#and now he's on the run for his life because he dared to help us. and you can't even find the time to help him find shelter and safety

[timegears-moved]

idk how people can choose not to fight taka to get onto the reshiram route and then refuse to have him accompany you while you're in the desert. it's like kicking an abandoned puppy.

[luludeluluramblings]

One thing I always wonder in Neglected! Reader scenarios that I haven’t seen anyone explore is Married/Single Mom! Reader. It’s drama and angst potential.

Like Reader having a boyfriend and getting pregnant while still living in the Wayne manor, and everyone just takes a little too long to figure out. Maybe they do find out early with the morning sickness and whatnot but the thought of Bruce looking at Reader like 6 months pregnant and being like “Wait a minute… 🤨” and Reader wasn’t even trying to hide it that much.

And same scenario except Reader moved out either while pregnant or got pregnant after, Batfam forgets all about them and when fate does bring them together (like the Bruce/Selina wedding concept) she is literally about to pop or has a whole baby with her. Cue Bruce (and later everyone else) losing his shit because omg??? 😧 that’s his first grandchild and he had no idea!!

… And then if the Reader is married in this scenario, makes it all the more complicated (she didn’t invite anyone to her wedding? what do you mean Alfred attended when we had no idea?). Everyone is straight up hostile towards her spouse (Damian, Bruce and Jason are insufferable) and safe to say he won’t be around for long. Single mom Reader though, the amount of emotional manipulation about kids needing a family and father figures and you should move back in so everyone can help with the baby… Yeah.

Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x SugarBaby!Reader x Older!Husband

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N:OOOOO, I have something I was working on that I was having fun with that you might like!

A/N:Neglected!Reader with Older!Husband. (It's husband because it's based of that meme Your daughter calls me daddy, too. And, Reader is Female, because we're making a baby in here.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You, sweet thing, do the typical thing and run off from home, once you turn the legal age. Checking in with Alfred on occasion, but just living your best life. Only, in typical fashion, all those years of neglect lead to severe daddy issues. And, a minor itty bitty attraction to older men.

You get lucky though because you manage to find a fine one that loves to spoil his baby girl with vacations and spa days. All the best for his baby. He loves taking you places and showing you a good time. So, it's no wonder he plans a Babymoon for you when you're expecting your first child. Anything for you.

Unfortunately, Daddy gets called into work right before the vacation. And, despite you insisting you stay, he makes you go and promises to join you as soon as possible.

(No, the man isn't cheating. He just gotta make the money for his baby.)

You have a good time, pregnant on the beach. Getting massages and spa treatments. Video calling your husband every time the baby kicks and flutters.

Unfortunetly, even though you haven't used the Wayne name since you've been married, some drug lords recognize you and decide to ransom you. Dragging you back to Gotham in your little sundress the just so hides your baby bump.

Gotham media runs with the story. Lost Wayne heiress held hostage. No one is ignoring that.

The bat's pull off a daring rescue, but you being stubborn, try to escape on your own. Fearing for your baby's life if they just happen to chose not to come. They never came when you were little, why would they come now.

You happen to injure yourself while escaping. But, manage to make it to an on scene ambulance while the Bats take care of the thugs. You happen to faint on the way to the hospital, leaving the doctor's discover you pregnancy.

Already the media is surrounding the hospital for the most drama filled story of the year. Thankfully, the paramedics have some compassion in hide the bump when rolling you into the ER.

With the media's attention, your husband flies into Gotham and makes it to the hospital just in time to ask the nurse where you are in front of Bruce.

Bruce, of course, bristles when a man his age burst in the hospital demanding to see you, but is using the wrong last name. The nurse saying only family can see you.

"That's my daughter," Bruce will say. Assuming this man is trying to claim you as his. But, he already did.

Making Bruce, the family, the nurses, the patients, and the reporter who managed to sneak in freeze when he says, "That's my wife."

Imagine the doctor that just finished checking on you and your baby walking in right after announcing that you were both okay. The look on Bruce's face when he realizes that this man, his age, not only married you, but had the audacity to put a baby in you.

Even better, the smug way your husband looks at Bruce when he brushes past him to follow the nurse to your room because husband beats father and you demanded to see him.

The drama that follows is going to be legendary.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this idea jotted down and fluffed it up just for this. I'm not sure you wanna know who I had in mind for Reader's husband. (Dude is from another franchise.) But, the thought of him interacting with Bruce as the guy who married Bruce's daughter and knocked her up, delights me in such a visceral way.

[tossawary]

The funniest "early family reunion" on the Death Star / crack canon divergence AU that I can think of right now is Darth Vader and C-3PO. Threepio gets separated from the others somehow and ends up running into Darth Vader in some random hallway, and it's just a real "What." moment for Darth Vader. (Threepio is screaming in terror and begging for his life, of course.)

Because, like, that's the droid that HE built for his mom. That's the droid that followed his wife around during the Clone Wars. What the fuck is Threepio doing HERE??? NOW??? Did Obi-Wan (Vader has still caught the Kenobi vibes on the station here, obviously) have Threepio for the past NINETEEN years? That asshole. That sounds SO annoying, too. Good. Obi-Wan deserves that.

Thankfully, this is not as catastrophic as Vader getting R2-D2, because Threepio has had a memory wipe and no one ever tells Threepio much of anything (he's got some information on the Rebellion but most of it is outdated, especially after the destruction of Alderaan). But Threepio has spent the past two days or so hanging out with Luke Skywalker, and also witnessed the destruction of the Lars farm, both of which as revelations may cause Vader to flip out in weird ways. (Artoo is STILL around too??? That traitor.) Possibly, this may be enough of a distraction to allow Obi-Wan to actually slip away and live, but maybe not.

The important thing is that Threepio is taken off the Death Star somehow, so he can become "Death Vader's gaudy gold-plated protocol droid who has anxiety and is annoying as hell but Vader takes him EVERYWHERE". Imperial soldiers from random troopers up to genuinely important Admirals occasionally have to deal with "droid-sitting" duty while Vader is out doing scary, evil Force of Nature stuff and they all hate it, because Threepio never shuts up, has a knack for wandering off (he's trying to pull a daring escape) and nearly getting himself torn to pieces (people have actually gotten hurt trying to follow him), and most people don't have the guts to just turn Darth fucking Vader's pet droid off for a little while. Vader COULD just reprogram him or put in a restraining bolt or take Threepio's legs off, but he can just pick Threepio up with the Force, so it's whatever to him. (There IS a tracker installed, but Threepio doesn't actually know where to run anyway.)

Threepio's official role is "translator" for Darth Vader, which Threepio has somehow taken to also mean "mediator". So, whenever an Imperial officer is getting threatened by Vader, there's a stuffy protocol droid behind him saying things like, "Oh my! I'd listen to him if I were you! What happened to the last fellow was rather unpleasant," and, "It's impossible to get good help these days, isn't it, Master Vader?" and it sucks. The only one who could really do anything to stop this is the Emperor and Darth Sidious couldn't care less about his apprentice's latest purse dog droid.

Unclear whether or not Vader at this point actually has any real fondness for this piece of his past / reminder or his lost loved ones, is just super lonely, secretly thinks Threepio's surprisingly deadly antics are funny, or is using Threepio as bait for R2-D2 (come get him, you little fucker) and the others. Might be a combination of all these things.

[gremlingottoosilly]

konig falls in love with his therapist and kidnaps her because he thought her compassion was her showing interest in him

how instead of breathing exorcises as a coping strategy he’s using therapist!reader as a fleshlight for a coping mechanism

You dared to say he has a problem with showing affection and committing to people in non-violent ways. He can be good at showing affection! Great, even! And he will show it to you once he is settled with the basement where he is going to keep you for the rest of your life. At least now you will have time for therapy sessions when he needs it - because you're literally going to be at his beck and call. And on his cock, too. You whimper something about him still having a chance at redemption if he just lets you go, that his coping mechanisms in the form of kidnapping people he cares about are not healthy and won't help him in the long run - but he doesn't fucking care, not when he can pepper kisses across your face and make you warm his cock with your pussy like any good specialist should. Fuck the boundaries and morality - Konig is convinced he can heal his social anxiety by banging his cute therapist. Surely, this is going to make him so much better as a human being. He is very good at breathing, exercises, and counting to ten when it involves plunging his cock deep into your warm pussy and making you milk him for all his worth. He is even better at listening to you when your words are muffled from his cock entering your mouth. If you really want to help him become a functional human being, you will have to adapt - and you will have to let him nuzzle in your chest and listen to his rambling about how much he fucking hated his parents and his old classmates. This man is a bundle of psychological curiosity, and you sort off feel like an explorer, trying to understand whatever the fuck is wrong with him. It's almost impossible to know, honestly - but you're trying to unwrap the layers of trauma settled in this man's head. While giving him head, yes. Konig keeps his pretty therapist chained to his bed and only ever lets you roam around when you're indulging in his mommy issues and domestic fantasies, creating a stable home environment that he never had as a kid. Playing his wife and a little bit of a caretaker, making sure he eats 3 meals per day, all of his snacks, and gets to fuck your pussy while you stroke his head and ask him how many people he killed on his last mission. It is fucked up - but it's a civil service in keeping this man in check.

