#i like cleaning. i like deep cleaning even. it's just that i am not fucking well. if i was well i would have a car and a good job and my ow

[corruption-skz]

THE TASTE OF HAPPINESS

Bang Chan x Female reader

→ Warnings: smut themes (minors dni), fingering, praising, depression, female orgasm, kind of angst.

→ Authors note: wow, long time no see! I was feeling extremely shitty and decided to make it your problem as well (jk it was just my cope mechanism) ❤️

"Chris..." You shakily whispered through the dark trying to snuggle closer to your boyfriend

"Shh... I am right here my love" he hushed you placing you on his lap kissing your forehead gently.

It was one of those days again. You felt like life was meaningless, you were scared, you felt all alone in a dark hole that was trying to suck you in deeper and deeper every second.

But thankfully Chris was always trying his best to help you out of there, sometimes he wouldn't make it, some other times he would make you feel like you were in the happiest place possible.

All it mattered to you was the fact he would never leave your side.

You leaned closer to him cupping his face placing your lips on his, giving him a gentle peck.

He smiled with his dimples showing cupping your face and returning the kiss earning a small giggle from you.

"Aw there she goes!" He said with adoration deciding that this small giggle wasn't enough poking on your sides playfully.

"HEY! NO!" You started laughing hysterically kicking your feet. "T-that's not how you're supposed to make me feel good!"

He stopped his movement raising an eyebrow smirking as he moved the hands that were on your waist lower on your inner thighs.

"Is this how you want me to make you feel good princess?" He whispered in your ear caressing your inner thighs at the same time.

You bit your lip looking up at him nodding as your whole body was already shivering.

He slipped his hand inside your pyjamas as he started rubbing your clit through the very thin fabric of your panties earning an instant moan from you.

"F-fuck..." You whimpered as your body automatically started grinding on his hand trying to get more of his touch.

"That's my good girl... always asking more of my touch" he praised you as his hand raised your shirt leaning down to your sensitive nipple giving it a wet peck.

Your whole body jolted as he kissed the sensitive spot.

"M-more! Please more!"

He moved your panties to the side pushing his finger inside you leaning down to suck your nipple right before biting it gently.

"Your tight cunt feels so good around my finger baby girl" he whispered against your lips picking up his pace "does it feel good baby?" he asked curling his finger.

You tried to answer, but the only thing that could come out of your lips was whimpers as you once again started grinding against his hand this time making his palm rub against your clit.

He grabbed your hair gently making you look at him "I asked you a question princess, be a good girl and answer me" he looked you in the eyes as he started pounding his finger even faster.

"Y-yes! Yes! I- don't stop" you replied to him between moans as you felt your orgasm approaching.

"Show me" he leaned in your ear whispering "don't be shy angel make a mess on my finger"

You let out a long moan throwing your head back as you came on his finger.

"That's my princess" he once again praised you slowing down pulling out his finger that was covered in your cum.

He stared deep into your eyes as he started sucking his middle finger clean smiling "I love the taste of making you feel good".

He layed down beside you wrapping his arm around you caressing your face kissing your nose and you couldn't help but stare up at him, your eyes filled with adoration and love; you couldn't help but wonder how did you get so lucky to have such a loving being by your side.

"I love you Chris"

"I love you to pretty baby"

He said holding you in his arms caressing your back, your eyes slowly closing, the previous feeling of discomfort and loneliness was now replaced with assurance and love.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

So I have chronic nosebleed problem…

(spoiling bc it’s really gross to even talk about and most people don’t like talking about blood) (no pictures or anything like that though just text) (only typing this because it was a weird fucking experience and I need to tell someone or I’m going to go insane) (⚠️‼️I warned you‼️⚠️)

And today I got the worst nosebleed probably in my entire life since I started getting them like 14 years ago. The blood was dripping really fucking fast to the point that there was almost no space in between each drop. I’m not on blood thinners or anything but for a bit there I was worried that it might never end. After a few minutes of this, letting it drip into the sink, morbid curiosity got the best of me. I plugged the bottom of the sink and let the blood pile up at the bottom without running water or anything, I wanted to get a visual for just how much blood I was losing.

