"

The boy giggles in an electronic chime. "Idia is hiding under his covers and won't come out, so I'm here in his place!"

"...Alright,"

"I don't know what he's so nervous for," Vil goes on. "When I am already guaranteed to be in the first place slot."

Leona scoffs, kicking back with his feet on the table. Vil glares again.

"How rude,"

"He's not wrong. You are the most beautiful here..." a smile creeps up Lilia's face. "But, as I recall, you said cutest third years, not most beautiful. And if anyone is the cutest, it's me."

"Oh, spare me," Leona sighs. "Let's just get this over with. Open the damn thing."

"You're not the least bit curious, Leona?" the fae asks, batting his large eyes.

"Don't patronize me. And no, I'm not. I couldn't care less,"

Lilia smirks, but says nothing more on the matter.

He turns to his tablemate. "And what say you, Malleus?"

Every person in the room falls silent, and then turn to the prince sitting at the furthest corner of the table with his hands folded in front of him.

He hasn't shared a single thought all evening.

"...The contents of this list make no difference to me," he finally speaks. "My feelings towards the prefect will be unaffected."

Rook sets a hand over his heart. "Quelle beauté! I am moved! Not even the strongest of winds could make your friendship bow,"

Leona groans as if he's in agonizing pain.

"Open it!"

"Okay, hold on. Isn't this like, a major privacy violation?" Cater says. He doesn't sound eager to see the results, either.

"I would hate for someone to read my private thoughts to a room full of people."

"He may have a point. This was a list made between friends at a slumber party. Taking it out of that context could be disastrous," Trey agrees.

"There's a 96% chance this will end in conflict!" Ortho chimes in, merry as ever. Leona sighs.

"Can I just leave?"

"No," Vil snaps. "Rook, open it."

"Rook, don't,"

"Rook!"

The poor man observes the conflict slowly unraveling before him, and he sets the folded sheet of paper on the table.

"Now, now, do not squabble! Let this be a chance to celebrate our bonds with the lovely prefect!"

"I agree with Rook," Lilia smiles big. "We should all agree that no matter what is on that list, we'll leave it after tonight and move on."

Vil sighs. "Yes, yes. You're all right. We can't let what they wrote at a private slumber party affect our relationships with them,"

"No matter what, we leave them out of this. Agreed?"

Everyone in the room nods.

"Alright. Rook, read it,"

Rook reaches behind him, the anticipation building, and... is met with a cool wooden surface.

The note seems to have disappeared into thin air.

Before anyone can express their obvious confusion, an evil cackling pulls their attention to the doorway.

Vil gasps.

"Grim! Put that down!"

The small direbeast, now holding a crumpled piece of paper in his paw, smiles wickedly.

And then, to everyone's horror, he eats it whole.

Leona is the first to react, storming over and lifting Grim by the scruff of his neck. "Seriously?!"

"Fufufu. Looks like someone cared, after all," Lilia chuckles. Vil rolls his eyes.

"Hey! Not my fault you guys were so loud! You woke me up from my nap over a stupid list!" Grim says, crossing his arms.

A brief silence follows, and then a sigh. Leona drops him and he lands on his feet.

"Perhaps Grim is right," Ortho says. "Instead of worrying about the numerical grade the prefect assigns you, you should focus on the unique and special aspects of your individual relationships!"

"How eloquent!" Rook coos. "Oui, you are right! Sometimes it is best to let secrets remain secrets."

"Something about the way he says that tells me he already knows what it said," Leona grumbles.

"Ohoho. A fascinating mystery, non? Did I sneak a peek before tonight, or am I just as clueless as you?"

The prince rolls his eyes.

Vil sighs. "Ortho is right. Now I feel ridiculous for getting so worked up over what amounts to a joke at a slumber party,"

Everyone grows quiet, seemingly reflecting on themselves for the duration of the brief silence.

Lilia's giggles change the melancholic mood of the room.

"Perhaps Malleus had the right idea all along. It doesn't matter who the prefect thinks is more attractive; they're still a wonderful friend. How wise- I'm very proud,"

Malleus beams.

"Yeah yeah," Grim grumbles, turning to the door. "I didja a favor, anyway. None of you weirdos were number one."

He leaves, and he takes the peace and reflection with him.

Slowly, everyone turns to each other.

[beifong-brainrot]

People will go on about how "Katara's story is a tragedy" because she... ended up marrying the guy she loves, having children and grandchildren which she was always excited about and literally becoming a master waterbender and rising to the top of her field as a healer.

Yes, Katara's story has tragic aspects to it. And there are certainly flaws in how she is written in tlok (Though I will argue that there are actually more issues with how Toph and Zuko are just plopped in there for no reason in later seasons). And her storylines aren't perfect, for example her resolving her trauma around the murder of her mother being more used to prop up Zuko than her own internal turmoil. (Most of TSR is from Zuko's perspective and I hate that actually)

"Katara's story is a tragedy" Why do you have such a hard on for this woman's misery? Let her be happy, man.

You know what gaang girlie's life is an actual onscreen tragedy?

Toph's!

People will fucking downplay Toph's childhood abuse because she wasn't physically hurt, but her childhood was a never ending carousel of abelism, misogyny, neglect and isolation. The way Toph describes her parent's treatment of her as "pressure and pain" is heartbreaking.

Toph's only escape was Earth Rumble and earthbending, but despite her skills, she remained the perfect little lady her parents always wanted her to be. She's never known a different life, and she was only able to be her real self in secret.

And when Toph finally opens up to her parents, when she finally lays her real self bare in front of the people who are supposed to love and care for her?

She is met with what may be, in my opinion, the cruellest rejection in the show.

Despite this, even when Toph runs away, she still cares for her parents' approval. Hell, she's even lured into a trap due to her getting a forged letter from her mom and getting excited because it looked like her mom was finally accepting her.

It's also important to note how determined to be self sufficient and to prove herself Toph is. We can especially see this right after she joins the Gaang, where she refuses to participate in splitting with the rest of the group, insisting on "pulling her own weight". This isn't Toph being a brat, or spoilt, this is her wanting to prove that she can handle herself because people have handled and understimated her her entire life.

Eventually, Toph starts to learn to trust the members of the Gaang and this is a step in the right direction. She's literally making friends for the first time in her life I'm so proud of her.

However, I was genuinely upset when Toph's life changing field trip with Zuko didn't work out. When Toph was trying to connect with Zuko and he blew her off (I'm not blaming him tho they had shit to do), I couldn't help but remember the rejection Toph suffered from Lao.

Post canon, Toph continues to try and prove herself, starting a metalbending school and training new metalbenders.

She also reconciles with her father. Not before Lao disowns he rmultiple times and calls her a rude, ungrateful thing. And while he eventually comes to understand Toph and cherish her, that type of trauma sticks with you.

So it's no wonder really that Toph, someone who went her entire childhood seemingly without even speaking to someone her age, would have trouble forming connections. She has children with two different men, neither of which seem to stick around.

Toph tries to do right by her daughters and gives them the freedom she never got. Sadly, the pendulum swung too far to the other side, since it seems that she started to neglect her daughters, which led to them developing a sleugh of issues of their own.

Toph becomes the cheif of police, which kind of makes sense. Republic City was only slowly emerging as an actual metropolis. Toph took on a role as a protector, and probably as a way to prove herself. But as Republic City grew, Toph probably realised that she became something she hated. A cog in the machine, and started to despise her job.

Searching for a semblance of the freedom and happiness her travels afforded her in her childhood, Toph leaves the city and takes up the life of a hermit in a swamp. She managed to fix her relationship with Suyin to some extent, but still seems reluctant or simply unable to connect with her daughter or grandchildren. Since she apparently hasn't seen Opal, a grown 20 year old woman since she was a little girl.

On the surface old Toph doesn't seem terribly dissimilar to young Toph, still tough and spunky. But she is more jaded, depressed and pessimistic. She comes out to save Suyin from immediate harm and manages to somewhat reconcile with Lin, but then she fucks right back off to the swamp where she seems to literally hide until Wu and Korra straight up force her to come with them.

Toph's story began with her alone and it seems to end with her alone as well. It's a story of a girl who grew up isolated and handled by others, and was woefully unprepared for the real world, which only jaded her further. She lives with the guilt of fucking up her daughters' lives and a belief in the pointlessness of life.

Toph started off longing to experience the world and ended up willingly isolating herself from it.

If that isn't a tragedy, I'm not sure what is.

Mind you, this is not the trauma olympics. I'm not saying that Toph has suffered more than Katara or that Katara's trauma is not as valid as Toph's. Katara and Toph's experiences are completely different, Katara being a victim of genocide and war, Toph being a victim of child abuse. I'm just saying that, objectively, Katara had a happier 'ending' than Toph.

[honeekyuu]

stuck. [tsukishima kei x f!reader]

>>Tsukishima is the kind of best friend that makes you want to leave him, but you just can't bring yourself to.

or

You end up confessing in the middle of a fight and he fucks you to show you how much he really cares.<<

______________________________

tags: smut, fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, alcohol/drinking, college au, tsukishima kei is a dick, drunk sex, unprotected sex (dont do that), creampie, dom/sub undertones

a/n: ahahahaha this was my first hq work posted on ao3, and it is everything Mean Best Friend Tsukishima Kei that i needed. i hope you enjoy!

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

------------------

“Okay, I’m done! How do I look?”

“You look like shit.”

You sigh, trying not to let him get to you. 

Tsukki’s always been this way - dismissive, nonchalant, indifferent. Through middle school, he’d been sarcastic. He’d been snarky and brutally honest. And in high school, he’d only gotten worse. 

Anyone else in your position might have left him already. People you’d known in school had told you to find someone else, a better friend. Best friends don’t treat each other the way Tsukishima treats you , they’d said. His teammates had been in the habit of scolding him whenever he’d go too far, whenever he’d push your buttons a little too hard. The only one who could see your side had been Yamaguchi, and even he’d had his reservations at times.

But other people don’t know Tsukishima Kei. They know the Tsukki that would refuse to share his notes with you after you’d been out sick. The Tsukki that would steal parts of your lunch and hold it high above your head, far out of your reach, and call you mean names with a cruel smirk. The Tsukki that would often leave you behind after school and head home without you, leaving you to text him and wonder where he’d gone.

They don’t know that the same person would show up at your house with his notes, walking you through calculus and poetry lessons himself because he knows you learn better with a teacher. And, even though you never called him out for it, he would show up the day you’d been out sick, too, just to check on you. Just to watch movies in bed with you, waving off your concerns about him getting sick. He hated being sick, but he would ignore your complaints and force you to relax - because you’d only ever get sick when you overworked yourself, which meant he hadn’t been watching over you closely enough. 

They don’t know that Tsukki would secretly swap your lunch out for his own - better, homemade food that wasn’t the cafeteria slop you were often forced to buy because your parents weren’t home a lot. He would watch you push the food around on your tray while you’d laugh at something Hinata had said, identifying at least 3 things you were allergic to on that plate. So he would reach for it, leaving his own (allergen-free, thanks to Akiteru) lunch open for retaliation while he’d use his height as a way to take out his frustrations on you - his irritation that you never seemed to put yourself first, choosing starvation over just simply asking your parents for money before they go out of town.