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

Tag list:

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@an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @ellie-x0xo @blkmystery

[mournings-stars]

Maybe the wrapping wings around heddies but the reader wraps their wings around the characters?

okay i rly like this but what about with characters that don’t have wings?? (lmk if yall want characters w wings cus this is kinda silly funny haha)

charlie

she loves when your wings wrap around her — every time she hugs you, she’s waiting for that extra warmth and when it comes she just hugs you even tighter

she wouldn’t ask you to do it, but if you put a wing around her in public she’s trying not to get too excited

cuddling is a must for wings. you’re sitting on the couch? she wants a nice feathery blanket. lying in bed? same thing. watching a scary movie? she’s using your wings as a shield to duck under anytime theres a jump scare

if you asked her if she’d like a wing, she’s the happiest you’ve ever seen her

“im starting to wonder if you’re just dating me for my wings,” you’d joke and she’d laugh and say, “they’re definitely a plus” while running her finger over the top of one (this girl likes to tease i know it)

she loves when you cuddle up to her and wrap your wings around her, like she just melts

she does not let anyone play with them. ever. if niffty tried to go scurrying around them, she’s taking her away faster than she can blink

your wings are hers as much as they are yours, but that’s a silent rule between you two that she doesn’t plan on voicing

she just gives “let me be your wings” from thumbelina vibes like you would have a duet like that

alastor

now if you ever need to gossip, he’s clearing his throat and you’re shielding your conversation with your wings while you two laugh and whisper

he does not want anyone touching him but if you put a wing around him he knows you guys have some important business to talk about

sometimes you throw up your wing, whisper, and he has to stop himself from laughing when you quickly put your wing down, alastor batting it with his microphone as you laughed

now if he’s ever hurt, that’s when your wings go around him, making sure no one sees so he can escape to saftey

you’d always come to his rescue even if he got mad at you for it, wings wrapping around him as you struck his attacker faster than he could summon his shadows (and he definitely gets pissed about it but hey what are … friends …. for!)

wings are for shit talking and the occasional life saver when it comes to al

angel dust

he loves the security of your wings

after a long day, you’d just lie in his room, wings wrapped around him as he held you close — he’d either fall asleep or want to sit in silence like that, but either way you were happy to help

sometimes you’d just sit at the bar, wing around him as you talked and laughed together

whenever you went out together, your wings were a strict barrier that no one dared to cross. you put a wing in front of angel when some guy approaches him? he and every other demon are backing off for the rest of the night. you’re walking down the street? wing around him and no one is approaching you

he definitely asks you to do it (in his own very special way) and he likes to tease you when you’re around other people

but you both know he treasures the safety your wings give him

pentious

my boy pentious 100% thinks you’ve turned against him the first time you drape your wings over him — you could’ve literally been sleeping and he’d accuse you of trying to smother him

“i was sleeping!” “your subconscious mind plans to kill me, too!”

he warms up to it though because the next time it happens you’re fast asleep and theres no attempt to block his airways, or whatever he thought you’d do, so he snuggles into the warmth

being a snake (i love snakes im gonna b a lil nerdy about this one) pen likes to burrow. especially at night. he’d start to curl up under the warmth of your wings and rest there until you eventually moved

some days you’d wake up and he’d be completely hidden beneath your wings. if you lift one, he’d very quickly tug it back (definitely how he found out about sensitive wings)

he felt very bad :(

cherri

wings are for parties!

they give you the best dance numbers — dramatic reveal, awesome poses, super dope flying routine…!

then they’re for comedowns because once you’re home from the club shit hits the fan and you’re wrapping your wings around her so she can even try to sleep

but then the morning comes and you brush it off cus it’s time to blow shit up!

definitely using your wings as a shield though — they’re probably dyed pink and red by now, with all the times you’ve had to cover the two of you from explosives

but she finds it super hot so…

velvette

she likes to fuck with you

1000% uses them as her personal armor — you’re basically a body guard

she’ll wrap them around herself while looking in the mirror, modeling your wings like a feather coat

“my wings are not going in your collection,” you’d have to tell her, still pulling her closer with them as you met her eyes in the mirror

“yeah, guess you’re right. can’t have anyone else getting a hold of these, can we?”

she loves being wrapped in them while she sleeps — she loves you sleeping next her, cause then she can lay them however she wants

it’s always best when you’re wings fold in and bring her closer though

definitely been used for a private moment in the office

she says they’re your best asset

vox

now this man is, under no circumstances, letting you wrap your wings around him

in public? absolutely not…

in private? well…. no! totally not!

at least not until you’re asleep and he’s situating himself beneath them. it’s not his fault a feather blanket helps him fall asleep

you’ve definitely waited until he fell asleep, draped you wings over him, and watched him relax into them

he’s not slick

like at all

not even in public

he’ll touch them and the minute one even wraps around him, his screen is buffering

speaking of in public… just wait til you’re at a party. he’s drunk and all over you, touching your wings, handling them like their his own, you have to use them to shield the two of you when he gets too handsy, and he loves it; pushing your buttons until your wings are around him and being more than satisfied by that

niffty

girl is crazy

she cleans them, climbs on them, inspects them (almost rips the fuck out of your feathers)

there’s no way you can wrap that girl up, she’s too quick

but she would love petting them and thats why shes here

[anantaru]

EX HUSBAND NEUVILLETTE

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband neuvillette headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, fluff, crack lmao, he‘s trying his best, very rough like he’s feral!!!!, fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, but the sweetest man, a little possessive without him realising

ex! husband neuvillette, who— as was wildly anticipated, would not instantly vanish from your life nor leave you stranded alone beside the mental toll that a separation would leave on the both of you— even after the grief-stricken divorce was at last, ultimately finalized and carried out.

ex! husband neuvillette who thought that— with the fullness of his devastated heart, that in his own very eyes, it was beyond a doubt commonplace to aid and assist his ex-wife in the so called "aftermath" of your troubling divorce, whilst more urgently, be in no qualms that you're being cared for with everything and anything you could possible need.

ex! husband neuvillette, who of course, would double check with you to not suddenly overstep any boundaries or take up space that you might need— yet bare in mind, if you were to ask him for help on any matter really, he'd immediately leave everything behind to fulfill your wishes first, considering he is used to it, but the man will tend to forget about his own personal needs which he needed so he could function properly— yet now with you out of the picture, walking back to his current reality was becoming a taxing task.

ex! husband neuvillette, who, aside from his own separate challenges and demands, would never dare to cast aside his important work of practically running the nation of hydro. much obliged, he was a prestigious, praiseworthy man, thus the reason for him to pull more effort and sleepless nights into his occupation.

ex! husband neuvillette who couldn't believe that you both were divorced in the first place because in all seriousness, there wasn't much changing and aside from a couple instances, for example that he wasn't seeing you frequently, it felt the same way to him.

ex! husband neuvillette who, after a couple weeks into your divorce, will suddenly become a little more distant, not responding to letters you would occasionally send to make sure he was okay— with the immediate turbulent, overcast weather in fontaine adding to the closing eeriness of the entire situation. it's constant, clouded and gray, a mirage of cold rain and an incoming storm, and the people of fontaine will begin to question what had happened or if it was simply an unlucky past couple of weeks.

ex! husband neuvillette who doesn't like the idea of divorce, as might be expected he understands it, but in his own regard, he does not approve of it, but he accepts it— additionally, he wouldn't force you to stay with him, again, why he had agreed on it in the first place. the man would lie to himself if he'd say that it doesn't break his heart, the unclouded thought of wholly erasing the person he referred to as his 'wife' off his entire life was a frightening pondering.

ex! husband neuvillette wasn't willing to accept it, ever, but he did it for your sake and the small possibility of you becoming close again, in the future? perhaps, he was willing to wait endlessly, condemning himself to a lifetime in darkness, knowing full on well that his most desired dream to reconcile arguably wouldn't come true— on top of that, after careful, deep talks on how to properly navigate your divorce and being separated from now on, you have both ultimately agreed on remaining 'friends' in a sense, such was easy to state of course but you longed to make the best out of it, or at least try.