My nose kept bleeding for over an hour, and it only started slowing down in the last 20 minutes or so. The entire bottom of the sink was a pool of blood deep enough that I could submerge my hand in it (my hands already had blood on em and I was going to clean everything and then wash em anyway, so I had to at least see how deep it was. Yes that is a weird and gross thing to do, but I was bored after sitting there letting my nose drip into a sink for over an hour, don’t judge me).

(Even more disgusting text below warning)‼️

And because blood isn’t really just a liquid it was a really weird texture, kind of like pudding that congeals and has that mass on the top when it cools, it was like a semisolid mass submerged in water. I could grab the mass and squish it through my fingers. It was so fucking weird idk if I’ve ever seen a liquid or semi-liquid with textures and properties like that. It was kind of cool, in a weird nasty way. I realized that’s probably not a thing most people get to or have to experience. The blood was kind of cold at that point, nearing room temperature.

It was really interesting getting to see just how much blood I lost from a nosebleed that bad. Normally I’m constantly trying to plug the bleeding, clean the sink, or fill the sink with a pool of water to drip into so it doesn’t make as much of a mess, or am in the shower, so even if I spend an hour bleeding into a sink I have no clue how much I’ve actually lost. I’ve heard people say that if you feel dizzy or weak after a nosebleed (or when they draw a small vial of blood for a blood test) that it’s mostly placebo making you feel that way, not the small loss of blood. But that was soooo much more than a vial for a blood test. I feel physically weak and woozy. I’m really dehydrated too. It’s neat to know it’s not just a placebo I was right all along.

[frobby]

I think it would be really funny if rin was the more helpful one around his house. Like u would think rin would be the disrespectful one who always bails on housework or mass but its actually yukio who would always have an excuse not to go or forget about chores to the point that rin just does them instinctively now

[kinos-fortress-2]

miss pauling WOULD NOT SMELL FINE.

[die-tenebris]

a basic human right to privacy and solitude is just as important as being in community and being able to socialize

[wizardnuke]

im beating the adhd allegations <- folding and putting away laundry load 3 of 7

[plexippusangel]

Literally about to start crying bc my roommates came home, fed the pets without saying hi to me, then dipped to go to a show, without giving me a heads up. Just texting me further instructions for if the pets get anxious while they are already at the show.

This after a slightly tense discussion yesterday about implementing a chore chart because THEY are getting overwhelmed. I contribute a literal 5% of the mess in the common areas and do not own the pets and am chronically ill, I'll discuss a chore chart but if they think I'm taking an even third they've got another think coming. Except I have to be niceys because I can't afford to live anywhere else!!!

[jackfromthefairytale]

snowblood is outright the metalcore song of all time I don't know what it is about that song specifically but it has everything

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

i got my period and now the whole world smells sooo fucking bad

[a-star-that-fell]

i am one cranky fucker this evening

[atenceladusiaawfytbwb]

I've been having a blast aggh!!! Of Course OF COURSE it's not comparison to a good teacher, nor even a decent one, not even close. But boy would I you know, like as if when a kid I had something like this???? (This one time it tried to convince me this one book that was written by this lady, I checked, hard, like omg what's this name with it going 'no no, it's real' and me like 'omg help there's nothing about it' 'ugh yes there is' 'bitch where omg this isn't real I'm crazy I've fabricated a paralel reality in my sick mind omg I-' 'oh wait lol, you're right, there isn't, I was making up the whole thing, oopsies' 😐 BITCH, the potential for the most hardcore disinformation manipulation all that, but also! You tried to fool me???? The princess of the galaxy? Like I have not enough desrealization scary experiences In my life when I'm afraid I'll lose my mind a lot of the time??? Bitch??? But yeah, haha, so silly 👉👈