And the times he’d leave you behind - well, half the time, it had been an accident. It was impossible to remember your packed schedule, all your clubs and student council meetings lumping into a vague ‘ Y/n’s busy ’ block of time in his mind. The other half of the time, it was because he needed to be alone. It’s not that he’s an asshole and loves to make you suffer - in fact, he would often call you later the same night, apologizing in his own, special Tsukishima Kei way and explaining himself. He gets overwhelmed easily, overstimulated by too many people, too many responsibilities, too many social expectations. So he would disappear as soon as he was allowed, needing to be alone with himself and no one else.

So, the people in your life had known a different version of Tsukishima than you do. Where they’d seen a bully, cold and unrelenting even for his best friend, you’d known nothing more than an introvert, expressing his care in a way that was unrecognizable to anyone but you.

Care that had carried over into college, the last three years filled with a Tsukishima Kei that even you hadn’t expected. A version of him that walks you from the library to your dorm at night, despite his increasingly hectic volleyball schedule. A Tsukishima who calls you in the morning on his walk to class to make sure you haven’t overslept, because - even if the calls consist of nothing but your crabby morning disposition, berating him for pulling you from your slumber - he knows you’ll thank him later, as you often do.

A Tsukishima who lets you drag him to parties, even though he hates them to his very core. He lets you tug him along to your dorm, lets you force him to sit through the hour-long ordeal of choosing your outfit. Lets you spin in front of him when you’re done, clearly pleased with yourself, and ask him how you look.

Lets you throw a pillow at his face when he tells you that you look like shit, even if he wholeheartedly believes otherwise.

“Tsukki, can’t you say one nice thing to me? For once?”

He scoffs when you put your hands on your hips, turning his gaze back to his phone as he lounges on your bed like it’s his own. It might as well be, with the amount of time he spends in this room.

“That would require you to have something worth being nice about, wouldn’t it?” He smiles mockingly when he catches the irritated twitch of your eyebrow.

“You’re a dick.”

“Nothing new about that.” Tsukishima watches as you turn back to your closet with a huff, taking the time to look you over appreciatively. No , he thinks, his eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts and the way your dress hugs your hips, the material tight but soft. His hand itches with the urge to touch it, to find out for himself. It’s not that you have nothing. It’s that you have too much.

He sighs, sitting up, and runs his fingers through his hair.

You have too much, and it’s fucking annoying. 

His eyes flick to you again, his own irritation growing. You’d always been too good. Too perfect, too overwhelming. He’d hated falling in love. It had sucked. High school had sucked . Having you cling to him every day and finding himself clinging right back. Not understanding these complicated feelings he has - ones that want nothing more than to hold you in his arms, against others that would tell him to push you away with his sharp tongue, to protect himself from this terrifying feeling. 

And now that he’s accepted it - it had only taken him the entirety of high school and at least a year of college - he almost hates it more. Being so close to you and somehow still feeling like he can’t breathe because it’s not nearly close enough.

So he stands, shoving his phone in the pocket of his jeans, and stares you down when you finally turn back to him.

“Can we go? The sooner we get to this stupid thing, the sooner I can go home.” He thinks he sees a flicker of hurt flash across your eyes, but that can’t be it. He’s said worse things before. You always bounce back, a retort on the tip of your tongue for everything he could throw at you. You always match him, blow for blow.

So why, then, can he see your jaw clenching as you turn away from him? Why does he feel like you’re pulling your jacket off the rack with more force than usual? Why are you leaving without responding?

What the fuck ?

-

Fuck Tsukishima Kei . 

It’s the only thought in your mind as you down the shot, wincing as the alcohol slides down your throat. You’d lost count of the drinks you’ve had about an hour ago, when the thought had been something more like ‘ Fuck Tsukishima Kei. Stupid fucking idiot. Never thinks before he speaks ’.

Clearly, you’d mellowed out a little, but the anger is still there, simmering in your chest and threatening to rise every time he gets close to you.

The walk to the frat had been silent, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about your mood, only scrolling through his phone and occasionally glancing over at you. You’d felt the irritation crawling under your skin with every pass of his eyes over you, but you hadn’t returned any of his gazes, only looking forward to getting to the party and being with other people.

But he hadn’t let you wander off so easily, his tall form following close behind as you’d tried to find some of your friends from class. You can tell he’s been trying to silently check on you, like he always does when he knows he’s bothered you. 

He’d brought you drinks, only smiling emptily when you’d glared up at him. It shouldn’t have made your heart skip that he’d done nothing more than offered you a drink, tapping his own red solo cup against yours and matching you shot for shot. It shouldn’t affect you when he does the bare minimum. 

He’d danced close to you, one hand on your waist and his warm chest pressed firmly against your back. You’d hated it - feeling so safe in the arms of someone who had derived pleasure from picking on you your whole lives. And even if that’s not true - even if you only take into account all the ways that he’d taken care of you, celebrating all your accomplishments with you and holding you while you’d cried about your failures - you still shouldn’t be feeling that familiar tug of nerves in your stomach when he presses his hips against your ass, slipping his fingers through yours and pulling you close.

And when that hadn’t worked - when you’d held your ground and managed to cling to your anger from earlier - he’d even tried to talk to you about it. That isn’t normal for him by any means, but you could see the confusion in his eyes when he’d leaned down to be heard over the music, mumbling his question against the shell of your ear.

“Are we okay ?”

It had taken everything in you to resist him, to resist the pull that is Tsukishima Kei. The same pull that had kept you next to him all these years, through all the teasing and the poking. The pull that kept reminding you that he’s just bad at expressing his feelings. He’s just bad at being nice. He’s just bad at holding his tongue.

But that doesn’t mean you have to sit and take it every time.

So you’d only smacked his hand away and glared when he’d cupped the side of your face, trying to get you to look at him. Stomping over to the bar, you had asked the frat boy for a shot of something random. 

After downing it, you try not to look back but fail miserably - you might be pissed, but you’ve never been immune to him. You probably never would be.

Glancing back, you can see his blond head in the sea of people. He’s trying to make his way to the bar, but his head is whipping to the side at the sound of something. A tall guy - you recognize it’s someone from his team - appears at his side, clapping his shoulder, and you can only assume he’d heard his name being called.

They start talking, Tsukki seeming distracted but drunk enough to at least pretend he’s interested in the conversation. You look away just as he’s turning his head back to you - you won’t be caught looking his way again tonight.

Luckily, there’s someone stepping up beside you, catching your attention with their bright smile.

“Y/n?!” 

You blink, startled by the recognition. But when you finally see who it is, you can’t help but beam.

“Oh my God, Bokuto?!” You leap toward him, wrapping your arms around the man’s neck and dragging him into a hug. You feel him laugh against you, his arms sliding around your waist and pulling you in tight. When you step away, he keeps you close, hand on your hips.

“What are you doing here?! You don’t go here, do you?” 

The man shakes his head, grinning down at you and pointing over his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m just visiting a few friends over the weekend.”

You glance past him, seeing a group of boys that seem like they could be familiar to you, but you can never tell - Bokuto Koutarou is friends with everyone.

When you look back, you catch his eyes wandering down the length of your body, his gaze snapping up to yours when you clear your throat. He has the decency to look ashamed.

“Sorry, Y/n - You’ve just, uh… grown up a lot since high school.”

You flush deeply, something that makes him grin when he catches it. 

At least someone thinks I look good tonight .

You’re smiling flirtily up at him, feeling confident enough to drag this conversation out. He seems to notice, an interested glimmer in his eye. But then he’s glancing over your shoulder, and his eyebrows are raising in surprise.

A hand wraps around your bicep, much tighter than necessary in your opinion. You barely have time to spot the blond hair in your peripheral vision before you’re being dragged away. You can only wave at Bokuto, who looks a little disappointed but mostly just amused.

Tsukishima only lets you go when you’re outside, his hand dropping from your skin like you’ve burned him. You whip around to face him, more than ready to yell at him on the front lawn of this frat house. But he’s already walking away, in the direction of your dorm.

“Dude, what the hell? You didn’t even say hi to him - he’s one of your closest friends!” You stalk after him, determined to figure out what could possibly be going through his mind. But he won’t answer you, just shaking his head and mumbling something that sounds vaguely like ‘exactly ’ as he makes his way down the street.

You scoff, turning back to the frat. He’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re just going to follow him home quietly.

You start to head back to the party, but you barely make it five steps before his fingers are closing around your wrist and tugging you back to him. When you look up, enraged at his entitlement, you see that he’s incensed, staring down at you with wild eyes. He looks pissed, which he has no reason to be. But there’s something else there, something that’s contributing to this almost panicked anger sitting just below the surface.

“Tsukishima, what do you want?” 

He bristles at the use of his full name, golden eyes narrowing as he stares down at you.

“You’re going home.” He punctures every word with barely concealed irritation, finally turning and dragging you back down the street. You don’t say anything this time, feeling that previously mellowed out anger returning full force as you stare at the back of his head.

The walk back is just as silent as the walk to the party had been, but this time you feel ready to explode. You’d been annoyed before, bothered and hurt by his words and the way he treats you.

Now you’re just ready to pick a fight. Which means you’ll probably say something you’ll regret if you don’t get away from him soon and take some time to calm the hell down.

When you get to your door, you’ve already got your keys out. He’d let go of you in the elevator, finally realizing that he’d been gripping you way too hard. You might just be able to get inside without him following.

But the second you unlock the door and slip inside, not a word said to the blond as you try to shut the door behind you, his hand is slamming down on the wood. He stops your attempt, staring down at you with annoyance.

“You’re joking, right?” And then he’s pushing into your room with an angry sigh, letting the door swing shut behind him. You only step back, crossing your arms over your chest as you look him over.

“What do you want?”

“What do I wa- What is your problem tonight ?” He squints down at you, eyebrows furrowed. When you only raise yours, his jaw is clenching. “Why the fuck are you so mad at me?”

“Because-” You stop yourself, taking a deep breath in order to maintain some semblance of control. “Because you’re an asshole, Tsukishima-”

“Stop fucking calling me that, Y/n-”

“-and maybe I’m just not in the mood for your shit tonight!” You yell over him, clenching your fists against your body. You need him to go. You cannot let him see you cry.

“I’m always an asshole! How is tonight any different-” He’s taken a step further into the small bedroom, and you take a step back, feeling overwhelmed. You’re immensely glad you don’t have a roommate, so they don’t have to deal with the mess that is your friendship with Tsukki.

“Tonight isn’t any different, you dick. It’s the same as it always is. I’m just tired of it tonight.” You feel yourself growing angrier when he just laughs, throwing you a mocking smile as he paces the room. He’s definitely drunk.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize I needed to account for Little Miss Y/n’s fucking mood swings whenever I open my mouth-”

“What the fuck did you just sa-”

“I just didn’t take you for someone who’s sensitive-”

“Well, maybe I am, you fucking asshole! ”

You’re definitely drunk, too.