ex! husband neuvillette who will against all odds, still keep his wedding ring put on its designated place. granted, he had gotten quite accustomed to the feeling of it being wrapped around his finger and doesn't want to take it off. if you do decide to ask him about it, given that you aren't wearing yours anymore, he will plainly state that he got used to it way too much and it had grown on him, really, becoming a part of his person so ultimately taking it off would result in the same as him severing a limb off his body.

ex! husband neuvillette who still calls you his wife unintentionally, in the beginning of the first couple of weeks, it will happen almost all the time. be that as it may, he doesn't do it on purpose to somehow hurt you or make you uncomfortable, and he was aware of the fact that he needed to get accustomed to the feeling of being single again, of not being married anymore but calling you his wife just warmths his chest and hugs him from inside and out.

ex! husband neuvillette bets on it, it's like his whole day could be stacked with work on end, without a second of tranquility in sight, rain droplets covering the nation of hydro, but when he thinks about you, only you, a smile coruscates over his soft lips, increasing his heart beat, it's all so painful but he wouldn't want it any other way because nothing, and he emphasizes it deeply, nothing would be as painful as having you gone form his life.

ex! husband neuvillette who, and pay attention now, this would only happen if his strong, rational thinking skills and durable emotions towards keeping the laws of this world truthful were somewhat altered in an instance of weakness, but he would adore to throw and punish every new person you would date after him behind bars, yet not before properly dragging them to a trail that they cannot win, for him to look down on them— again, it's a small fantasy he wouldn't bring into life, he honored his noble work.

ex! husband neuvillette who knows that even day dreaming about such wrongful ideas were full of holes and malice, yet beyond it, he keeps himself restrained in not interfering in your new relationships— which he had thought must be a lot, you could say he believed that you were already out and about in the dating world, overthinking the worst out of all possibilities that could happen.

ex! husband neuvillette who will oftentimes send the melusines out to check up on you and tell him how you're doing— no, don't misunderstand, he doesn't want to know if you were dating again, he wouldn't, after all, this was your personal life and he wasn't your husband anymore. but then again, surely checking every now and then wouldn't hurt a soul, right?

ex! husband neuvillette will send you freshly picked flowers frequently, or have your favorite dish made by a professional chef. how can i forget to mention that he tends to buy a small, cute souvenir that would remind him of you and send it your way instantly. at how things were slowly progressing, the man will be quite embarrassed in facing you again, granted that you had promised to remain friends, he fears that the constant raining and pouring around fontaine would make it desperately obvious on how he was truly feeling, what can there be left anyways, nothing but the untouchable part of him, his aching soul begging for closeness.

but ex! husband neuvillette does not want to trouble you, fearing he might become overbearing in his doings, but he misses you, this time it's more raw than that, more exposed, more pure. he longes for a moment where he can see and feel you again, his mind circling through emotions and pondering, sinful dreams stitching his psyche together and calming down his heart.

ex! husband neuvillette who will be surprised, yet overly thrilled as if he was about to jump off his chair, when you ask the sweet melusines to hand him over a letter— the scent of the thin paper reminding him of your fragrance, a similar one he noticed whenever he kissed your neck. beyond question, they couldn't have told him fast enough, he finishes up the necessary work load for the day, at once forging ahead to your once shared house. you know it by now but he does not falter, he wants this to be perfect, carefully picking up a bouquet of flowers, with the flowers in questions being the very ones that have been decorating your wedding venue back in the day, oh sweet memories, he hopes he doesn't come off as crazy.

ex! husband neuvillette who tries to play it cool, it's not a big deal, but why were his hands sweating? his breathing was fast too, burgeoning, each following step towards your home, his limbs and muscles would begin to tremble, it's evident and almost aflame, but the weather has been nice again all of a sudden, for once in fontaine and he couldn't wait to see you.

ex! husband neuvillette who cannot say anything when you open the door for him, all these miles with the memories of your passionate time together pouring back into his mind. it's silly, but so real, and there was a silence, although not of an uncomfortable kind, it was overthrowing the hefty atmosphere.

and honestly, you think ex! husband neuvillette was cute when he was all overwhelmed and bereft of speech, even cuter when he’s silently walking past the door, your hands slowly wrapping around the bouquet of flowers to place them aside, on top of a wooden drawer before panning your eyes back into his grasp— which was his piercing, conquering gaze.

you could perceive the cutting tautness, how the reinforced pressure alone couldn't be torn, not with a sharp knife, no sword, no blade, because forthrightly— there wasn't anything on this planet that was able to part this emerging and crashing body chemistry.

all fairness to the situation— your captivation was off the charts, two people unable to coexist while parted, searching within your souls to understand what was happening. yet then it hit you, that maybe— heavily placed on a single maybe, that there might've been a cruel mistake in how things ended between you both;

or did they end?

because like a bullet piercing through soft flesh, it gave the impression away as if you were both moving closer to your sweet frames until you could clearly feel his warm, clothed chest pushed against your own— hopeful eyes remained locked within your gazes as you carefully slide your hands behind his neck without breaking his stares.

ex! husband neuvillette whose breathing was all fast and hasty, yet much swifter was his never ending intention to kiss you again and taste your lips in the process, he cannot stop himself anymore, but he must— for some reason, he cannot fathom that this might be reality and that you both would have a second chance in this life after all.

"kiss me." you suddenly whisper, eyes aglow with his own enlarging at the nervous utterance, subtle touches weaving together and showing your open truths.

ex! husband neuvillette feels how tense he has gotten and tries to relax— on top of that, he was reminiscing about the past and the bare memories of your writhing body splayed under his large one, his entire weight on top of you, just the whisper of his sinful imagination made his mouth water— he truly believes he was in fact dreaming right now, especially when you tell him to kiss him again.

there were no thoughts to process anymore, no focus he could grasp on to remain clearness— what was left were true, unfaltering desires and the scalding pain of waiting. that‘s when you kiss him instead, his body immediately welcoming your fervid warmth, pulling his head towards your own in a heart beat.

ex! husband neuvillette felt a heavy hardship being lifted off his shoulders the moment your lips touch his, and each one of the words he had planned to spell out to you, they form into a sting that was beating into his heart, repeatedly, the sharp stitches seeping into his veins slowly. and he refuses to cry in front of you, or expose to you that everything that had happened after your separation was covered in nothing but a silent numbness.

swallowing the lump in his throat, ex! husband neuvillette guides you to the bedroom, it was hard to decipher what was real or not, each motion of your lips rounding across his own felt like he was dreaming the most beautiful dream of them all. the whisper of cold air brushes across your bodies when he opens the door to the cold room, his own imagination going wild when he peeks at the neatly made bed, or the wooden drawer next to it, still having your wedding picture on display.

ex! husband neuvillette who takes his time in undressing you, the fear of someone taking you away from him again, even now, was still there and he wanted, no, needed to relish in this as good as possible. neuvillette wets his lips, nervous, "my love.. are you sure about this?" and he hesitated for a second— but when you tug at his own sleeves now, fondling with the expensive garment, nodding your head and expertly wrapping your digits into the thin fabric to help him out of it, he knows you wanted it as badly as he did, popping his arms back so you could pull his coat down, your mouth twisting into a subtle smile.

ex! husband neuvillette who touches you featherlight, slowly parting your legs to settle in between, and butterflies expand in your belly when you admire his beauty from up close again, his muscles twitching when you decide to lightly graze his skin with your fingertips, smoothly sliding over his chest before wrapping your arms around his neck. 

ex! husband neuvillette who could honestly cry the moment he first slides his cock into you again, kissing you again and again, more deeply, more feral and in need before licking into your mouth, leaving his large hand to wander down to the plush of your ass and push you into the mattress when he first bottoms out of you. you're so warm, wet and comfortable while you're clamping down on him. and neuvillette pistols his hips like an electric light, hoping he'd be able to hit so deep inside your warm cunt till you practically feel him stir up your guts.

and a moan slowly builds up in your throat as your tits brush against his strong chest— whilst neuvillette places a delicious, fast pace on you, the bare strength of his thrusts making the headboard bounce back and forth the wall as he nibbles on your bottom lip while fucking his cock into you, your gummy walls squelching at each well received pump.