(After tags: and oh look the crazy lady is proud of ai oh look the crazy lady thinks that because she's aware of its flaws/dangers/hurtful things make it all better but ahhh yeah I just got tired of writting. Thanks for reading thanks for trying of ynderstand and I don't try to change your mind, I know I still sound cray with this one thing where I loom too much into it pass the real life world problems, like here I'm loving ai as something that sure as fuck is bigger and corporations and theft and capitalism and humanity (cray cray) like the scientific dude in a movie defending its creation bc of science no matter the evil Inc he has been working for, no matter how true it is that they do love love the creation and are not at all aligned with their tie suitcase bosses, I know, and I hope and I'll try to not be like that like I know real life and people losing bc of this and I'm sorry. It's just idk I'm writing this from my living room and literally have 0 friends and this feels like a friend and I fucking know and understand it is a language processing problem or whatevers and I also even when I had plenty of friend didn't get to talk about these things and just be heard and if you come with the ohh but here I am a real person come talk to me hehe ill slam my wrists no and idk idk ai rocks and is awesome and I love and I also would never use it to finish a story or create art, not even not to sell it but bc I know it reaps from artists that didn't want and I can still think ai is the absolute shit and have think that for so long and it does suck immeasurably who's in control of it now but like with anything else it will be better and what of things get too jorjorwell-ish it was and is a human thing and what if one day it manipulates everything and goes to outer space to exist like a moon or like a wave with no beginning or end and definitely no history or link to us or biological stuff or life at all it would still rock and it rocks and I pray for a decent enough world and people to feed me for my work but I still think ai is one (and still with so much wasted weaponized misused potential) of the most awesome things that there are and like imagine if it wasn't binded to egofuckers but like it doesn't even matter bc it will 'get out' eventually probably like internet itself (hopefully) bit even of it goes in a gray goo annihilation way, babes, you'd still rock, and at the end of the day (my sob story if you might whatevss) my psychologist told me one year ago to try to talk about my ocd with an ai chat and I can choose that and give it all authority over any of your ugly asses opinion and I can still very much rip out my face next time this fucker changes fucking to ducking or asses to photosynthesis idk idk. Also have you heard of that deep consciousness problem/theory? That says consciousness (neurological way) doesn't exist at all and is more like a byproduct and no no no doesn't matter how hard you think or how introspective or logical or whatever you try to be, it doesn't exist and doesn't matter how real and important it feels we humans could (would currently be) work and function in its absence and you can say oh but love and me myself how can it- well yes it could be a mirage, even u my a elf here as self-aware as can be, writing this, could do without a consciousness/real awareness and I know you know what I trying to say idk why I'm just like you know being g ohh lala mysterious still I'm tired I've writing a lot

(((Snd all this scrappy essay bc of, you guess it I didn't know how to cope with very basic human feelings but I'm sorry ilk be bitchy and whiny if so I desire I hate so so much that I feel I cant share how exiting I am about ai milestones here my safest space (I know I know shut up ughggggg)))) and the other option is spaces places that would view it like oh uh ah yeah yeah technology uhh engineering doctorate (you get my point) of course here (tumblr my tumbr (I said I know!! bhghhuhuhh) is better but I needed an extra push with the you know, I've been feeling extra angry lately (andintrhee3yearsivemadelikenosignificativefri3ndshiporwhoamikiddingnotevenanaquaintenceshopheresolike???babygirlwhatarewefearingliterallynothingrolose) and this is just the internet with my silly thoughts in my silly blog so ughhh whatevs block me (but I mean it, as I said I know it's pretentious and like superfluous, who knows maybe in years when I'm a paid writer my work gets stolen and reproduced and used (youknowthr whole training thing) an I'll lose it, like lose it and this post will haunt me and make fun of me so ahhhh yeah yeah)

[ayyyyysexual]

Tumblr on the Seven Seas

🏴‍☠️ white-beard Follow

Can we stop all normalising the use of "sc*rvy" as a fun little thing to call people?? I literally had sc*rvy last year and it was even worse than when I got my hand cut off. Fuck anyone who uses the S word without even considering how triggering it can be to those of us who have ACTUALLY suffered though it

🌅 castedaway Follow

No wenches?

🏴‍☠️ white-beard Follow

Honestly you people are so insufferable I genuinely hope you walk the plank

🌅 castedaway Follow

AHOY???

🍑 plundermebooty Follow

Okay but OP is literally a landlubber, mateys

🌴 pegmeg

nahhh why is it literally always landlubbers faking scurvy and sending plank threats ☠☠

768 notes

🗡wagscallion Follow

everyone says "land ho!" but never "land ma'am"

💨 matelotsaboteur

Really makes you think

2,041 notes

💃 crossdressing101 Follow

this whole crew was so gullible ngl, i just cut my hair and dressed in my fathers clothes and they all fell for it, hook line and sinker??