Tsukishima stops short, taking you in. He can’t hide the shock on his face when he sees you - the way your hands are shaking at your sides, the quiver of your lip as you try your best to stand up to him. You’re trying so hard not to cry, he can tell.

Wow, I really am an asshole.

“Y/n… I-”

“Did you really think I would still want to go to that party once you’d made it clear how much you didn’t want to go? That you think it’s stupid to hang out with your best friend on a Friday night doing something she wants to do - because your idea of a good time is so different from mine that you would try make me feel like a fucking idiot for it?” 

Tsukishima’s starting to panic - had he made you feel that way? He’d just been talking. He hadn’t even been thinking about how it would make you feel - he’d thought nothing could hurt you, that your friendship is guaranteed and that having you next to him is a given. 

Now he feels like he’s losing you. 

“Maybe, once in a fucking while , it wouldn’t hurt you too much to tell a girl she’s pretty when she’s just spent an hour trying to look good for you.”

The frustration on Tsukishima’s face drops, and he’s left staring emptily at you. 

That’s what this is about? 

He stares for a while, his eyes just flicking back and forth between yours as he thinks of how to take that. It makes you nervous. You’d said too much. 

“Fuck this.”

You blink, staring up at him in disbelief. What is that supposed to mean?

“What do you- mmh -” 

Tsukishima had crossed the room in just two steps, taking your face in his hands while you’d been preparing to yell at him again. And then he’d smashed his lips to yours.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you let out a noise of shock, muffled against his mouth. Your eyes remain wide open, flitting in a panic over his features as you feel his lips move against yours. His brow is furrowing behind his glasses, and you’re realizing that you still haven’t kissed him back. You push against his lips experimentally, watching that wrinkle between his eyes all but disappear when he feels it, and you think it looks a lot like relief.

He’s nervous.

Your body moves of its own accord, hands sliding up his chest to grip at his shirt, and your eyes slide closed when you feel one of his hands fall to your waist. He nudges you backward, and you feel the hard surface of your closet door against your back.

Tsukishima slides his tongue against your bottom lip, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he feels you inhale sharply in response. He takes advantage of your surprise, pushing past your lips and brushing his tongue against yours. When you slide your hands up and around his neck, tugging at the hair there, he groans and leans down. 

Planting a hand on the door behind you, he angles his head, slotting his lips against yours. He presses his hips into you, and you can feel how hard he’s getting. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, smiling when his body reacts to the sound, his cock hardening against your thigh. 

Tsukishima Kei might be impossible to read sometimes, but he never could hide from you.

He drops his mouth to your neck, latching onto a spot under your ear and using his other arm to pull you flush against him. The sounds you’re making are clear now, soft gasps and whimpers echoing in your tiny dorm room.

“So stupid… ” 

You barely hear him, too busy wondering why it had taken so long to feel his lips on your skin.

“The only person in the world that can see right through me, and you were stupid enough to believe what I said. ” He mumbles it into your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and sighing when you moan against him.

“You’re so mean…” Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand drop to your leg, pulling the fabric of your dress up slightly. He grips at the back of your bare thigh, brushing against your panties and kneading into the plush skin just below your ass.

“What were you gonna do, Y/n, go home with Bokuto?” Tsukishima all but growls the question against your neck, dragging your thigh up and wrapping your leg around his hip. He feels your dress slide up, feels your warmth against his jeans. He’s desperate to get out of them.

“Y-You called me ugly-”

“I never said that.” Yes he had. He knows he had. He just hadn’t realized you would take it to heart. Now he hates himself for even saying it. For pretending you aren’t the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

“Bo said I looked good… Figured I might as well go for someone who’s actually attracted to me…” You whimper when Tsukishima presses his erection against you, your thin panties useless against the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Does it feel like I’m not attracted to you?”

You breathe out a laugh, clinging to his biceps as he sucks another bruise into your skin.

“How was I supposed to know, you dumbass? You only ever say mean things, and I thought I could get over you by-”

“By what?” He’s getting irritated again at the thought of what could have happened tonight if he hadn’t brought you home. If he’d left you alone, like his brain was telling him to. If he’d given you space and just texted you in the morning. 

“You thought you could just fuck some other guy and get over me?” He lifts his head, grinning cruelly when you look up at him, your lip trembling. “Because I didn’t call you pretty tonight? Because you were tired of me being mean all the time?”

You nod, a gasp leaving you when he wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you up so you’re eye-level, slamming you back against the closet door and pinning you there with his hips. Your dress is bunched up around your stomach now, leaving Tsukishima with a perfect view of the wet spot on your panties when he glances down. His grin widens, an evil glint shining behind his glasses.

“But it seems like you like it when I say mean things, Y/n.”

You whine in protest, growing louder when you feel him rut involuntarily against you at the sound.

“This is different, Tsukki-”

“Is it?” He’s distracted when he asks, too busy steadying you in his arms so he can lift you up and away from the closet. Making his way to your bed, he drops you unceremoniously on the mattress, smiling when you yelp. He removes his glasses and leaves them on your bedside table, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed and wrapping his arms around your thighs so he can drag you toward him.

You sit up, taking his face in your hands and pressing your lips urgently to his - even on his knees, he’s tall enough to be eye-level with you. You feel his fingers, long and calloused, drift up your thighs and hook into your panties while he nips almost affectionately at your bottom lip.

“Tsukki… ” You whisper against his mouth, but he’s quick to shake his head, mumbling back to you.

“Not that. ”

You’re a little surprised - you never really call him by his first name. He’d found it uncomfortable the one time you’d tried it as a joke. But if he’s asking, then-

“Kei .” His pulse quickens under your fingertips when you murmur against his lips, his kiss becoming more full, and you realize just how much he likes it.

You pull away and press kisses to his face, peppering them across his nose and cheeks. It’s a moment that’s far softer than either of you had had before, one that has Tsukishima’s heart beating a little too hard in his chest. 

God, he hates being in love.

He pulls away from you, planting one hand on your chest and shoving you away from him. You fall back onto your elbows with a noise of surprise, bouncing lightly on the mattress. Tsukishima only reaches for your panties again, tugging them down and smiling to himself when you lift your hips to help him. 

He throws them somewhere over his shoulder, refusing to break his attention. Planting his hands on each of your knees, he pries your knees open slowly, glancing up at your face for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, his gaze flicks back down to what’s in front of him.

And then his breath is cutting short at the sight of you lying bare in front of him. You’re glistening, even in this dark room, and his cock is suddenly unbearably hard. 

He’d been thinking about this moment for far longer than he’d ever care to admit. 

“Well, isn’t this just the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen?” 

You throw your head back at his words, moaning loudly. 

“Oh, shut up.” You know Tsukki’s slept with his fair share of girls since you’d started college - being a popular volleyball player has its benefits. You’d done the same, hoping to squash down that jealousy in your own, twisted way. To hear him praising you like this - like you’d always wanted - has you clenching and squirming from the desire coursing through your veins.

“First you get mad because I’m too mean, and now you’re mad because I’m being nice?” He tilts his head, his voice mocking. “You really need to make up your mind.” 

And then, before you can let out some kind of snarky quip, he’s dipping his head and dragging his tongue over your slit in one long stripe. 

You gasp loudly and moan out his name, falling back onto the mattress as your hands fly to his head. You bury your fingers in his hair, tightening your grip when he does it again, licking through your folds before latching onto your clit, pulling the nub gently into his mouth.

He moans loudly against you when you mewl and pull his hair. The vibration on your clit makes you squirm, and you’re involuntarily rutting your hips against his face. He only laughs against you, his breath tickling your skin, and wraps an arm over your hips to hold you steady on the bed.

He pulls his mouth off of you, and you lift your head to look at him in annoyance. He smirks, holding eye contact while he brings his other hand to your folds. When he runs his fingers through them, stopping briefly to circle your clit, you whimper. And when he drops his middle finger to your entrance, nudging gently at it in question, you bite your lip and nod furiously, just wanting him to touch you already-

“Oh my- Kei-” Your head falls back when he slides his finger in and drops his mouth to your clit to suck on it. He sets his pace with his finger, thrusting into you and curling gently up toward himself, repeating the process until he can tell by your squirming hips that you’re starting to feel something.

And then he’s pushing another finger past your entrance, his cock twitching when you moan at the stretch. He’s been painfully hard for a while now, and all he wants is to be inside you of already. He doesn’t realize you’re feeling just as impatient, only noticing when your hands drop to his shoulders, tugging on his shirt.

“Kei …” You pout down at him, your eyelids fluttering when he thrusts his fingers into you again. His fingertips are brushing against a spot you’ve never been able to reach yourself, his fingers much longer than yours. You think you might become addicted to his hands soon. But you only pull again on his shirt with a whine, hoping he’ll get the message. 

Luckily, he does, because he’s pulling away to rip his shirt impatiently off his back, wiping his mouth with it before throwing it to the floor. He unzips his jeans as he makes his way up to the bed, pausing to scoop you up into his arms and tossing you closer to your pillows so he can climb on top of you.

When he pushes his mouth to yours, you’re moaning. He tastes like you, something he’s apparently proud of, because he’s just smiling against you and shoving his tongue past your lips. He drops his mouth to your neck again as he fumbles with his jeans.

“You taste so good, you know that?” He latches onto your skin, sucking harshly. “So much better than I’d imagined.” He pushes his pants just past his thighs, growing impatient. You gasp quietly when his cock brushes against you, the sound changing to a moan when Tsukishima runs it through your folds, sliding against you.

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours in a moment of astounding clarity given the insanity of this whole night.

“You sure?”

Your heart jumps when he asks. He’s got the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance, clearly holding himself back. But the way he’s looking at you makes you realize he wants this to be done right - after all, this had started with the two of you fighting. He doesn’t want you to regret this later and be even more upset with him.

He doesn’t want to lose you.

The idea that that’s what been hiding behind Tsukki’s eyes tonight - that vague panic that you couldn’t put your finger on - makes your heart sing and your stomach swoop with butterflies. You can only nod, cupping his face and bringing him down to your lips. His kiss is gentle and full of something that makes your nerves worse, something that makes you feel more than sure.

“I want this more than anything.”

Tsukishima’s heart skips, and he’s swearing softly against your lips. He hovers over you, keeping his mouth on yours as he presses his thumb against the head of his cock, guiding it past your entrance.

You gasp together as he pushes slowly into you, a moan pulled from your throat when he bottoms out and breathes out your name. The fog in your head - a mixture of alcohol, arousal, and nerves at the realization that you’re having sex with your best friend - worsens considerably when he drops his head to your neck, making an admission against your ear.

I’ve wanted this for so long …”

You whimper, curling your fingers into his hair and holding him close as he pulls out slowly just to slide into you again. You moan at the slow stretch, feeling his shaky breath against your ear.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…” Tsukishima doesn’t know why he’s choosing now to have this conversation, when you very well can just talk about it after. But there’s a strand of fear twisting around the butterflies in the pit of his stomach, and his mouth is moving without his permission. He needs you to understand what this means to him.

“I didn’t know it would hurt you… I didn’t mean it…” His hips are still slow, moving languidly against yours. He’d expected this to be rough - sex is only ever rough for him - but he needs to concentrate on what he’s saying. And you feel so good like this, so warm and tight around him.