ex! husband neuvillette who roughly palms your tits and plays with your nipples with his hips moving in a feral tempo— whilst those breathy, wet pleas of your name, the ones he whispered against your ear, evolve into gluttonous, hungry groans, whilst the thought about losing all of this made it more difficult for him to say anything at all, his throat acting as a trap for that one sentence he intended to spell out, the sound of it awaiting to break free— but the nervousness couldn't be surpassed as he takes a hold of your hand, desperately clutching on it before grinding his erection back into you, a pulse surging through the entirety of your walls.

ex! husband neuvillette who finds it mesmerizing on how you were so responsive to his every nibble and touch, his thudding cock diving between your legs while he fists your tits in his warm hand, your lips parting with cries and begs while meeting his hungry pace.

his hips, much bigger than yours, keep hitting into you, a lustful gaze on your facial expression clouding your mind as he makes you feel so unbelievably good, soaking your sheets as you kiss him, famished and hot, feeling his needy grunts exhaling through his lips as you clench down hard, gazes meeting once and for all, "i love you." you say, almost cry it out, and neuvillette wanted to be patient with you, claim your body to its full exhaustion afterwards, but not now, he cannot keep his cool this time— not anymore, not after you said those very three words he wasn't able to utter out all night.

you're truly driving him insane, and his body was pressing hotly against yours as you wiggle and writhe under him, puppy eyes watching him please you from under your lashes while you’re requiring more of his cock in you, please please, you say, your pussy clamping around his girth and milking him for good.

ex! husband neuvillette who tells you, "i love you too, i love you too.." in quick, fast paced syllables, and the burning veins in his body turn numb when you begin to cry out of joy and pleasure, hastily pushing your heels into his back to signal him to fuck you harder as he pounds away into your creamy pussy, dragging his hard erection along your sore walls and burning pleasure spots.

now— your nails simmer over his defined back, both sweetly indulging in each others company and the feeling of being one again, nothing else but solid, fast paced pleasure which was turning him on, so fucking much, his breathing puffed and winded, throwing his head back as you're doing your best to match his insane rhythm.

your pussy swallows him up like magic, your damp lashes tickling his shoulders as he buries his face against your neck to suck on the wet flesh, in accessory to the numerous amount of praises, declarations of love and filthy curses plastering your sweaty skin. or how about the swallowing screams and begs of your name that ripple through him as you moan out fervently, twitching under his towering body and arching your back.

oh, well? it's now or never your “ex” husband fears, and he decides to push his pulsing cock deep into your hole, deeper, just a little bit more, please! until you're desperately screaming into his shoulder, as far as it can fit into your little pussy, sending you over an intoxicating edge.

and ex! husband neuvillette was, at long last, back at where he should be, where he should've been all along, with you, making passionate and meaningful love to each other, because the man needed it, needed you close to him, and he cannot and will never again, paint the world without you in it.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[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."

[ozzgin]

Can I have yandere Aka Manto x Reader? I see you write Japanese myths, cuz why not?

Yandere! Urban Legend x Reader [Aka Manto]

You never know when you're going to meet your soulmate. It could be on a beach at sunset, on the last bus home, in the elevator of an office building...Or in a public bathroom after you just finished your business. Nevertheless, this urban legend monster has its eyes on you now.

Content: gender neutral reader, urban legend, part horror part comedy, gore!, monster romance

"Are you deaf? It's occupied!" you shout one final time, giving the door a swift kick to emphasize your presence. That's what you get for using a public restroom. Your coworkers had convinced you to try out another bar after the company dinner, and you might've had one too many cocktails. Thankfully most of the drinks were watered down, although it is exactly because of this detail that you're now hovering above a toilet seat with a full bladder. On a Friday night, in the partying neighborhood of the city, so it could explain the persistent stranger - possibly even drunker than you - who keeps rattling the lock of your stall.

To your horror, the handle begins to turn, and you hear a click. You scramble to get up and secure the door, but it's too late. With your pants halfway down, you gawk at the bizarre individual squeezing his way in: a tall figure wearing a red cloak and a mask. "What the Hell?" is all you can mumble to yourself, awkwardly gathering your garments in order to preserve your remaining ounce of dignity. Out of all the things to happen tonight...Alright, calm down. It's most likely a crackhead. You cast your eyes down and focus on the floor tiles, with patterns strategically chosen to hide as much grime as possible.

Pretty. Almost too pretty to kill. He might just take his time with you and savor the moment. Of course, you'll have to answer his question first. With bureaucratic efficiency, he pulls out two rolls of toilet paper and extends them to you. "The red one, or the blue one?" he asks with theatric gravity. What in the Avon samples Hell is this, you think, fidgeting nervously and avoiding any eye contact still. If you ignore him, he should lose interest.

A minute passes in heavy silence. His ghastly arms begin to tire, so he lowers them with a disappointed creak of the joints. "Y-you have to pick one", he insists. Damn it! Perhaps you've been told what to do if approached by mischievous spirits like him? Ignorance means you keep your head, though he was hoping for a gory night of entertainment. You can almost feel the intense stare coming from behind the eerie mask. The tension becomes unbearable, so you finally decide to push your luck. You will not spend the night stuck with a deranged pervert looming over you in a public bathroom.

Without further delay, you shove him aside and open the door. He lets out a surprised hum, observing your daring gesture and almost expecting you to run for your life. To his even greater shock, however, you stop to wash your hands with a relaxed whistle, completely unbothered by his presence. What happened to the fear, the terror, the dread? You peek at his reflection in the mirror, and your lips curl in a mocking grin. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your nervous system, but all you see right now is a pathetic charlatan who tried to intimidate you with literal toilet paper. A good-for-nothing scoundrel interrupting the innocent from their much-needed bathroom break.

In fact, the more you consider your situation, the more your chest puffs with outrage and bravery. You pay your taxes, you help the needy, and this is how your civic deeds are rewarded? By having your stream cut midway? Unbelievable. Unacceptable. No other soul shall suffer your fate tonight. "Wretch!" you cry out, turning towards the aggressor and continuing your demands: "Evacuate the premises at once!"

You might not understand it yet, but your act of defiance has sealed your fate. The hooded monster smiles, relishing the words that have closed the gap between your fragile body and his blasphemous claws. You have spoken to him; thus, he can do with you as he desires. And yet, his murderous fingers hesitate. Your entrails should be splattered across the rarely polished porcelain by now. What's holding him back? He tilts his head in contemplation, but any intention to ponder his feelings is quickly discarded once a loud shriek pierces his ears.

As it turns out, someone else had been using the neighboring stall and was alerted by your little argument. Their finger is pointed at the cloaked creature, features twisted in disgust and fear. "Can't you tell we're busy?" The mysterious man inquires sarcastically. On second thought, this should be enough to satisfy his cravings.

With a snap of the fingers, the frightened bystander is torn apart by invisible hands right before your very eyes. Their limbs detach with surreal ease, and blood splatters everywhere in hot, sticky bursts. In your petrified daze, you are reminded of nature documentaries: blurry snippets of sharks trashing their victim around, fleshy chunks coming undone from the violent handling. Within seconds, the bathroom is quiet again. The walls and ceiling are drenched in fresh blood, and occasionally, fat droplets collapse into a puddle with resounding echo.

It all falls into place. The hooded creature claps its hands, startling you back into awareness. "That's what it was!", he says with enthusiasm. He approaches you with quiet steps, cushioned by the meaty remains coating the floor. He places one hand over the mask, removes it, and gives it a shake as if to clean off the crimson fluid. You involuntarily gaze at his face, taken aback by the handsome traits. Is this the appearance of a ruthless ghoul who butchers mortals for amusement? You wouldn't believe it if it wasn't for the hot trickle of foreign blood trailing your skin.

"I think I've fallen in love with you", he confesses with a wide, saw-toothed smile. You feel a clawed finger tracing your cheek affectionately. "Well? What're you so silent for? You were quite cheeky a moment ago!" he continues tauntingly, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up. "Or have you seen what happens when you misbehave? No, no, darling, I'd never! There are other ways in which I can ruin you."

You're suddenly very cold. With dry lips, you eventually open your mouth to speak: "I'm not leaving here, am I?"

"You could, but that would make me very upset."

[tetzoro]

☽◯☾ - CAT AND MOUSE

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : Mihawk has returned from his latest mission but nothing sets his adrenaline off more than chasing you around the Manor. Better start running now.

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. mihawk x reader ; predator/prey elements, implied yandere mihawk, unprotected sex, minimal prep, use of pet names (love, little pet, darling, dear), slight choking, brief mention of overstimulation, creampie : WC — 2.2k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ Waxing Gibbous ! ꒱- Kinktober Masterlist

The manor at night was a labyrinth, each turn taking you further and further away from any of the exits. The hallways seemed to stretch longer, the floorboards creaking under your feet as you ran through the desolate hallway.