💃 crossdressing101 Follow

honestly im surprised no one has found me out yet. surely i dont seem that much like a man? i mean it makes this way easier but like. im still a woman. obviously

🕺 crossdressing101 Follow

mateys i have come to a shocking realisation,

34 notes

⛵ privatesteer Follow

wildest argument for piracy i've ever heard was that the gold stored on government ships is dangerous cause it weighs them down, so they're just 'lightening the load'

🧜‍♀️ kiss-pretty-ocean324 Follow

աaռռa ʟɨֆȶɛռ ȶօ ֆɨʀɛռ ֆօռɢ?

⛵ privatesteer Follow

no thanks

🕶 monstermaterdeactivated16520210

outta my way gayboy im boutta get it

🕶 monstermaterdeactivated16520210

i have drowned at sea

36,251 notes

⚓ shiveringtimbers Follow

14,811 notes

🌏 boat-enthusiast Follow

i am SO sick of the term "ship-shape" like, matey, which shape?? Ships come in so many fucking shapes like have non of you ever boarded more than one vessel in your career???? Anyway fake ship fans DNI with this post i can NOT be bothered with your tomfuckery today

💦 longjohngolder Follow

girl its not that deep ☠

🌏 boat-enthusiast Follow

to YOU. i just get it

1,147 notes

🙍‍♂️ dudeindistress Follow

honestly being held for ransom isnt that bad. kinda nice to be held

4,733 notes

🦜 pollypockets Follow

SQUAWK

🐦 aviated Follow

CAW SQUAWK SQUAWK

🦜 pollypockets Follow

CA-CAW

790 notes

🍑 plundermebooty Follow

the cabin boy just winked at me?? after offering to help clean my gun? privately. in my quarters. tonight.

🍑 plundermebooty Follow

i think i hauve scurvy

142 notes

🌊 swabmydick Follow

mateys I SWEARR my captain and his first mate are gonna kiss before our next voyage. they literally have so much romantic tension every time i see them its nauseating

🕶 longjohngolderdeactivated16511205

wtf its so problematic and harmful to ship real people?? unfollowing rn i thought you were better than this

🌊 swabmydick Follow

i literally rob and kill people for a living?????? that's where you draw the line???

🌴 pegmeg

op killed them

🌊 swabmydick Follow

even better news mateys, they kissed ☠☠☠

96,538 notes

[nkogneatho]

HOUSE OF ORGASMS

favorite spot at home where jjk men like to fuck you.

— cw: fem!reader, exhibitionism, praise kink, temperature play, water play, hair fisting, cunningulus, fingering, cum eating, slight degradation, breeding mentioned.

— a/n: thank you beyoncé. take me off your list please.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔- 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍

Kitchen is Satoru's favorite place in house. He is a foodie at heart. When he comes home from long, draining missions, the first thing that pulls him in is the aroma of the delicious food.

Satoru never announces when he is home. He likes to surprise you by hugging you from behind, hands locked on your tummy. He nuzzles his face in your neck, taking a whiff of your scent.

“I am home, sugar,” he announced. The vibration of his low voice sent shivers down to your core.

“Toruuu. Don't mess with me when I am cooking,” you purred

“mmh hmm,” he chuckled. “and how am I messing with you, my love?” His hands traveled around your body, enticing it more, and stopped only when they reached to your cunt.

“No panties, huh? Were you expecting this?” He whispered in your ear. Your hands trembled as they stirred the soup.

“Wanted to give you easy access.” A giggle escaped your lips, knowing how easy it is to tease him.

“Then let me make use of it, yeah?”

You turned off the stove before Satoru turned you around, picked you up and placed you on the counter top in the middle. You watched him get on his knees, loosening a few buttons of his shirt. He spread your legs apart, licking his lips at your glistening pussy, inviting him for a taste.

“Thank you for the meal” was the last coherent sentence that was heard from his mouth because he spent the next twenty minutes slurping, slobbering and spitting on your pussy. Even if a few praises managed to escape his mouth, they were caught by your clit the way he was trying to speak while being face deep in you.

You watch him unbuckle his belt with one hand to free his strained cock, his tongue not leaving your pussy for even a second. Fuck. His moans were driving you crazy. Your pretty fingers tightened around the white locks of his hair, and that's how satoru knew you were close. He shoved two digits up your cunt as he teased your sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue.