You’re having the same problem, your head completely empty as you feel him push into you inch by inch instead of all at once. You can barely hear him, your ears ringing and your skin overheating while you try to process that this is actually happening - that you finally have Tsukishima Kei the way that you’d always dreamed about.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Y/n.”

Your heart stutters when you realize what he’s been saying. Even with everything else going on right now - even as his hips are picking up the pace, even with his breath shuddering against your skin as he moans quietly in your ear - he’s distracted, trying to apologize. Trying to make things right between you.

“It’s okay…” You whisper forgiveness into his hair, but you feel him shake his head, his grip on your hips tightening.

“It’s not. I shouldn’t hurt you. Not you…” He gasps quietly into your neck, his hips stuttering momentarily before he returns to his previous speed. “S-Sorry… You feel really good… Trying to focus.”

You flush, clenching around him and pulling him closer when he groans. You think about what he’s saying. ‘ Not you ’?

You’re about to ask what he means, but he’s mumbling another admission against your skin, this one much more intense than the last.

“I love you, Y/n… So fucking in love, it hurts…”

You inhale sharply, your heart stopping in your chest. But then there’s a moan ripping from your throat, because he’s hitting a spot in you that you didn’t even know existed, the tip of his cock bumping up against something that makes the coil in the pit of your stomach twist harshly.

“I- fuck - Tsukki, I love you, too…”

Tsukishima lifts his head then, staring down at you with surprise written all over his face. You can only breathe out a laugh, moaning quietly while you giggle.

“What, you’re shocked? I just told you I almost went home with Bokuto just so I could stop thinking about you.”

His eyes darken at your words, and his hips are snapping harshly against yours. You moan in surprise, feeling your stomach flip at the way he’s looking down at you. He seems to remember now just how this night could have gone.

He sits up, knocking your hands away when you reach out for him with a whine, and pulls out of you completely. Slipping off the edge of the bed, he wraps his hands around your thighs and tugs you toward him roughly. He only smiles mockingly down at you when you slide across the mattress with a quiet yelp, pulling your hips flush against his.

When he slips into you again, the soft, caring Tsukishima is gone, replaced with the Tsukki you’ve always known. The one who has no problem running his mouth just to get to you.

“That’s it then, huh? If I hadn’t dragged you home, you’d be wrapped around another man right now?” He slams into you, watching with delight as you cry out and arch your back. He keeps this pace, his grip on your hips bordering on painful as he drives his cock into you.

“Tsukki-”

“What did I tell you? ” His tone cuts through you, yanking hard on that coil in your navel and setting off a fresh flurry of butterflies.

“I- Kei -”

“You think you can forget about me that easily? You think I would let you?” 

You’re writhing under him, hands gripping your sheets tight as you gasp with each hard thrust of his hips on yours. The sight makes Tsukishima’s hips stutter, and he feels his orgasm coming on. He drops his thumb to your clit to push you closer to the edge, throwing his head back with a moan when you clench around him.

“Kei, please- feels so goo- ah- ”

“S-Shit, Y/n, I’m not gonna last… Where should I-” Tsukishima almost loses it when you claw at his hands on your hips, latching onto his wrists as you moan.

“Insi-Inside… Inside, Kei, please…” You look up at him, taking in the flush of his cheeks, the way his eyelids flutter when you clench around him. The way he bites down hard on his bottom lip and moans after a few seconds, breaking his hold on you so he can slam his hands down on the mattress on either side of you, his hair falling into his face as he pants down at you.

“Fuck -” He reaches down, brushing his thumb over your clit again. When you tighten around him this time, he’s letting out a choked gasp and your name, and you’re suddenly filled with warmth as his hips stutter, as he spills into you. He drops his head to your shoulder, his breath shaky as he thrusts into you, riding out his orgasm.

And when he’s done - when his cum is dripping out of you while you squirm, feeling full but unsatisfied - he sits up, pulling you against him again. He wraps his fingers around your wrists, smiling breathlessly when you cling to his forearms, and uses you as leverage when he draws his hips back and snaps them harshly into yours.

You cry out, feeling yourself throb the more he all but drags you down onto his cock and tries to draw your orgasm out of you. He releases your wrists, his thumb circling that little bundle of nerves while his other hand grips the back of your thigh, spreading your legs even further. 

When he changes the angle of his stroke, you’re gasping, unable to handle all of the sensations he’s causing in your body. There’s too much going on, too many feelings happening, each of which is bringing you closer to the edge. You slap your hands down over your face, trying both to muffle your moans and also hide your face, feeling embarrassed that your body is reacting so strongly to everything Tsukishima does.

He only coos down at you, his tone almost insulting.

“Oh, is my baby going to come?”

You whine loudly at his words, so rude but so endearing - your stomach swoops as the coil tightens, but you nod anyway. His low chuckle reaches your ears.

“Let me see you, then.” When you don’t respond, only moaning into your hands with each thrust, he clicks his teeth at you in annoyance. “Come on, Y/n. I wanna see how pretty my best friend looks when she comes on my cock.”

Tsukishima beams when that does it, your back arching as you cry out his name. You screw your eyes shut and fumble desperately for his hands. He slips his fingers through yours, holding tight when you come, your walls fluttering around him. He fucks you through it, inhaling sharply when you become impossibly tight, and then drops down over you when you're done, pressing his lips to yours.

You let out a sob against his mouth, your limbs heavy as you try to catch your breath. 

“Tsukki …” You wiggle uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him. He laughs against your neck, pressing kisses to your skin. And then he leans up again, pressing his lips to your tiredly.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He snickers when you whine but joins in on your soft gasp when he slides out of you, both of you sensitive. Stripping you out of the dress that’s been bunched up on your stomach this whole time, he leaves you on the bed, kicking his jeans off as he makes his way into your connected bathroom. When he returns, it’s with a wet rag and a gentle hand on your thighs.

Tsukishima scoops you into his arms when he’s done, setting you carefully against the pillows and climbing into bed with you. Your head is still empty, and you reach your arms out uselessly for him, mumbling his name. He only smiles, pulling you against his chest and kissing the side of your head.

“You okay?” When you nod sleepily against his chest, he smiles, tugging you closer. “Not too mean?”

You giggle, planting a kiss on his neck.

“I like you a little mean.”

Tsukishima snorts, shaking his head.

“I know you do. But still…” He meets your eyes, suddenly shy, his cheeks flushing. “I’ll be better from now on. Less ‘ toxic boyfriend ’ and more ‘ insufferable but still cute ’.”

You beam at his words, your heart skipping.

“Boyfriend , huh?”

He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I forgot you and Bokuto were basically married.”

“Oh, right, I should probably tell him the wedding’s off-”

“You’re a dick.”

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: Familiar Faces

(Days spent with them making new memories- a silent attempt at forging a new life before it will be ripped away once more)

Poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader

Part One

The castle breathed with life and the scent of burning tallow, but to you, it might as well have been a tomb. Its towering walls and narrow corridors, carved from cold stone and lined with faded tapestries, had grown too familiar over the cycles- prisons that wore different faces but caged you all the same, and you were the bird locked within it each life, merely with different feather each time.

You sung the same melody, regardless. A melody that would soon be snuffed out.

You moved through the halls like a shadow, your impending doom hanging over you like clock that never stopped ticking until its last moments. Servants parted for you without meeting your gaze, and although whispers followed in your wake, they no longer stung the way they once had. You had long since grown used to the weight of their words, their gazes full of pity and disdain. They had become just another layer of the endless loop, a reflection of your precarious standing with the royal lineage.

But the men- the four who trailed in your footsteps, sent by your father to report all your moves back to him with the excuse of protecting you- were different.

They were a presence you couldn’t shake, no matter how many lifetimes passed. Always close, always steady, their shadows filled the empty spaces others left behind. And unlike the others, they weren’t afraid to look at you.

In some lives, you despised them. What comfort could four men give you when all you wanted was your father’s love? Your people’s adoration? Friends your age? None whatsoever.

In other lives, you had been distant. You kept them at arms’ length, unwilling to even converse with them. They were of no use to your desperation to free yourself from this cursed cycle.

You’ve lost count of how many loops you’ve gone through. Even now, you do not know how it started; who started it. A cruel curse, that’s what it was, and you were its constant victim. It was inevitable, so why… keep away the only people willing to be near you?

And so this time, you let them close.

Soap was the first to slip past your walls, an unsurprising fact.

It was late when you found yourself sitting in the gardens, the air sharp with the chill of night. The roses were dying, their petals curling inward as frost crept along the edges, and you wondered- just for a moment- how many times you had seen them bloom and wither like this.

Too many times.

You were alone with him; no maid or lady-in-waiting was willing to accompany you, though rather than saying that, they jusy boldly lied and said they had prior arrangements to the king.

The king. Your father. It was always him. You wished he’d hate you a little less, just enough to not rob you of the care you’ll always long for like a child stumbling through the cold for a flicker of fire, of warmth.

Wistful dreams.

Soap sat down beside you without invitation, though his presence didn’t feel unwelcome. His easy smile was softer in the moonlight, and when he offered you his cloak, you didn’t refuse it.

“You look like you’re waitin’ for somethin’,” he said, voice low but steady, starting the conversation. By now, they’ve come to understand that you are… so different from whatever everyone said of you. You were quiet, your presence squeezed and molded into a tiny nook of the castle so easy to forget.

You didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch. The words came slower, heavier now- weighted by too many winters and too many deaths.

“I think it’s waiting for me,” you breathed out, fingers brushing the edge of the cloak. The flowers fluttered when a breeze blew by, bending in the directionaway from you; they pitied you, too, for not even they’d be placed upon your grave once you were dead. “… My end, I mean.”

Soap didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to deny it, either. He did not have any loyalty to the king or keeping his secrets; no mercenary would bother even if they’d lifk the king’s hand for his gold and coins.

Snakes, all of them. And yet- they were the ones who got to live, so the last laugh was theirs.

“Well,” he said instead, leaning back on his palms, “if it comes knockin’, ye just let me know. I’ll handle it.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

Soap didn’t leave right after that, like you expected.

He stayed, stretched out beside you on the stone bench like he had nowhere better to be, his broad shoulders relaxed but his eyes sharp as they roamed the shadows pooling in the corners of the garden. The scent of dying roses lingered in the air, sweet and cloying, and you wondered if he noticed the way your hands trembled when you smoothed the cloak over your lap.

If he did, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he tilted his head back and gazed at the stars, his voice softer when he spoke again.

“Ye know, my mum used to say the stars are just folk lookin’ down on us,” he said, accent curling thick around the words. “Watchin’, guidin’… makin’ sure we dinna wander too far off the path.”

You blinked at him. “And what if the path leads… nowhere?”

Soap turned his head to look at you then, eyes dark. “Then ye make yer own.”

It was such an earnest thing to say, so full of conviction that it made something in your chest twist painfully. You couldn’t tell him how many times you’d tried to do just that- tried to fight and claw your way toward a different ending, only to be dragged back to the start again.