The dimming candlelight you were holding was doing nothing to help, only illuminating the space a few feet out in front of you. Who’s to say what was lurking in the darkest spots, watching your every move and more than ready to pounce on you.

And you knew he was somewhere.

The man who owned this house had come back from his latest mission to find you reading in his library, curled up like a docile housecat as you blissfully sifted through the pages of the book that held your attention. The attention that should’ve been on him.

Now you were racing through the halls, the sound of your nightgown swishing in time with your frantic pace that couldn’t compare to the sound thumping in your chest, blood rushing through your ears.

You round the corner, and land against something solid, the candle tray you were holding loudly clatters to the floor as you’re roughly pinned up against the wall with a shrill squeak.

“Hello my dear.” Mihawk purrs, his impermeable grip locks you in place so you could hardly move. “You didn’t really think you could escape me, could you?”

“Mihawk—“ You gasp out, a sound which he consumes swiftly, crashing his lips against yours. 

The kiss left you powerless, a divine hunger that has him feasting on you, determined to taste every inch of your mouth. A mix of teeth and tongue that churns your head dizzy, spinning uncontrollably as you part your lips and allow him access to all of his desires.

And he wastes no time, enclosed fists bunching up your nightgown until you hear the distinct rip of fabric in his rush. A shudder runs down his spine as he comes into contact with your bare cunt, gliding his lithe fingers over your slick folds.

“Such a naughty little thing.” He coos down at you, his voice dripping with a chilly condescension that has the hair on your skin rising heavenward. “Leaving yourself ripe for the taking like this. You’re lucky it was me that found you, otherwise I would've killed anyone who dared try it.”

You helplessly whine and squirm, knowing that when he was in a mood like this, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“Just for you-“ You meekly manage to offer out just as two of his fingers bury themselves in you, mercifully preparing you for the real thing.

“Oh darling, of course it is.” Mihawk's gaze sets onto yours, the dwindling candlelight catching the almost voracious intent in his gilded eyes — the eyes of a predator who was about to feast upon the spoils of its prey. “Because you’re mine.”

His fingers swiftly slip out of you and you whimper at the loss, your bottom lip jutting out as he starts to unbutton his breeches. There’s a small shift in his expression, his gaze softening ever so slightly by the crinkle of his eyes as he takes in your pitiful pout. But his hunger prevailed, the canines of his teeth pulling against your lip and dragging it out before releasing it. A warning nip that told you he wasn’t in the mood to cater to your every whim. 

The truth is, he needed you right now. He longed for you to remind him that the world isn’t as cruel as he just experienced it. All the fighting and the bloodshed swirls around his brain and he so desperately wants to cling onto something else, something good, something like you.

The love of his life who indulges his every whim; that lets him hunt you down and take you as he pleases whenever the adrenaline kicks in and he has to burn it off somehow. For someone so cool and collected, you had a nasty little habit of bringing out this side of him. It only fueled his frustrating desires and fed into the primal need to fuck you as soon as he caught you between his hungry jaws.

“Please.” You breathe out, clinging onto him. Mihawk doesn’t wait another second before bullying his cock into you. The stretch was always a lot to take whenever there was minimal prep but he never gave you any time to dwell on it.

His lips found purchase in your neck, sucking and biting away as he bottomed out to hide his own sounds of pleasure. Your mewls were heaven to his ears, basking in the way your angelic cry of his name has him growing impossibly harder. 

There was no way he’d ever want to let you go, not something as good and pure as you were. After so many years of solitude and isolation, the world has provided him a gift he wouldn’t intend on wasting, squeezing  every bit of bliss out of it just to return it tenfold.

The distinct sensation of his beard rubs against your collarbone before Mihawk buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it was the salvation he had been searching for all this time.

“Absolutely marvelous.” He murmurs, before showing you no mercy. A skilled fighter who never pulled a punch was now unleashing his vicious attacks on your poor cunt. A haze washes over him like it does every time he returns back to you, a primal entity taking hold of his soul as he devours you inch by inch. “You were created for me to claim, to corrupt. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

“Yes.” The mewl bursts from deep within your chest, pleasure coursing through your veins as he begins to rut into you with a possessive desire — fingers clawing into your hips, clinging onto every inch of your divine body.

“Little vixen.” He pants, ragged with need. the dagger that lays on his chest begins to slap against his skin, the cool metal brushing along yours for a fleeting moment. “I don't think I ruined you enough before I left.”

Mihawk hastily spins you around, pushing you against the wall and getting drunk off of the surprise gasp you unleash. You can barely hold yourself up, hands meekly grabbing onto the slots within the stone. but nothing would ground you, the force of his thrusts caused the paintings that hung there to rattle, threatening to fall as he sped up.

“I won't be making that mistake tonight.” Mihawk bites your shoulder, the pinch of his teeth sinking into your skin before his tongue glides over it.

There's no stopping the cries that slip past your lips, letting one of the strongest men take what he needs from you, losing himself into a frenzied madness.

“M-mihawk—“ You pathetically call out, your vision blurring as you feel yourself growing closer to the edge you’re being forcibly thrown off of. 

“Yes? Use your words.” Mihawk presses himself deeper into you, the heat of his desire surrounding you and clouding your mind.

“A-ah! I’m—“ You try to warn him how close you are but he gives you a raspy chuckle. He could always read you like a book, hanging off of your each and every word, knowing exactly how to fill in the blanks.

“Oh I know you’re close. I can feel how tight you’re getting, how your legs tremble with need. You’ve always been a desperate little thing.” He growls gripping onto your hip. “I almost want to give you mercy but you’re not going to finish until I tell you. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes!” You wail out, trying to keep yourself from tumbling over the edge, knowing better than to go against his wishes. He'd only take away your release, not giving you another drop of bliss until he deemed fit.

“Good, that’s my good little pet.” The praise only worsens things — and he knows it. He continues to relentlessly drive into you, the feel of his pulsing cock keeping you split open as he takes everything you give him.

Mihawk grips the front of your throat, using it to pull you back so your head rests on his strong shoulder and causes your back to arch into him. With a slight pressure, he squeezes the area near your panicked pulse, breathing against your ear.

“Poor thing.” You drink up his voice like a shot of spiced rum, letting it burn all the way down your throat and already parched for more. “You’re practically shaking. Do you want to come?”

“Yes! Mihawk, please, I need—“

“Then come.” 

The order leaves you locked up in his embrace, the only place you truly belong. Caged by your desire and his obsession, you let go as your legs finally give out under the weight of your ecstasy. Mihawk collects you in his arms, his fingers dancing along your clit as you ride out your euphoric high.

A mantra of gratitude flows past your lips as you lean on him, entirely dependent on him.

“That’s it, surrender to me.” If you weren’t so gone, you’d be able to hear how wrecked he sounded, impossibly close to his own release. “Your pleasure belongs to me, you belong to me. you’re mine.”

One last forceful snap of his hips and the strongest swordsman in the world spills into you, fingers clawing into you as he unloads everything he’s pent up and saved just for you.

The same hands that have spent the last week doing the most unspeakable things now gently caress your back with a gracefulness forged from his deep admiration for you. Mihawk lifts you up, safely cradling you in his arms as he takes you back to your shared bedroom.

The room that felt so dark and disturbed in his absence breathes in a new life as the moonlight filters throughout it, casting everything in a heavenly glow as you properly reunite with your lover.

Mihawk doesn’t waste another moment as he lays you down in the bed, slipping himself back into you as he peppers your body with kisses. The pace he sets is slow, letting the slight bite of overstimulation roll over into a new path of pleasure, your body beginning to crave his once again.

You’re not sure how much time passes as he stays nestled in your cunt, murmuring the softest of praises with his deep, raspy voice. The man had come to claim you in a rapture that left you breathless, patiently waiting for you to return back down to him before resuming his conquest.

The sporadic fluttering of your walls gives him the go ahead, your head lifting up ever so slightly upon the plush, silk pillows that adorned your shared bed. A brief moment of silent communication, eyes expressing far more than words could ever say as the two of you were linked by the harmonious beat of your hearts.

Mihawk slowly rears his hips back, agonizingly so as his length leaves your cunt, feeling a sense of emptiness and need before he abruptly snaps them forward, once, twice, thrice. Each time burying himself deeper into you, his cock nudging its way in until he’s fully bottomed out. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the Warlord of the Sea had come to steal away all the oxygen you held in your lungs, the blood that ran through your veins, every single thought that’s ever crossed your mind.

He had you in his clutches. Mind, body, and soul.