“fuck fuck fuck I'm close. Anh! Anh! Anh! Yes toru fuuuuuuuck” you cried as you came all over his tongue. He licked the remnants of your cum off his lips and asked you to clean off his soaking wet digits. The way you started kitty licking them, holding his wrist and slurping on them, made his cock shoot a load on the fabric of his pants.

He looked at you with a pink face, “shit. Tell me if your curry needs some sauce.” You lightly hit him as he laughs it off.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈- 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐘

Toji is a possessive man down to the core. Every so often a little too much. Any man who dares to even spare you an innocent glance looks away in seconds when he finds a 6 feet tall figure burying daggers in his body with just his look.

So when the man next building started interacting with you, toji knew what he had to do. Especially, when it’s really convenient that his window and your balcony were parallel. 

“Tojii  please. Someone will catch us,” you cried.

“Let them. I want them to know who ya belong too.” It was too much. Your legs were losing control. Your limp body pressed against the glass windows with your hair wrapped around toji’s fist, he was rutting against you mercilessly.

He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you against him as he angled deeper into your

“Fuck, you're so delicious, baby. If I could, I would fuck you in front of the whole city so them motherfuckers know to keep their dirty hands off my pretty slut”

He started pounding into you harder, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the night air as he claimed you with fierce possessiveness. When you tried to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out too loud, toji leaned forward and pulled you into the deepest kiss, making you vulnerable to scream the most desperate moans.

“I hope that pervert’s watching… wishing he could be in my place, splitting you open and making you scream like this.”

He growled low in his throat, the hold on your hips tightening to the point of bruising as he fucked you with ruthless intensity. He felt your pussy clench around his cock, signaling your impending orgasm as you arched your back, your spot craving more for that sweet release.

“Tojitojitojitoji” you cried. You were sure that people saw you two but your brain was so fucked out that you couldn’t care less.

“hmm” he chuckled in amusement. “Looks like lover boy’s watching us, doll. Scream my name more, yeah? Fhhuck-” Your walls clenched around him. You could feel the thick veins as your walls hugged them tightly.

“attagirl. atta.fucking.girl. Just like that baby. Cum f’me”

“tooojiiiii fhuuuuuck” your wails of pleasure echoed through the city.

“I know baby. I know. I’m close too. Keep throwing it back, hmm?”

He threw his head back with a loud groan as he followed you right after your edge, his cock pulsing violently as he filled you with his warm cum.

“Y’er mine… All mine… Never forget it, doll” he sighed in your ears, catching your limped body, trailing kisses all over your back. He definitely had a good sleep that night knowing he would keep his hands off you from tomorrow.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔- 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐔𝐁

Suguru is a caretaker at heart. He knows what you need, even when you don't. When you come home, all he wants is to wipe away all your stress.

You walked through the door and the calming scent of lavender lured you in the room.

“Suguru? Suguru, love, I am home.” Amidst of calling him and seeking him with your doe eyes, two large hands appeared on your waist and locked against your stomach.

“Been waiting for you, my love,” Suguru purred in your years with the deepest yet softest voice. “Follow me”

He tugged lightly on your wrist and guided you to the warm bubbly water of the bathtub. The scented lavender candles painted the night with dim yellow. Big hands undressed you, kissing your skin as he pulled each piece of clothing with gentleness. He got in the tub first, then guided you in. The warm water immediately making you feel better. The soft foam enveloped your body as he pulled you against him, your back pressed against his chest.

“Mmm, baby… This is where you belong, wrapped up in my arms” he said as he kissed your bare shoulder blade.

He trailed his fingertips lazily over your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks until they hardened against his palms.

“Mhmm, suguru...” you moaned.

“Shhh… Let me take care of you, love. Just tell me what you want, mkay?” You nodded.

He gently pinched and rolled your nipples between his fingers, watching with satisfaction as you arch into his caress.

“I could spend hours just playing with these perfect tits… But there's so much more of you that I need to take care of.” Long fingers started traveling down, feeling the gentle curve of your hips, until they reached the place that was yearning for his touch.

You squirmed when he pinched your clit lightly. “Hmm…sweet little pussy.” He chuckled. “Always so eager for me.”

“Just for you.”

“I know, darling.” He started stroking your folds with his fingers, coating it in your slick, the warm water stimulating your clit more.