Soap didn’t know. None of them did.

And yet, as you sat there with his warmth seeping through the cloak and his words lingering in the air like a promise, you found yourself wishing- just for a moment- that he was right.

That you could carve your way out of this nightmare and leave the endless cycle behind.

But that was foolish.

So instead, you leaned back against the bench and let your eyes drift shut, pretending not to notice the way Soap’s hand hovered near the dagger at his side, ready to draw at the first sign of danger.

Pretending you didn’t feel safer for it.

Ghost was harder to pin down. He lingered on the edges, silent as your grave, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

When the nightmares came- and they always did, another constant- you found him at your door. He never asked questions, never pried. He simply stood guard, silent, until the trembling stopped.

One night, when sleep refused to come after a day of listening to awful, false whispers of you, you found yourself seated on the rug in front of the hearth, staring into the flames. Ghost leaned against the wall, his mask a stark contrast against the flickering light.

“They won’t hurt you.” He said suddenly, rough and low.

You didn’t look at him. You watched the flickering fire, and was rewarded with whispers of the lives where you’d been burned at the stake. “They always do.”

“They won’t.”

And maybe it was foolish, but for once, you almost believed him.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, eyes fixed on the flames as if they could burn away the memories pressing in from all sides.

Ghost didn’t move from his place against the wall. He was a silhouette in the firelight, broad shoulders and sharp angles, the hollow black of his mask turning him into something almost otherworldly.

You didn’t ask why he was there. He never explained himself, and you never pushed.

After a while, he broke the silence again.

“They’re scared of you.”

His voice was quiet, still rough like gravel, but it cut through the room as sharply as any blade.

You swallowed, your gaze still locked on the fire. You couldn’t look away. “No. They hate me.”

Ghost didn’t argue. He let the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving you.

You weren’t sure why that bothered you more than words would have.

“They’re scared,” he repeated finally, slower this time. Firmer. “And scared people do stupid things.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Like cutting off my head?”

Ghost tilted his head, and something about the way he looked at you made your chest tighten.

“They won’t get the chance, princess.” He said, and there was something cold in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to face him then, finally meeting his gaze. Or at least, what you thought was his gaze beneath the mask. It was impossible to tell, but you felt it- heavy, unflinching.

“You can’t stop it, Ghost.”

Ghost didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. “Watch me.”

The words shouldn’t have meant anything. They shouldn’t have mattered when you already knew how this would end- how it always ended. Those words were treacherous to whatever the king wanted and expected of him.

But as the fire crackled and the shadows danced along the walls, you let yourself believe him. Just for a little while.

Because Ghost wasn’t the kind of man who made promises.

And yet, when he spoke, it sounded like one.

… yet you knew, not all promises can be kept.

Gaz was gentler than the others. Thoughtful. Attentive in a way that made your chest ache, because it had been so long since anyone had looked at you without seeing the stain on your birthright first and you second.

He helped you practice with a dagger one afternoon, though you both knew it wouldn’t be of much use to you. The sharp clang of metal rang out against the training yard walls as he corrected your grip, his hands warm against yours.

When was the last time you’d been held like that?

Far too long ago. Far too many lives ago.

“Careful,” he said, guiding the blade down in a smooth arc. “Keep your stance steady.”

You frowned. “What does it matter?”

Gaz tilted his head, eyes searching yours. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

And wasn’t that the cruelest part? That no matter how many times you died, you always woke up again?

You didn’t answer, and Gaz didn’t press. Instead, he let you lean into him when the weight of it all grew too heavy, when the weight of more than just the training pressed down on you.

Gaz stayed close after that- close enough that you started to notice the small things.

The way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than they should, watching for signs of exhaustion or the fear you tried so hard to hide. The way his touch was always secure but never overbearing, grounding you without demanding more than you were willing to give.

He made you feel… safe.

It was dangerous.

Foolish.

But you let him stay anyway. You stayed with him anyway.

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight as you practiced another strike, the blade slicing cleanly through the air. Gaz nodded approvingly, stepping back just enough to give you space, though his presence was still a solid weight at your side.

“Better,” he said, his voice warm but firm. “You’re getting the hang of it, princess. Maybe you’ll give us a run of our money, eh?”

You lowered the blade, breathing hard as you wiped the sweat from your brow. You couldn’t find it within yourself to be humorous “I’m not sure it’ll matter in the end.”

Gaz frowned at that, stepping closer. “Don’t say that.”

You almost laughed. Almost. “You don’t understand.”

His hand came up then, gentle as he tilted your chin to face him. The look in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs- steady and sure, like he was trying to hold you together with sheer force of will.

“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted, voice low. “But I do know this- every time you get back up, it matters.”

You didn’t realize you were trembling until his hand dropped to your shoulder, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

“Don’t give up yet, princess,” he murmured, softer now. “Not on yourself.”

It was almost too much. Too kind. Too hopeful.

You wanted to tell him that hope had no place here- not in this endless loop of death and betrayal and grief. Not in this damned castle- but the words wouldn’t come, caught in your throat like fish in a net.

So instead, you let him take the dagger from your hands, let him press it back into its sheath before leading you toward the shade of the courtyard’s edge.

And when he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, you didn’t pull away.

Because for once, it didn’t feel like a burden to be seen.

Price was the hardest to read.

He was steady, commanding- his presence filled the room like the smoke of chimneys, lingering long after he was gone. He carried himself like a man who had seen too much and lost too many, and sometimes, when he looked at you, you thought you saw the ghost of something more.

He didn’t speak often, but when he did, his words stayed with you.

“Do you ever wonder, princess,” he asked one evening, standing by the window with a wooden cup of mead in his hand. You didn’t know how he’d even snuck it in, but you weren’t going to snitch. “if we’re all just pieces on your father’s board?”

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden question.

“All the time.” You said.

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, and there was something unreadable in it.

You wanted to ask what he meant, why the sudden question, but he turned away before you could, leaving you to sit and stew with the thought.

And stew you did.

Because Price wasn’t wrong, was he?

You already knew your father had lied- about these mercenaries, their orders, everything.

They weren’t here to protect you. Not really.

No knights would take you, no nobles wanted you, and no one in the kingdom would lay down their sword for a bastard-born princess whose only crime was existing. Yet here they were, these hardened men, mercenaries paid in coin and silence, assigned to watch your every move.

Not guard you. Watch you.

Keep you until the day you were dragged to your death once more.

You’d known it the moment Price first stepped through your door, his eyes sweeping the room like he was cataloging exits instead of protecting them. The others were subtler- Soap with his easy charm, Ghost with his patient silence, Gaz with his careful words- but Price?

Price didn’t even try to hide it.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because he didn’t look at you the way others did. He didn’t sneer, didn’t pity, didn’t hate. He looked at you like he was waiting.

Waiting for what?

For you to run? To slip up? To hand him the excuse he needed to drag you before your father in chains, so he could take the money and leave?

The thought made your stomach twist.

Because no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter- that the loop would end and begin again, and none of this would last- it still sank its claws into you.

And the next time Price caught you watching him from across the room, you didn’t look away.

Not at first.

He held your gaze, steady and unreadable, but there was no malice in it- no sharp edges or hidden teeth. Just something quiet. Something that almost felt like understanding.

When you finally turned away, you expected the weight of it to linger, to drag down your shoulders and settle in your chest like an unwelcome puff of smoke.

But it didn’t.

Instead, you felt the faintest flicker of warmth- barely there, fleeting as a dying ember- and hated how much you wanted to hold onto it.

Days turned to nights, and the hours slipped away like sand through your fingers. The loop pressed closer with every tick of the clock, and yet…

You didn’t feel so alone this time.

They were there- in the quiet moments, in the chaos, in the shadows of your worst fears- and though you knew it wouldn’t save you, you still let them stay.

Because this time, you didn’t have the strength to keep them away.

This time, you… wanted to have fond memories before your death.

Masterlist | Part Three

I hope everyone’s been enjoying this so far! Any guesses on why reader is in a time loop and who might be responsible? :3

[wtfaniii]

Saw this somewhere (can't remember where) and I'm DESPERATE to see your take on this. So Inho watches over the games bla bla bla but then suddenly he sees a familiar face of a girl he hooked up with once and so he convinces himself he's joining just for Gi-hun but in reality he wants to meet her again because he was lole dead set on making her wife number two after that night. Then theres this one time where they're eating together and she gives Jun-hee her food and denying she's hungry but then Young-il gives her his. Just ackkkkk praying you'll notice this one😓😓

Sorry for the delay but here is your order 😸

Old Love

Summary: You and In-ho had a fleeting but intense teenage romance, due to fate you separated and once again he had you in front of him making him awaken feelings buried deep in his heart.

Warning: some drama and just some Disney-style cheesiness LOL

Hwang In-ho (Young-il) x fem reader

—I promise to love you more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.

—You're too cheesy, ¿you know? —You said amused but blushing as In-ho scattered kisses all over your face.

—I know, and that's how you love me —He responded by taking your face to bring you closer to his lips and kiss you intensely.

He kissed you so hard that he pushed you back and the two of fell on backs onto the grass, your school uniforms were covered in dirt and the judging glances of some adults were present but you didn't care, when you were together the rest around you didn't exist.

—I have to go home or dad will kill me —You said with a laugh as you stood up and shook your skirt.

Your father wasn't the best man in the world, he was an alcoholic and usually spent all his money on that but your innocent and trusting heart still appreciated him, that was something that In-ho hated and loved at the same time, your heart was always more influenced than your brain so you refused to see the evil in some people.

So he spoke without thinking.

—You should stay with me tonight, mom will make samgyeopsal for dinner.

He didn't want you to go back home, at this time of the evening your father was already very drunk and you would be burdened with some chores, he hoped that tonight would be different for you.

You smiled and even though you knew it wouldn't be the best decision, you agreed to go with him to his house.

[...]

His eyes stopped on the screen and the glass of liquor stayed centimeters from his lips when he saw your face among those players.

It was impossible.

It had been thirty-seven years since he last saw you and yet there you were, with your hair disheveled, an anguished look and blood splattered on your face but to him you were still as beautiful as before.

He got up from his couch and left his room to go to the control center, he didn't want you to get shot for moving, he didn't want you to die now that he had seen your face again after so many years.

But maybe seeing you through a screen trying to survive would be torture, and him chances of protecting you would be limited.

Then he thought...

He also had to keep an eye on Gi-hun, he had to analyze every movement and thought of his enemy and the best way to do it was to infiltrate those games, to be one more among those people.

If he participated, he could protect you better and keep an eye on Gi-hun, two birds with one stone, but there was a slight problem, you knew him, that would put his identity at risk with the others, that would be a crime.

But it would also be a crime to let you die in there.

Of course, neglecting Gi-hun would also be very bad.

After a few seconds of thinking about this plan he finally made a decision, left his second in command, put on the green uniform with the number 001 and entered that arena when everyone was returning to the huge room.

He first observed you from a short distance, seeing you team up with Gi-hun and Player 390, you were sociable, just as he remembered, you were always very kind to others that's why you had friends everywhere.

But if you had as many friends as he thought, ¿how did you end up here?