Luckily, it went both ways.

“My love.” He gasps out, towering over you as you sink deeper into the mattress. Beads of sweat trail down his face, his necklace dangling before you. His fingers curl around your chin, moving you so your attention falls back to his mesmerizing eyes. “Are you still with me?”

You give a delirious nod. The earlier round had been much more heated, no room to stop as he took you against the walls. But now, back in the sanctuary of your shared bedroom, he melts into you.

“‘m here.” You slur, drowsiness starting to seep into you. But you didn’t want to stop, you couldn’t — not until he was satisfied. Your fingers trail along his face, twirling the slightly overgrown beard between your fingers. “And you need to shave.”

Mihawk laughs lowly, his cock twitching in you at the sudden sweet domesticity. He truly had been away from home for too long and missed your tender and caring nature.“Let’s worry about that after, hmm?” He leans down to kiss your neck, slowly. Taking his time as his lips press along your skin, leaving little marks as he goes. “I'm far from being done with you.”

tags : @thesunxwentblack @autumnstuffs @bontensh0e

[starkwlkr]

i wait for you | sebastian vettel

part 1 part 2

this is the last part in this mini series!! thanks for reading <3 some lines are taken from the movie babylon :) (babylon, you will always be famous)

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

update: i decided to make this into a series, thanks for reading! you can read it here!

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liked by sebastianvettel, aussiegrit and 766,388 others

yourusername hi, i would like to start by saying thank you for all the kind messages i’ve been receiving over the past couple days. this is my only account on any social media. i know it’s been years since you’ve heard from me so here’s an update:

as of last week, i am now divorced and living happier than ever. i do a lot of reading and baking. i still think about my time on the track and all the wonderful people i met.

until next time, take care.

comments on this post have been limited

TIME SKIP TO ABU DHABI 2022

you weren’t sure if you made the right decision, yet here you were in the aston martin garage about to watch sebastian’s last race. the aston martin team made sure photographers weren’t in your face with their cameras, which you thanked them for. yeah, your former job had paparazzi following you almost everywhere but you had gotten used to the quietness.

you hadn’t seen sebastian all day, it was killing you inside. you felt like this was a bad decision, but before you could leave the aston martin garage, you saw sebastian enter with britta by his side. you heard him speaking to her, but he stopped once he spotted you.

britta noticed the look sebastian gave you. it was like seeing two teenagers in love. “i’ll leave you two alone.” she said then left.

sebastian watched as you played with the ring on your finger. it was a habit he noticed in 2010 and somehow you never changed. “we can go in my driver’s room if you’d like. it’s more private.”

“yeah, i’d like that.” you reply. together, you and sebastian walked to his driver’s room.

several people from the aston martin team were secretly rooting for you two, it was clear that they knew about your history. even if they were big fans of you, they didn’t walk up to you to ask for a photo, not when you were with sebastian on the most important night of his life.

you finally made it to his driver’s room. it was small, but it was just perfect for you and sebastian to have a conversation in. you and sebastian sat on the tiny bed. “are you nervous?” you asked.

“more excited actually. it really is nice that you’re here. thank you for coming.” he said.

“i didn’t think you would want me here.”

“why?”

you looked at him. there he was staring at you with his beautiful blue eyes. “i thought you hated me all these years.”

“i could never hate you, y/n. i never stopped loving you even when you told me you were engaged, when i found out you said i do to someone else.” he confessed. “i’ve carried this love for you in my heart for many years. but you were happy.”

“i was happy . . then he broke my heart and i gave him the ring back.” you replied. “i realized I didn’t want that life with him . . . because i want that life with you and i know it all seems so sudden but it’s always been you.”

in that moment, seemed to stand still as he processed the weight of her words. he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of hope blossom within him—a hope that, against all odds, maybe, just maybe, they could finally be together.

you could feel a tear run down your cheek. “god, i’m sorry. i dumped all this on you before your last race—”

then she felt sebastian’s lips on hers. as their lips met, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

for you, it was a revelation—a confirmation of the love you had always felt but never dared to acknowledge it. for sebastian, it was a homecoming—a return to the one person who had always held his heart captive, even when you belonged to another.

their moment had been interrupted by a knock on the door then by sebastian’s father, norbert vettel, asking if he was ready yet.

“i’ll be out in a second.” sebastian replied. he turned to look at you. “i am considering that a good luck kiss.”

“you don’t need luck, you’re sebastian vettel.” you playfully rolled your eyes.

“well whenever i’m with you, i always feel lucky.”

and with that, you and sebastian exited his driver’s room.

SEB’S LAST RACE

you were feeling lots of emotions. you watched as sebastian finished his post race interview with jenson. you watched from a monitor inside the aston martin garage, you could see the sadness in sebastian’s eyes. you knew the feeling all too well.

“go meet him.” norbert said. “he needs you right now.”

“but—”

“go.” he assured you.

so you walked to the pit lane since sebastian was already making his way back to the garage. once he spotted you, he smiled. you made it clear that now you didn’t care if you were photographed, all you wanted was to be with sebastian.

“i really want to kiss you right now.” sebastian said when he walked up to you. many photographers and journalists were crowded around you, making sure to capture the moment between you two.

“then do it.”

and then, without another word, he pulled her in for a kiss. as his lips met yours, you felt a rush of warmth flood your entire being. as they finally pulled away, your eyes met in a silent understanding. sebastian took your hand and led you to back to the garage where his team was waiting for him.

“i’m so proud of you.” you whispered to him.

“you won’t be saying that when i’m bothering you constantly now that i’ll be around you more.” he joked.

“and i’ll be fine with that.” you reply with a smile.

sebastian turned to face you. he knew it was still early, but he always kept his promises. “one day, i’m going to marry you. i’m going to make you so happy everyday, okay? it’s my only job.”

hearing sebastian’s words filled you with a sense of comfort, joy and reassurance. you suddenly felt more alive and complete than ever before.

“i love you, more deeply than i ever thought possible.” you reply.

and suddenly, everything felt right in the world.

@woozarts @hc-dutch @lightdragonrayne @multiplefandomwritings @jggykhug09090 @neivivenaj @kissesandmartinis @barnestatic @avythef1addict @sam-is-lost @dampcelery0294 @shineforever19 @c-losur3 @lifeless-firefly @horsiegek @ares10156 @purplephantomwolf

[pinejayy]

╰➤ First Fight || One Piece - Part 2 !!

featuring: kid and law

summary: your first fight with your one piece boyfriends // here is part 1 !!

warnings: curse words, kid being kid, sorry but kid doesn’t get his happy ending oof, law saying sorry uwu

✦•··········• 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 •··········•✦

Kid

Walking back to the Victoria Punk you couldn’t help but feel hurt by the way Kid treated you and he talked to you. If he could get very friendly with random woman in front of you, just imagine if he’s behind a closed door. Not wanting to think about that, you just walk into the ship and lock yourself in your guys shared bedroom. “Stupid Kid….why is he so mean….he doesn’t love me….why should I even stay with him. He’s nothing but a dirty pirate…”

Back at the bar, Kid couldn’t help but walk back to the bar. As if nothing happened, he wasn’t gonna let your insecurities and tears ruin his night. Making his way back to the woman he went back to talking to her, forgetting about you. “Sorry about that, just had a little problem. But I’m here babe.” He laughs, and wraps a arm around her. And this girl couldn’t help but giggle.

Hours passes by and the crew was getting rowdy with the amount of beer they’ve had. While Kid was getting more and more drunk by the second. And he was getting closer to this unknown woman. To the point where the Crew was getting uncomfortable. But they didn’t dare speak to their captain and lecture him about your guys relationship. And suddenly Kid was too lost in his drunken state and shared a sloppy kiss with this woman.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Killer suddenly yelled out. And marched towards Kid and ripped him away. And pointed at the woman. “You get out.” And with that she scoffed and walks off. And as she walked off, Killer lead Kid out of the bar. Giving a slight shove once they were outside. “What the hell is your problem Kid?!”

“What the hell is YOUR PROBLEM!” Kid yelled back, while Killer just stood there and crossed his arms across his chest. “First Y/N! And now you!” He began to yell out, and suddenly groans and rubs his head. “God dammit…headache…too much beer.”

“Kid…what the hell were you thinking huh?” Killer snaps, and Kid was about to reply but was quickly shut down. “I’m speaking, shut up.” Which made Kid grumble.

“Why are you doing this? Especially towards Y/N…you know that they really love and care about you. And you’re throwing away something good because you’re thinking about with your other head.” He said and shook his head. “Y/N loves and cares about you, they even threw away their old normal life to run off with someone like you…with us Kid..”