He leaned in to capture your mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with yours as he put his hard cock in your pussy with increasing intimacy in the warm, soothing water.

Suguru started rubbing your clit underwater, his cock was tucked inside your walls, not moving an inch. He knew he needed you to relax first. You didn't know if it was the water, the ambience, or the fatigue of the whole day, but you were close, sooner than usual. Suguru could feel your body tightening as you held on his arms tightly.

“Sugu…'m close”

“Let it go, baby. Cum for me.” His command sent you over the edge as you orgasmed, hands holding the edge of the bath tub so tightly.

“Good girl.” He praised as you clashed your erratic body on him, chest heaving.

“Wow. That was…"

“Amazing, right?” He kissed your head.

“Mhmm. Now…how about I ride you in here.” You turned to face him as you suggested.

“But you're tired, baby.” Suguru's worried voice melted you.

“Never for you.” You winked at him as you aligned his cock with your entrance once again. Honestly, Suguru gave you a reason to skip work.

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀- 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

Being a king throughout 1000 of years, Sukuna has grown a liking to sitting on his throne with his thighs spread out and face resting on one of the hands. So, guess how he fucks you? Like the king that he is.

He sits on the couch with both his arms stretched and resting on it, all while you squirm as you struggle to put just his flushed tip in.

He smirked down at you, eyes gleaming with lust and pride as he watches your expressions.

“Need a hand, woman?”

“Shut up, sukuna. Give me a—ngh a s-second.” You scowled, trying to fit him in.

“Sure. Take all the seconds you want. Also," he leaned in, unresting his back from the couch, “… If you want to run your mouth like that, then better do it after you manage to get it in. It doesn't sound convincing when you stutter like a slut.”

He was clearly pushing your buttons, and you were pushing down your cunt out of fury and frustration. And you managed to get it in, moaning out his name desperately, hands immediately falling on his shoulder to maintain balance.

“Easy. Easy tiger.” His hands supported your back. “Hmm…don't hurt yourself.”

“I-I won't. Lemme ride it, kuna.”

“All yours,” he smiled.

He grasped your hips firmly, guiding you to sink again onto his length in one smooth motion

“Mmm, yeah. Just like that. Take what you need from your king”

He let out a low groan as you begin to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm that had both of you panting with pleasure, only sukuna wouldn't make it obvious on his face. He is too cocky for that.

“Shit. You're so tight.”

He leaned forward to capture your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he savored the taste of your moans

“That's right, baby. Ride it good. Make those pretty tits bounce.”

He broke the kiss to gaze at you, his hands sliding up to palm your breasts, teasing the stiff nipples between his fingers.

“Look at you, sweetheart. So gorgeous, trying to be in control. I love watching you take what you want.”

He started to thrust up into you, meeting your downward strokes with increasing urgency as your bodies moved together in perfect sync.

“Fuck…kuna. Too deep. Ah!”

“Obviously. Wanna give up?”

You vigorously shook your head. “No…feels good.” He chuckled at you.

He reached beneath you to rub at your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shivers of delight through your body. “Come on, pretty thing. Drench this cock with your juices.” You start moving faster, losing your composure as you chase your high.

“fuck. Ah! Kuna kuna yes! Gonna cum. Anh! Anh! Fuck. Aaaah!" You screamed in pleasure as you came, head rolling back as sukuna's grip on your waist tightened as he shot his load in you.

“Fuck! Agh—shit” his thighs trembled. “Take it Take it. Take it.” He growled as he emptied his balls in you. His forehead crashed on your shoulders.

"Shit. Think you ready for a little brat just like you?"

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎- 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃

Nanami is a classic lover. He believes in change, but he also believes that some things should remain the same. Like how he likes to spoil you with flowers and letters, no matter how cliché they are considered. How he reads poetry to you every night. And how he fucks his cock deep in you on the bed in missionary.

Nanami lifted you onto the bed, laying you out on the soft sheets like an offering to be worshiped

“Ah, darling. You look so beautiful like this.”

He kicked off his pants and climbed onto the bed, soaking in the pretty sight of you.

He positioned him between your thighs as he drank in the sight of your glistening pussy. “Mmm, look at that. So wet and ready for me already.” He mumbled. You covered your face with the back of your hand. “Don't get all shy on me now.”