After the vote In-ho approached you, when you saw him you didn't recognize right away, something that made it easier for him for lie about his name but after a few minutes sitting next to you while Jung-bae and Dae-ho talked about the navy excitedly he heard a soft squeal from you, seeing you he saw your surprised expression.

It took you a while to recognize him, he had changed a little after so many years, he was now more handsome but his eyes were the same, his gaze and attention to what surrounded him was still there.

—In-ho... —You murmured, still unable to believe it.

Luckily for him, he was the only one who heard your words, he made a sign to you to move away from the group so he could talk to you.

When him hand touched yours it was like feeling an electric current run through your body, your skin prickled and your breath caught in the throat.

[...]

—¿Are you sure? If you want me to stop, just tell me.

You smiled and kissed him cheek, it was nighttime, In-ho had sneaked into your bedroom through your window and now the two of were under the sheets trying to take a big step in the relationship.

—I'm sure, I want to do it... —You murmured, leaving another short kiss on him lips.

He was on top of you wearing only underwear and just as nervous as you, for both of it was the first time and you had no idea what were going to do but he would try to make it special and unforgettable, he wanted to make you feel loved and adored and that's what he was going to do.

Everything was going great in the relationship, went to school together, came home together, sometimes you went with him to his house to spend time with his family and at night he came into your room to love you body and soul.

[...]

—¿Why did you lie about your name? —You asked once if the two of were separated from the others

—It's hard to explain ¿but what are you doing here? I thought you lived in Canada.

He was full of questions and memories that overwhelmed him, as well as those butterflies in his stomach that he felt when was with you just like before.

You twisted lips as remembered that, you moved to Canada on a scholarship but due to your breakup with In-ho you were emotionally vulnerable, you got involved with people who didn't contribute to your life and they led you to the places are you now.

In-ho noticed your silence and knew that things hadn't worked out well for you since the last time you saw each other.

He just hugged you and you immediately responded. It was like a dream to be in him arms again, to smell him scent and feel him warmth.

—I didn't think I'd see you again... —You told him sincerely, your heart still belonged to him since you were sixteen.

—I'm not going to let you go this time...

It was a promise, he wasn't willing to let you go again like years ago, this time he would make sure to stay with you no matter the obstacles.

During his stay there he stayed close at all times, watching as you tried to be nice to the other players and managed to ally yourself with other sides, including one that included a pregnant woman named Jun-hee.

You were quite compassionate and kind despite the circumstances, you were still the same or so you seemed but he knew you well enough to lean towards the second option.

He didn't know what you had been through in that foreign country, In-ho just wanted to heal your wounds, take care of you and provide for you as he once promised in his teenage years.

—Take my food —You said to Jun-hee taking her hand to make her hold the small can —You need it more than I do.

Embarrassed and grateful Jun-hee took the food and smiled at you, when you returned with the rest In-ho handed you his food.

—Oh no I couldn't —You said, denying flatly, you didn't want to leave him without eating.

—Please eat it or your mood won't be as nice if you have an empty stomach.

He really knew you like the back of his hand.

In-ho always put your needs above his own, he was a gentleman to you and that would never change.

Even the last time you saw him, when you said goodbye at the airport, he was more concerned about your feelings than his own pain, he showered you with nice words and promises that were never fulfilled.

He was capable of anything for you but in those years of youth he had limited possibilities.

Not currently, that's why he didn't hesitate for a second to kill the player who was with you in the room during the Mingle game, the guards wouldn't kill you, nor him but he wasn't ready to give you explanations yet, he didn't want that side of him to come out with you yet.

However, your reaction to seeing him kill was something that felt like a pressure on his chest.

[...]

It was a weekend afternoon, you and In-ho were walking around a fair eating cotton candy and popcorn while looking for a mechanical game to test.

The roller coaster and carousel were fun but now you were looking for something more interesting.

—¿What would you prefer? Let the aliens take me ¿or offer someone else in my place?

—The aliens wouldn't take you, there's nothing in your brain that they find interesting — You joked amused.

He put a hand to his chest, dramatically indignant.

—You're cruel, but maybe you're right —He said with a soft smile as he held your hand again and kissed your cheek—But I would prevent the aliens from taking you.

—¿And who would you offer in my place? —You asked curiously.

—Oh I don't know... maybe-...

—My dad.

—¡Yes! ¡Your dad! —In-ho laughed at his own response, but felt you pushing him through the crowd to the opposite side of where they were walking.

He was about to ask what going on when he saw you arguing with your father, the man looked at him angrily as he tried to push you away to get to him.

You knew that your father wouldn't allow you to have a boyfriend, he used to call you "slut" just for seeing you talking to a boy and now that he had seen you so affectionate and happy with In-ho he was more than furious.

In-ho wasn't going to run away even if you asked him to, he wasn't afraid of getting hit if that meant defending your honor and dignity, so when you saw him get up and stand between you and your father, you felt like your heart had stopped in your chest.

You did everything to separate them, In-ho was at a disadvantage compared to your father, the man was big and rough, definitely your dear boyfriend took the brunt of his fury.

After minutes that seemed like hours, the police arrived at the scene and arrested your father and In-ho was taken to the hospital with a black eye, a broken leg and a split lip.

—I'm so sorry...

In-ho's heart hurt more than his physical wounds, seeing you cry and worried about him was unbearable and he didn't want you to go through that kind of violence again.

—Run away with me —He said seriously while sitting on the edge of the bed, the two of them waiting for him mother to arrive —I have worked and I have enough money to get away from here on the next train.

You looked at him in silence, you knew he wasn't joking but you couldn't leave, you had nothing to lose but he did, he had a family that loved him, a younger brother on the way and friends at school, you weren't going to drag him with you into your world full of worries and problems.

—I love you In-ho... —You murmured, leaving a kiss on the corner of him lips —But...

—But you don't want to leave... —he deduced when didn't get a concise answer.

Loving sometimes means letting go, he made you happy but you weren't the best for him, or at least that's what you thought.

Life had been so bad to you since you were little that and believed that happiness was not for you, you were not worthy of what In-ho gave you.

After that day you started to drift apart, In-ho wouldn't drop you off at your house after school and you didn't go to him house to eat anymore, the nights became lonely and little by little your relationship was ending.

Until two weeks later they offered you a scholarship that you accepted without hesitation only to walk away permanently.

In-ho didn't know until the day of your departure only because his mother told him, he practically ran to the airport and managed to say goodbye to you.

There were no words, just silent glances and a short hug before you got on the plane.

He let you go but he didn't stop loving you

[...]

—You killed that man —You said, still unable to fully process how this man you loved so much could stain his blood so easily.

Yes, this was a win or die competition but you didn't think In-ho was capable of going to such lengths to survive, plus you had the feeling he was hiding something from you, he didn't want to tell his real name and he was lying about some things.

—Yes ¿and? It was him or us —He replied, stopping his walk back to the room with the other players to turn to look at you.

He didn't want to have to give you explanations now, just wanted you to stay with him without asking the reason why he did things.

In-ho wanted you to trust him blindly again, just as he trusted you completely.

He extended a hand towards you without taking his eyes off yours.

—Stay with me this time.

You only hesitated for a few seconds.

—¿Do you remember what I promised you when I asked you to be my girlfriend? —You nodded silently, you remembered everything perfectly, ¿how could you forget? Any man who was with you after In-ho didn't fill that void in your heart.

—I still love you, I have since saw you and that's not going to change, stay with me this time.

The intense love they had was still there, it was a small flame that only needed firewood to regain the strength it had.

You took him hand and he smiled sincerely with love, as long as you were together the rest of the world was no problem.

—This time I'm not going anywhere without you —You said quietly just so he could hear but with certainty.

"I love you more than yesterday and less than tomorrow" For him these words were real when were about you.

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 1 - Innocence

My weekly helping of hurt with no comfort. Enjoy. CW: dead dove don't eat, torture, suicidal thoughts. poly 141 x reader who is accused of being a traitor... you know the drill.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

It hurts. There’s two types of pain.

The physical pain, the sting of your lungs as a cloth is placed over your mouth and water is poured over your face. 

The burn as your lungs beg for a beak in the relentless cycle. If you could speak you would beg them to stop. 

They won't listen, you know that. Maybe that makes it worse. 

Maybe that makes it harder to understand why they would do this to you. 

‘What’s your connection to Makarov?’ It's John. He always asks the questions. Gesturing at Simon to give you a break so you can answer. 

That's the second type of pain. You’re innocent, they don't know that. Right now you’re guilty in their eyes. The mental torture-your friends, your lovers, whatever you want to call them- they’re hurting you. And they’re not going to stop until they’re satisfied. 

That's never going to happen because they don't know yet.

They don't know you’re innocent. 

‘I have no connection to Makarov,’ you say between breaths. 

They don't know you’re innocent.

You can't blame them, they’re doing their job. For queen and country.

The rag is pressed back over your nose and mouth and more water is poured over it. 

You can't breathe, they won’t let you. 

Simon… 

Simon who has held you in his arms letting you pour your heart out to him is there, his hands around your face making sure you suffer.

Making sure you live.

Suffering is not enough, you need to live. 

They need you to live…

Kyle watches from the window. He refused to participate. He got a bollocking from Price. This is messy work. 

They keep you updated on Johnny's condition. Almost like that's supposed to change your mind. 

‘He’s in a coma, fighting for his life because of you!’ John snaps. 

Nothing you say can change their mind. No amount of begging or pleading. 

You tried to keep it together. You didn't last long. John and Simon know what they’re doing. 

The rag is removed from your face again.

‘How did Makarov know about the raid?’ John's voice is harsh, angry, loud and commanding. 

‘I don't know.’ you say. It's the truth, it's not you. You would never hurt them. 

They don't believe you.

Why should they believe you? 

You don’t know what evidence they have against you. Not that they would tell you, they’re keeping that information close to their chest.

They want to break you first.

You don’t stand a chance.

You don’t know how many days it’s been. Maybe that’s the worst. Physiological torture, is sometimes more effective then physical torture. They keep going for what feels like hours, until you’re vomiting back up the water that escaped down your throat. 

That’s when they stop, leaving the room in silence, your stomach raw, your body shivering. At least you’re alone now. That’s when you cry, pray, whatever you want. You get a few hours of loneliness before they start again. 

How could they do this, the people you love? 

Then you remember the shot ripping through Johnny’s chest. The screaming, the blood. The crack of his ribs under your hands as you pumped on his chest trying to keep him alive. 

Then the confusion. The data, the plans, Makarov knew everything, and according to all the evidence that was your fault. 

No, you know how they could do this. Because in their eyes you’re a traitor. In their eyes you might as well have shot Johnny yourself. 

Maybe that would have been better, then at least they would have given you a quick death.

next Hey, I kind of hate this trope but I do love writing it! IMO 141 would never just jump straight to torture of someone they loved without irrefutable evidence... Its fantasy though and that's what I love about fanfics! Banners by firefly-graphics

[marksbear2]

Hiii Papa!! I love your writing and so happy that you came back. And I hope your enjoying America!!