Kid just stood there, he was pissed off because Killer was lecturing him, he was right but he didn’t want to hear it. “Whatever…I’m sure Y/N is still on the ship, I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to them.” He said and turns around with a scoff and began walking off. Which left Killer shaking his head. “Let’s hope so.”

Kids feet quickly made their way to his ship, he was thinking about Killer’s words. Fuck…did he fuck up. And once he made inside the ship it was quite without the crew. He looked around and saw nothing, and he was getting a bit worried. He looked in girls cabin…nope. In the kitchen…nope. In the bathrooms…nope…he even tried his workshop and nothing. Panic began to flow through his body, and he immediately made his way to your guys cabin. And once he opened the door he was expecting to meet you but he was met with nothing. “FUCK! Stop hiding from me! Please…”

He looks around and saw that your belongings were gone. And it’s as if you never lived here. Kid began to panic to the point where he began to trash his room. Breaking stuff and yelling. He punched a hole on the wall and growled. “I’m so fucking fucking stupid…” He mumbled and sighed. For once he felt alone…sitting on the bed. He saw a note on his pillow, grabbing it he began to scan the words.

“Dear Eustass. I took your advice. I didn’t let the door hit me on the way out. Have a nice life without me asshole and enjoy all the woman you want. Don’t come looking for me.”

It was a simple note but it bought his world crashing down. And for once he broke down crying, the one good thing he had in his life was now gone because he was stupid. “UGH! FUCK!! I FUCKED UP!!

He was alone…he wanted you there when he becomes King of the Pirates..

Law

The night time rolled around and Law was still in his office, he was still mentally beating himself off, never in your guys relationship he spoke to you like that before and he felt ashamed of himself. He knew you were looking out for him but he was into his work that he dismissed you in a harsh way. But soon after he had to own up to his mistakes and apologize about his behavior.

Walking out of his office he headed to his private cabin, assuming you were there and thank god you were, but you were laying on the bed crying softly . He walks in the room and closes the door behind him. And sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey…can we talk.”

You didn’t answer, you just kept laying there. And Law sighed “Look I know I said some harsh things…but I was too busy with my work that I didn’t consider your feelings.” He began to rant out and he rubs a hand over his face. You still weren’t answering him, which of course made him annoyed but he took a deep breath and spoke up again. “And I do appreciate you looking out for me and I well….um..”

As Law was speaking he caught your attention, was he trying to apologize? It really seemed out of character for him. Sitting up, you wipe your tears. Law couldn’t help but flinch slightly, your puffy red eyes, tear stain cheeks…was all his fault.

“Yes? What are you trying to say Captain?” You say, and he cringes. Not the Captain name calling…not now..

“Look….I said some things that were unnecessary towards you and I wanted to come here and well…um apologize..” He said but mumbled the last part. And let’s be honest Law isn’t one to apologize for his actions. But when it came to you he had to do it.

“Excuse me I didn’t hear that last part. Care to repeat yourself Captain.” You say, and stare directly in his eyes, and Law grumbled. “I said I was sorry…I’m sorry..”

“Again? I didn’t hear ya.”

“I said I was sorry! Okay! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have snapped at the one person who has my heart! Okay! I’m sorry being an asshole!” He suddenly barked out and sighed. “Look…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you annoying and tell you those awful words. I shouldn’t be treating you the way I did…I love you and I don’t want to lose you…and I’m so sorry…I’m sorry Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything and just look at him, which was making him shift around. Before speaking up again. “Look I really appreciate the apology. But what you said was really hurtful….but seeing that you apologized does make me feel a bit better.”

Law sighed heavily “So are we good? Water under the bridge?”

“Not exactly…you have to make it up. And don’t tell me how you can do it. That’s for you to figure out Captain.” You say, teasing him slightly. Law eyes you but he nodded. “Now come on. Let’s get you some food and this time I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Law couldn’t help but smile slightly, you grabbed his hand and he follows you. “I don’t say this often but I Really do love you…so much.”

“I love you too Law.”

Tagging: @st4rpiece ,, @takamimami ,, @zalera8310 ,, @oatmealmika ,, @parkquimin ,, @thesaltycrisp ,, @axcel-lucci ,, @ella751 , @jellytune ,, @samatheartdare1 ,, @starlightanyaaa ,, @supernovajirachi ,, @emmaiscool22 ,,

[mahgyu]

JJK Men: Dreaming about you after your death

· — Even months later after your tragic death by a cursed spirit, they still dream of that terrible day.

๑ Featuring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro and Ryomen Sukuna.

๑ Content: Fem!Reader, established relationship, angst, A LOT of angst (*evil laugh*), mention of panic crisis (Choso)

๑ a/n: I enjoyed writing this so much, even though it was really sad. Ah, unlike the others, Sukuna didn't have a dream but rather flashbacks, you will understand when you read.

⸺ㅤGOJO

Gojo woke up startled, trying to grasp something that was no longer there. He barely noticed he was already crying when he woke up, the eyes you used to love and appreciate were now crying for your absence. That man who once laughed and smiled genuinely by your side had once again lost the reason to laugh and smile truly. Gojo sincerely couldn't bear to maintain that facade of a strong sorcerer, physically and mentally. He was tired, he was alone. He promised, he promised to protect you, but he failed. Now he promises that, one day, he will find you again, but for now he would just embrace the clothes you used to wear to feel your scent while he cries. Unfortunately, those clothes were already losing your scent.

⸺ㅤGETO

Geto absolutely refused to accept what had happened. He convinced himself that you would suddenly walk through the door with that smile he loves so much. He would wait however long it took for that to happen, but deep down, he knew it would never come true. That's why Geto woke up already staring directly at the door. In the dream, you walked through that door smiling, just as he had been imagining lately. It seemed so real that he could swear he smelled your scent. But the scent didn't actually come from you; it came from the stuffed animal you cherished, which Geto now slept beside every night to catch a glimpse of you being with him.

⸺ㅤNANAMI

Nanami had just returned from work. Sitting on the couch, he ended up dozing off and had that same repetitive dream about you. The day he proposed to you was certainly one of the most memorable days in Nanami's life. But that dream always ends with that cursed spirit sneaking up from behind and dragging you away from Nanami. Kento always screams and tries to run towards you, but for some reason, he never moves from his spot. Nanami opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before sighing. He glanced down at his own hand, where he still wore the engagement ring on his finger. He wouldn't dare take it off for anything, even though you're no longer physically there with him, even if the image of you looking beautiful in a white dress is now nothing more than a dream never realized.

⸺ㅤCHOSO

Choso woke up totally bewildered, panting, and in a panic. He sat on the bed while looking around, processing where he was and searching for you, but found nothing, nothing but a photo of you next to the bed. Choso couldn't take it anymore, couldn't bear to have so many panic attacks for not being able to save you that day, he wasn't there to protect you as he had promised. He failed you, and it tore him apart. He hated having to deal with these daily crises; Choso knew it was exhausting to help him in these moments, he hated worrying others. But the moment he promised to avenge you, he would fulfill it, even if it cost him his own life.

⸺ㅤTOJI

Toji woke up slowly, taking a moment to fully open his eyes due to the brightness and gradually realizing that everything he had witnessed was just a dream. In this dream, he saw you humming softly a song he already knew entirely because of you, but before he could touch you, he woke up. Toji realized he wasn't in the place he used to call home, it wasn't a home without you. He was in another one of the places he rented to spend the night. Going back to that house no longer made sense without you to welcome him with your sweet kisses and bright smile. Toji completely lost his way, delving back into the bad paths you fought so hard to steer him away from, but you were no longer there to stop him. He no longer cared about himself.

⸺ㅤSUKUNA

Sukuna closed his eyes for a few minutes when he had the vision of your face in your last moments of life, the life he himself made a point of taking, just as he had promised from the moment he first found you. For some reason, the image of your face wouldn't leave his mind anymore, and he hated it. He hated how you looked at him so tired and exhausted from everything, just accepting what was to come, how you seemed so vulnerable and fragile. No, that wasn't right. Sukuna opened his eyes as he clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, while frustration flowed from within him. He should have been satisfied for having fulfilled what he promised, but no, he was dissatisfied, frustrated, and didn't know if it was because you didn't even try to fight him and just accepted your end, or if it was because he had really ended you. It made no sense to him, but still, it ate away at him.

Thanks for reading, I hope you liked my first work here 🩶

ㅤㅤㅤ

[reignpage]

Just a Quick Stop

You had prepared yourself for the goodbyes. 

Practiced a lot in front of the bathroom mirror; smiling when you say ‘we had a great run’, swallowing the tears when you shake hands, and ignoring the warmth from his palm and the comforting callouses you had long mapped out. 

It wouldn’t be too hard, right?

Because you had known there would be an end to your relationship from the very beginning, hell, he told you himself that this wasn’t anything serious. And you thought you knew what that meant, after all this is the modern era, loads of people have flings, so you shrugged his stern tone off and undressed once more, revelling in the euphoria only he could give you. 

But what do girls know of the world?

What did you know, at that age? About being in a man’s world? Of keeping things casual and plainly sexual?

It wasn’t your fault, strictly speaking. He’s older, he should have known better than to say one thing and then do another. Should have never let the lines blur from quick fucks to long aftercare, messy make-outs to reassuring kisses, and from throat grabbing to hand holding. 

He should have never bought groceries, refilled your car, made you soup when you were sick, and he definitely should not have let you introduce him to your friends. 

But he did. 

He did all those things and more. 

And your fridge was never empty, you haven’t been anywhere near a gas station, not been sick on your own, and your friends absolutely love him. 

Why is it so easy to let someone in your life and so damn hard to let them go?

It can’t be because you didn’t know you would have to, because you did. It was one of those late-night thoughts that kept you awake and paranoid, made you anxious when you didn’t wake up in his arms. It also can’t be because he was just so easy to let in?

No, he was towering and clumsy, unused to the plush carpets and shiny hardwood floors. You had to weave around his frame to get to the kitchen, and pick up his dirty socks, tell him off for leaving the toilet seat up, or placing the cereal boxes a shelf too high. 

Eventually, however, you learned to time his steps with yours, warned him before he could even remove them, knew well enough to always pull down the seat even in the dark, and ask for his help in the mornings. 

You made room for him. 

But he never did the same for you. 

That much is clear now, as you stay in the hallway, sitting criss-crossed, watching the door. 

You knew something was off when you came back home — there was the faint smell of bleach lingering in the air, and when you wandered further in, you noticed the dishes were washed and stacked, the carpet fluffy, the cushions plump, and fresh flowers were in the vase.

Your heart knew before your mind did. 

The socks were gone, the toilet seat down, and you didn’t even dare to look at the cereal boxes, could only stumble back to the front door, gawk at the empty spaces between pairs of shoes, clutching your chest like it might just cave in. 

One thing is on your mind, as you stay sitting in the dark. 

You wish you had gotten to use your well-thought speech, had gotten to practice your acting a little more, tested it on a real audience, the real audience, or been the mature one and reached in for a hug like it meant nothing. 

But you can’t.

Because he’s gone.

And Toji didn't even say goodbye.

[meyobe]

Pretty privilege… no MC privilege.

Lucifer

MC can boss him around however they wish or desire.

He may have a hard exterior but deep down anything MC suggest or implies he will follow.

MC is have trouble with a certain noble? He’s already talking to Diavolo.

MC likes a certain dish for dinner? He makes it every time it’s his turn to cook.

MC is being bullied by a lower demon? That demon is never to be seen from again.

There is never a second thought when to comes to provide a happy MC.

He will spend the rest of his life devoted to MC and ensuring they are never unhappy for a second.

If anyone dare to cross the line, there will be no god or being for them to pray to.

Mammon

MC is able to pull him away from anything he might be doing.

As MC first man he will never be too busy.

You want to rant to him while he’s in the shower? He’s pulling his head out the curtain to show his listening.

You want him to open a pickle jar for you while he’s on the run from Lucifer? He’s the fastest brother for a reason.

You’re being overwhelmed at RAD? Hes making sure you get escorted home immediately, no matter the consequences for ditching.

He made a promise to you and himself that he will show you his worthy of calling himself your first man.

There is no force that can stop him proving himself, to show that his isn’t a scummy demon or a loser but your protector. Protecting your heart day by day.

Leviathan

MC can depend on him no Matter what.

He is not the most dependable brother, but that’s to be noted he knows he’s brother can handle themselves.

But even knowing MC is more then capable, he still find himself helping them out of sticky situations.

He’s your one and true friend remember?

MC missed a sale because they overslept? He stood up all night tp buy you 10 copies.

MC needs a 80% on a test to be able to go out on the weekend? He’ll hacking into the system and up your grade 100%.

MC is in a trouble for sneaking out? MC was with him all night.

He finds the need to show that he can be of use.

No matter how bad a situation may be he will take MC side.

He will show everyone that he is the greatest friend to his dear Henry.

A/n: i just got my nails done and it’s a pain to type without messing up. 😥

Pt 2 is up now!!!!!!!

Part 3 is up!!!!!!

[slightly-knot-insane]

omfg congrats on your blog! truly deserve it

meanwhile let me get this outta my horny ass

stressed with work, you pray to any god who hears to take your troubles away

demon hears and demon takes

Thank you so much! I hope you'll enjoy my little snippet for you.

[m!demon x gn!reader]

New Acolyte

You've never wanted to be a part of a strict religious cult. You were basically sold into it since your parents were too poor to feed and educate you. And now you spend your best years serving gods you don't even believe in. Even worse, you've been promoted to an acolyte and you run around and serve other members like a slave. You're the youngest and most disobedient - there is always work for such as yourself.

You sigh in front of the altar. Every evening you wipe it with a damp cloth and put three candles on top. Candles are sacred and can only be lit by higher members of the clergy. They pray every morning using these precious candles. They apparently have mystical powers and can fulfil wishes. High priests know what is the best for the clergy and what people need the most so only they can ask for favours from gods.

Your mouth twists into a scowl. What about what you need? These gods don't care that you desire so much more than these dark halls and chanting. This is no life to live!

Checking behind yourself to see if you're truly alone, you light the three sacred candles and kneel, saying your personal prayer. A truly blasphemous one. You are willing to do whatever it takes to escape this life. You don't care which god - if they even exist - does this.

"Just get me out of here!" You hit the floor with your fists, staring into the flames. They flicker once, twice, and a strong gust of wind blows them out.

"I hope you don't mind I'm no god." The voice behind you is deep and husky reminding you of lions purring. "But I can help you with your wish."

You don't dare turn around. Cold sweat covers your brows. You are in danger - something truly sinister is one step behind you. A long red arm emerges in front of you and gently takes you by the chin. "Turn around, young acolyte."

You have to obey. You fall on your soft behind because you tremble too much, but now you can see the creature that visits you. A tall, lean, creature. His eyes are fire and charcoal and his toned body a sinful shade of fresh blood. And he is completely naked.

"You said you would do anything to get out of here." His voice is strange, as if multiple people speak and echo. "I have a request." You are still trembling but you nod your head.

The demon's black and red cock (which you tried oh-so-hard not to stare at) erects as if on command. It is bigger than any human you've seen while sneaking around. So shiny and smooth. "Have you done this before?", he asks you.

You blush. "Only in dreams."

Demon smiles and two rows of extremely sharp teeth make you shiver. "Come here, and let me teach you."

You obediently crawl on the floor and reach the demons legs. His cock smells surprisingly nice, something like burnt caramel. You lick it - unfortunately it doesn't taste like any candy but it's not too bad either. Your inexperienced tongue twirls around the tip and you hesitantly plant kisses along the shaft. Demon strokes your head. "Very good. Now lick your palm and use your hand as well."

You nod again and do as instructed. Your hand moves up and down, jerking off the demon, and your pulse speeds up. It's not only excitement; you feel hot, like you have a fever. Your head and chest are burning. "Good little acolyte." Demon's voice is soft and he is towering you, a happy and terrifying grin on his face.

You are too hot! You have to remove all your clothes or you will melt! Without letting delicious demon cock fall out of your mouth, you remove all your robes and underwear. It barely helps - your skin could ignite any second! But it doesn't matter - this cock, this wonderous organ, exquisite limb - is all you can think about. Making it more wet, making it more hard, pleasuring it faster, more skillfully. Demon moans and his voices echo for a long time. "Acolyte..."

Some ethereal invisible hands touch your hot skin. They fondle your neck, back, nipples, stomach, slide between your thighs. You've never been touched like that. You shake from delight, never for a second letting go of that cock, working on that shaft with all your might. Demon's breath hitches and your mouth gets filled with sweet demon seed. Some of it end up on your naked body and you notice it's red like wine. The invisible hands are gone and you are left without release and soiled, excitement rushing through your veins. You need more.

"Please... Please... Take me... Don't leave me here..."

Demon smiles and touches your cheek with his sharp nail. "You are my acolyte now. I promised you new life. I'm not going anywhere without you."