Im requesting Homelander x Male reader. And can it be headcanons? And also smut? I really love your spicy fics. Thank youuu

HOMELANDER X MALE READER

Hello, thank you for requesting!! I’m glad you like my writing and yes I’m having a great time in America so far. There’s not enough Homelander x reader so I’m happy to write for my man.

⚠️Warnings!!- Asshole homelander, humiliation kink, dirty talk, mentions blackmail, public, blow job, mirror, and etc. ⚠️

— You was the first ever man he ever don’t it with. He was a bit awkward but still had his cocky and brave persona. 

— He tried to top you for the first few times. He refused to let you even touch his hole. So you just let him top you until you got bored of it and decided to fuck him instead.

— Your his guilty pleasure, he hates the fact how he submitted his body to you. Not without a fight though, he wasn’t just going to let you fuck him. You had to work for it. 

— Homelander was devastated for days whenever you fucked him. He didn’t know how to act, he couldn’t believe he just handed over his ass to another man…the worst part of all to him was the fact that he enjoyed it.

— Homelander prefers taking it from behind so he doesn’t have to face you and you don’t have to see his face or anything. He always tell himself it’s a one time thing and will never happen again. 

— He swears that he hates you and your cock. He knew he was doomed that whenever he tried jerking off he couldn’t get hard at the thought of a woman or seeing a girl naked. But whenever he thought of you he got hard as an rock. 

— He refused to be kissed by you, he  struggle and avoid getting any sort of affection from you if it wasn’t strictly sexual.

— He likes taking it rough, he began to love and crave the feeling of your dick stretching his hole out and fucking him merciless. 

— He tells you not too pull or tug his hair whenever you two are fucking but doesn’t even protest when you do it. He loves it in fact. Forcing his head back and forcing him to look at you.

— He started to do good on missions and public interviews, so you could fuck him as an good job. He even began to look forward to coming over your house and even more secretly happy to be under you.

— You move his cape to the side and pull down the pants of his hero suit to fuck him right there and then. Numerous times you two fucked in the empty large office of the seven. 

— Whenever your fucking him senseless, his heat vision sometimes almost activates. His eyes glowing red as he is taking the hard pounding. He would let out moans and groans. Homelander mouth would hang open like some dog.

— He’s really bad at giving head. You’ll have to guide and talk him through it. His wet eyes slobbering all over your cock.

— People notice how he sometimes has an limp and the seven and other workers in Vought notice how he’s much more tame and has better manners then before. 

— Fucking him in front of a mirror and forcing him to watch himself getting fucked. You mocked and teased him about he’s supposed to be america’s hero and the only man in the sky the undefeated homelander enjoying having another man’s dick inside him. 

— Recording and taking pictures of him during sex turns him on. You talking about potentially blackmailing him in the future. His reputation in your hands. He doesn’t even try to cover his face or anything during the videos. Often laughed and moaned looking dead into the camera.

— Enjoys being your cumdump. He would sit on the floor or lay on the bed covered in your cum, as he beg and whine for more with his own cock in between his legs being hard as a rock.

— He would sometimes be incredibly covered in blood head to toe and the only thing he wants to do is to suck your cock. 

— He came in his hero suit before, you were mocking and taunting him calling him all sorts of things while tugging his hair and pushing him around. He doesn’t last long whenever your dirty talking to him. He can’t handle those words.

 — He’s truly pathetic for you. He would get on his knees and hump your legs while looking up at you begging you to fuck him. He would rub his boner against your legs and such. He would whine and grumble and began to imply that he will kill people if you don’t give in to his needs right now. 

— He sucks onto your nipples. He would grope and fondle with your pecs sucking your nipples and pinch and tug onto them. 

— The first time he came untouched and hands free from your cock inside him. He broke. 

— It made him realized that he only wanted you and only you. He frequently begged and asked more longer rounds and such. He would be bent over with his hands over his head shooting his white streaks of cum while you drive your cock inside him.

— You two fucking in empty alleyways in the middle of the day. 

— He would have random wet dreams about you, and also day dream about you fucking him during random times. He could be spacing out thinking about you jerking off his cock and dirty talking to him.

— You pressing him against a window and fucking him right there and then. Homelander loved the thrill. If anyone looked up they could see the Supe naked body pressed against the glass.

— Tying his hands behind his back and forcing him to choke and suck your cock while recoding him. 

— He ashamed since his guilty pleasure is that he wants a threesome. He wants you and some other man to ruin and fuck him at the same time. He wants to take both of you guys. He hasn’t told you about his wish but hopes it can come true one day.

THE END

[whatiswrongwithpeople]

Shattered Silence

Jayce Talis x reader

Warnings: none, no spoilers for s2 , not connected to any canon plot

Prompt: An enemies to lovers story; “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Notes: I KNOW some people are absolutely hating this man now but I had this sitting in my notes app and just need to set it free. I hope there aren’t any mistakes , but once again it’s been written in my notes app-

Part 2

Jayce Talis was no stranger to the silence of late nights in the lab. The rhythmic hum of Hextech crystals, the faint flicker of blue light against metal, and the steady scratch of pen against paper were his constant companions. Tonight, like so many nights before, he found himself hunched over blueprints, mind locked in the methodical process of refining designs. It was easier to work late when there were no interruptions, no voices cutting through the quiet—especially not yours.

Jayce had never met someone more infuriating than you.

You were brilliant, there was no question about that. Your intellect had earned you a coveted place alongside him on one of Piltover’s most ambitious projects. But from the moment you two had started working together, it had been like throwing oil onto a flame. You clashed on nearly everything. You were methodical, calculated—always challenging his more instinctive, risk-taking approaches.

“I don’t see why you can’t grasp that stabilizing the core will reduce its volatility,” you had said during one of your many arguments.

“And I don’t see why you insist on slowing down innovation for the sake of caution!” Jayce had shot back.

The entire lab had been forced to endure your bickering. And it wasn’t just the disagreements over schematics that drove the wedge deeper. It was the way you two refused to back down, constantly pushing and challenging each other.

Jayce had always prided himself on being the best. He’d been driven by that mindset ever since he was a child, determined to prove himself worthy of his place in Piltover’s elite society. But you? You were a different kind of competitor. You weren’t driven by arrogance, as he had first assumed, but by a fierce need to prove yourself. You didn’t have his connections, didn’t have the same privileges. You’d clawed your way up through sheer talent and hard work, and you weren’t about to let anyone—even Jayce Talis—make you feel like you didn’t belong.

That realization had hit Jayce like a punch to the gut one night, weeks ago, after one particularly nasty fight.

** flashback a few weeks ago**

“I swear, if you could just stop bulldozing over my ideas for one second, you’d realize we’re trying to solve the same problem!” you snapped, slamming your notebook down on the lab bench. The room was empty save for the two of you, the other engineers having wisely fled after the first thirty minutes of bickering.

Jayce glared at you, jaw tight. “I’m not bulldozing—”

“Don’t.” Your voice was sharp, a warning edge in your tone. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you’re not dismissing everything I say just because you think you know better.”

Jayce’s fists clenched at his sides. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect you; he did. But you constantly pushed him in ways that no one else did, constantly questioned him, and it made his blood boil. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this. Not by someone like you.

“Maybe if you’d explain your ideas instead of acting like you’re the only person in the room with a brain—” he bit out, stepping closer to you, his frustration bleeding into every word.

You met his gaze without flinching, that fire in your eyes blazing hotter than ever. “Maybe if you weren’t so full of yourself, you’d actually hear what I’m saying!”

Jayce had taken a breath to fire back another retort, but then he’d seen something flicker in your expression. For just a moment, the anger cracked, and there was something else underneath. Hurt, maybe. Vulnerability. It was fleeting, but it was there.

He didn’t say anything, and you had turned away, picking up your notebook with a quiet sigh. “Forget it,” you muttered, heading for the door. “I’ll just rework the damn equations on my own.”

Jayce had watched you go, something unfamiliar twisting in his chest. He’d thought about going after you, maybe saying something—anything—to defuse the tension. But his pride had held him back, and instead, he had let you leave.

That had been the first time Jayce had realized that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t angry with you because you were wrong. Maybe he was angry because you were right, and he hated that someone could challenge him the way you did.

From then on, the tension between you two had only grown. Arguments became sharper, filled with undercurrents neither of you acknowledged. He could see the way others noticed it, the way their eyes darted between you and him whenever a heated discussion threatened to boil over. They weren’t just seeing two colleagues who couldn’t get along. They were seeing the thin line between rivalry and something else.

But that something else was dangerous. It was a fire neither of you were ready to touch.

**end of flashback**

Tonight, Jayce had resigned himself to another long night in the lab, the familiar hum of Hextech energy his only company. That was, until the door burst open with a force that made him jump.

His irritation was immediate. Of course, it would be you, barging in without a second thought. “If you’re here to argue about the core stabilizer again, I’m not in the mood,” Jayce muttered, not even looking up as he continued scribbling on his blueprints.

But then there was silence. No sharp retort. No biting comment.

Frowning, Jayce glanced up—and almost immediately his stomach dropped.

You stood frozen in the doorway, but you weren’t your usual fiery self. Your hair was disheveled, the neat, professional attire you always wore was wrinkled and disordered, as if you had thrown it on in a rush or hadn’t cared enough to fix it and your face... your face was pale, eyes wide and rimmed with unshed tears. Something had happened.

“I... I didn’t know where else to go,” you whispered, your voice cracking in a way so unfamiliar to Jayce’s ears that it almost made him flinch.

“What—” Jayce’s brain stuttered, not understanding, confusion and concern flooding his senses all at once. He had never seen you like this—vulnerable, shaken. You were always the one with sharp retorts, the one who could throw him off balance with a single glance. And now? Now you were standing in front of him, broken, and he didn’t know what to do. But when he turned fully to face you and noticed the sheer panic in your expression, all of his irritation, all of the snide comments he had prepared, dissolved instantly. “What happened?”

In a heartbeat, he was across the room, standing in front of you, his hands hovering just above your arms as if unsure whether to touch you, whether you’d let him.

“They—” you started, then choked on the words, your chest heaving with shallow breaths, hands trembling at your sides. “Someone broke into my apartment. I—I don’t know what they were after. They tore everything apart, Jayce. All of it. All my work... it’s gone.”

Hearing the sheer devastation in your voice, Jayce felt a surge of protectiveness swell inside him, his heart pounding as he imagined the scene. The thought of someone invading your space, of you coming home to find it destroyed... it made his blood boil.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked urgently, his voice tight with barely restrained anger.

You shook your head quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold yourself together. “No, I—I wasn’t there when it happened. But... everything was trashed. My work, my research, everything. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go back.”

Jayce felt a knot tighten in his chest. You—this person who was always so strong, always so put-together—looked like you were on the verge of breaking. And the fact that you had come to him, him , in this moment of vulnerability left him stunned.

Without thinking, he reached out, pulling you into his arms in a motion that was both instinctive and desperate. You stiffened at first, as if the idea of seeking comfort from him was the last thing you’d ever considered. But something inside you broke the moment his arms wrapped around you, and you let yourself sag against him, your hands clinging desperately to the fabric of his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Jayce tightened his hold, one hand resting on the back of your head as he cradled you against his chest, the other pressing firmly against the small of your back. He rested his chin atop your head, murmuring soft reassurances into your hair. “I’m here. We’ll figure this out.”

Jayce could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface as he thought about what had happened to you. His hand that rested on your back clenched into a fist as he imagined someone rifling through your things, invading your space, and leaving you terrified. Jayce’s anger surged, hot and violent, but he forced it down, knowing that what you needed right now wasn’t fury.

It was comfort.

You sniffled against him, your breath hitching as you tried to calm yourself, and his fist slowly unclenched, his fingers gently tracing soothing circles on your back. He hadn’t realized until now how familiar you felt in his arms, how right it felt to hold you.

For all the biting words and harsh glances the two of you usually shared, this moment was startlingly soft, intimate in a way that left him feeling raw.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You didn’t say anything, but you leaned into him more, your face pressed against his chest, your body shaking as you let out a soft sob. The sound of it cracked something inside Jayce, and he found himself holding you even tighter, as if trying to shield you from everything that had happened.

When you finally pulled back slightly, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, and Jayce’s heart ached at the sight of your tear-streaked face.

“Why did you come here?” he asked softly. It wasn’t accusatory—it was genuine curiosity. After all the arguments, the tension, he hadn’t expected you to seek him out in a moment like this. You let out a small, humorless laugh, your voice still trembling. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess... I guess because I knew you’d be here. And... you’re the only one who understands.”

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat. You were right. Despite all the arguments, all the bickering, you and Jayce did understand each other. You were alike in so many ways—both of you driven, both of you fighting to prove something, both of you carrying more weight on your shoulders than you let anyone see.

“I’m glad you came,” he said softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face.

A few hours later the lab was quieter, save for the steady scratching of Jayce's pen as he continued to make adjustments to the prototype in front of him. The tension that had once filled the room seemed to have settled, softened by the rawness of the earlier moments. You sat on the edge of his desk, your legs swinging slightly as you watched him work, the weight of what had happened still heavy on your shoulders.

Jayce had been focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled out a few final equations. But every so often, his eyes would flicker up to you, checking if you were still there, still okay. The silence between you was no longer strained or uncomfortable; it felt like an unspoken understanding that neither of you was ready to address fully yet. It was comfortable... for now.

Still, Jayce couldn’t ignore the way you were sitting there, curled inward as if the weight of the night hadn't lifted. The quiet vulnerability that had cracked through your usual armor made something stir in him. And as much as he tried to focus on his work, he couldn't shake the need to do something more for you.

Without saying a word, Jayce rose from his chair, his footsteps soft as he approached you. His mind raced—he wanted to offer more than just reassurances, wanted to do something that would make you feel *better*, something that would let you know that you weren’t alone in this. But what could he do?

Without overthinking it, he took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

The gesture was simple, but it felt significant. The warmth of the fabric enveloped you, and for a moment, you were taken aback. Your eyes lifted to meet his, surprise flickering across your face.

“It’s cold in here,” Jayce said, his voice softer than you had heard it all night. There was no bravado, no teasing edge like before—only sincerity. “You should stay warm.”

You didn’t know how to respond to the unexpected kindness, especially from someone who had always been so frustratingly distant. You had been expecting everything but this. His jacket was heavy, comforting, and as you tugged it around your shoulders, you found yourself grateful, even though you didn’t quite understand why.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. There was something different in your tone now, a softness, something you hadn’t let him see before. You had always been so sharp, so quick to hide any hint of vulnerability. But in this moment, with his jacket around you and his unexpected kindness lingering between you, it felt harder to keep up that armor.

Jayce watched you closely, his eyes softening as you adjusted the jacket. "I mean it," he said gently. "You don’t have to go through this alone. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

You nodded, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It wasn’t just the warmth of the fabric that calmed you—it was the understanding in his voice, the quiet way he was trying to reassure you without making you feel like a burden. The connection between you, so fraught with tension and arguments, felt... different now. Maybe it was because of everything that had happened, or maybe it was because you could finally see a side of Jayce that hadn’t been so guarded.

For the first time, there was no bickering, no cutting remarks, just the two of you in the quiet of the lab, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t come here,” you admitted, your voice quiet but steady. Jayce gave a small, knowing smile, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a step back. “I’m glad you feel safe enough to trust me with this.” he said , voice sincere.

You swallowed, nodding slowly. You didn’t know where things would go from here, whether the fragile peace between you would last. But for now, in this moment, it was enough.

[gay-dorito-dust]

You may request A batboys reacting to the death of the reader

First time writing for Tim, so he’s probs ooc in this one.

Dick feels as though he’s failed you.

He tries to act like he was fine but he was far from it and everyone knew it as they stepped on eggshells with him during this time.

Dick would often find himself sat on the very rooftops where he’d take you on countless dates or just to star gaze and talk as though you were still with him.

It was his own way of comforting himself with your loss but that was never enough to stop the tears that fell from his eyes when he spotted a bright star he’s never seen before until now, and laughs humourlessly.

‘I see you’ve finally made your way amongst the stars huh sweetheart?’ He’d say as your star would twinkle in response, making him chuckle. ‘You’re so beautiful, the brightest of your kind.’ He adds sombrely as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as he felt his heart sing out for you, only to receive nothing in return.

Reality was often disappointing but with you it was a fairy tale.

Waking up to you was a dream within itself and getting to do mundane things with you before heading off to work was something that could only exist in a daydream.

He knew Hayley misses you as badly as he does with how he’d hear the poor dog whine and whimper at the door, as if waiting for you to walk through it and tackle her with kisses and love like you always did, only to get nothing for hours.

‘I know, I miss them too.’ He says against Hayley’s fur as she whimpers and whines at the door. ‘I miss them so fucking much it hurts.’ He adds as he allows himself to mourn for you alongside his dog long into the night.

Jason blames himself for not being fast enough or strong enough to keep you protected and safe.

The apartment you once shared with him that only recently had started to feel like home to him now felt cold and haunted with the ghost of you, so much so to the point he avoids it at all cost.

Nothing felt right without you, everything felt wrong and unjustified that he became more ruthless then before on patrols just to let off some steam and would come back from them more beaten and bruised then normal.

He didn’t care, he couldn’t feel anything anymore with how numb he became after loosing you.

Dick and Roy would stop by to see how he was doing but each visit was the same with Jason refusing his older brother and best friend entry as he held one of your plushies tightly against his chest. He knows they mean well but he just couldn’t find it within himself to hear the same thing he’s heard from everyone else; It just felt disingenuous after a while and didn’t feel as though people truly understood the impact that you had on him throughout your time together.

Jason would become more destructive with himself and going headfirst into danger without a second thought and damns his teammates for dragging him out by the scruff of his neck as he fights and kicks out of their hold. He doesn’t want to be saved! He just wanted to be with you again, why couldn’t they see that?!

After loosing you Jason becomes more prone to angry outbursts and often lets them out on the wrong person but he couldn’t care less at this point, his favourite person was gone and he was left back where he was before you.

Lost and deeply afraid.

Tim would retreat from everyone and everything by cooping himself into his room, rarely to come out.

He’d rather rot in his bed and on his phone, looking through all the photos you’ve taken together and seeing just how happy you both were, all the while a pit in his stomach grew at the thought of all the plans you’ve made but would never get to do.

He hated how easily he gave you his heart and hated it even more at just how easy it was to loose you that he wishes that he could stop himself from meeting you for the first time, just so he could selfishly save himself from the best moments of his life and the inevitable heartbreak he’d soon suffer.

Tim would do anything in his power to get you back but knew that it just wasn’t possible.

He knew Jason was given life by the Lazarus pit but he wasn’t willing to subject you to that even if he was held at gunpoint. He’d rather you rest in peace than force you to live with the knowledge that you should technically be dead.

Tim would remain in his room, wondering about the what ifs and the what could’ve beens if you hadn’t died. Would someone have taken your place? Was your death an unchangeable fixed point in time that was meant to happen?

He would only be reunited with you in his dreams where he has saved you and you had gotten to live out the rest of your life happily, rather then left for dead in an alleyway not too far from the place where you were originally going to meet up for date night.

Damian dedicated his life to getting revenge.

He had lost the light in his life, so why should he think his adversaries should live when you weren’t even given the option?

There will be more bodies pilling up on the streets of Gotham at a faster rate than normal whenever Damian is on patrol, much to Bruce’s dismay.

His anger and grief was all consuming and that left little to no room for logic to make him stop and see what he was doing was no better than the thing that took you away.

Life was black and white for a long time for Damian and you were the colour.

You were the air he breathed and without you he was gasping.

He knew about the Lazarus pit in his grandfather’s possession and its mythical properties and how it gave Jason a second chance at life. However he was at a cross roads on using it for his own selfish gain, on one hand he could have you back and everything would be fine again, but on the other hand you wouldn’t be the version of you he fell in love with…

Damian didn’t know what to do. The grief, the anger, the sadness…it was all too much for him. He felt as though he apart of him was missing and he would never get it back, it just wasn’t possible.

Bruce feels as though nothing has changed since his parents death.

He may be older, faster, stronger and wiser but that didn’t mean nothing in the face of death, and your death only proved that to be true as he held you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he quietly sobs into your cold neck.

Much like Tim, Bruce doesn’t take care of himself anymore and it was up to Alfred to make sure that he doesn’t keep over and die unexpectedly.

‘They wouldn’t want this for you sir.’ Alfred would say as Bruce slams his hands down on the surface of his desk. ‘And what would you know that they want for me Alfred, y/n’s dead and it’s my fault.’ He would bark and bare his teeth at the only father figure he had in his life, a father figure whom has seen this expression bore on the young master’s face more times then he could count, but it still hurt him to see Bruce in pain and heartbreak.

‘They would want you to take care of yourself, sleep proper hours, eat full meals, shower, reach out to anyone,’ Alfred began to walk towards Bruce and place a hand on his shoulder, where he could practically feel the unbridled anger and pain radiation through him that he kept under control. ‘They wouldn’t want you to wallow in pain alone, Gotham needs you.’

‘And I needed them.’ Bruce replied sharply, aggressively wiping his eyes with his hand as he looks over at a framed picture of you that he always kept nearby. ‘All I wanted was them.’ He adds softly this time as he looks at Alfred, lost and confused at what to do now that his anchor was gone. ‘I miss them so much Alfred.’

Alfred brings Bruce into his arms, much like he did when he lost his parents, when he lost Jason and now you, allowing him to burrow his face into the Butler’s shoulder and softly sob into the fabric. Alfred felt his heart break even more as he rubbed Bruce’s back in an attempt of bringing him comfort. ‘I know master Bruce, I know, but you’d be doing their memory a great disservice by destroying yourself.’ The older man started as he looked over at the framed picture of you and smiled soberly, you were a beacon to Bruce and Alfred wasn’t afraid to say that he viewed you as his in law with how happy you made Bruce and that was all Alfred could ever want for him.

Now that you were gone, Alfred couldn’t help but feel that the manor got just that little bit lonelier without you.