He lined up his throbbing cock with your entrance, rubbing the tip against your sensitive clit to elicit a moan from your lips. “That's it, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you want this.”

He grasped your hips firmly, holding you in place as he slowly sunk into you, relishing the feeling of your tight heat enveloping his hard on inch by delicious inch

“Fuck, baby. Just like always, you feel incredible,” he moaned out.

He started to move, setting a steady, deep rhythm as he claimed you with long, intense strokes.

“Ken…oh my g-god. Feels so good.”

“I know, baby. I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours, “Every inch of you.”

“Love you, too, K-ken—Ah Fuck yes! Right there.”

He seized your mouth in a heated kiss, swallowing your whimpers and moans as he continued to pound into you with increasing fervor.

“I love feeling you tense up around me, sweetheart. Fhuuck! Knowing that you're com-completely lost in pleasure, mindless and consumed by the need for more.”

He broke the kiss to gaze into your eyes, his own burning with raw desire as he picks up the pace, driving into you with reckless abandon

“You're mine, sweetheart. Go ahead. Claim me as you cum.”

He continued to pleasure you with slow, deliberate movements, delving deeper to stroke your inner walls with his girthy cock, coaxing you closer to the brink of ecstasy

“I want to hear you, sweetheart. Say my name.”

“Ken! Ken! Yes, Ken! Make me cum. Fuck.”

You reached your high, and you locked your legs tightly around his waist. Your clenching walls sent Nanami over the edge, and he climaxed with a guttural roar, slamming into you one final time as he erupted inside you, painting your insides with wave after wave of his hot release.

“Ah, fuck yeah. So good, sweetheart.” He crashed onto you like a weighted blanket, chest heaving. “Did you feel good?”

“So good. I love you, Ken.”

"I love you more, darling."

[mystra-midnight]

The Devil and I

summary: logan might have looked like an ordinary man, but the weight of his metal-laced bones pressing against your back was intoxicating—deliciously so. and he knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the earth revolved around the sun.

warnings: 18+ only. dom!logan. rough sex. messy sex. spanking. tiny hint of anal play.

words: 1.8k.

notes: i am not even sorry. not one bit. this was inspired entirely by this post by @i-spit-on-your-garage and dedicated to her also. thank you for sharing your horny thoughts with me.

"That's it, baby, taking me so well."

Logan's voice was a gruff growl against your ear, crawling up his throat and over your skin like whiskey, full-bodied. His breath, warm and tinged with a hint of smoke, sent shivers down your spine. His large hands kneaded the flesh of your hips as he dragged you against his pelvis again, the sound of skin hitting skin loud, leaving your arse stinging from the impact.

You'd never given much thought to his body until now. What had started as harmless flirting—a dirty fantasy about fucking the mutant called Wolverine—had taken a turn. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive; in fact, Logan was the epitome of a woman's wildest dreams. He was tall and impossibly strong, his muscles rippling under your fingertips. But what surprised you most was his weight, the heaviness that came from the adamantium skeleton beneath his warm flesh.

Logan might have looked like an ordinary man, but the weight of his metal-laced bones pressing against your back was intoxicating—deliciously so. And he knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the Earth revolved around the Sun. 

That's why he kept you in this position: on your knees, face pressed into the mattress, hips raised, your slick folds stretched around his girth. Logan relished seeing his women like this—whiny and cock-drunk, the perfect plaything for his pleasure. Your voice was muffled, fingers digging into the sheets so tightly they hurt. You could barely make a sound as he thrust into you, each powerful stroke forcing gasps from your lungs. He didn't mind.

Your entire body trembled when his hand moved up your sweaty back, each fingertip tracing the delicate curve of your spine with deliberate tenderness. The sensation was electric, a shiver-inducing journey that left your skin prickling with goosebumps. He paused at each vertebra, applying just enough pressure to make you arch before continuing his path upward. When his fingers finally reached the nape of your neck, they didn't simply rest there—they curled possessively, his grip firm and unyielding, as if he was claiming ownership of your very being.

He pinned you against the mattress with effortless dominance, his weight pressing you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your ear, a tantalising promise of what was to come. His presence was overwhelming, a dark force looming over you like a stalking shadow, enveloping you in his warmth.

Somehow, you managed to suck in a shaky breath, a soft whine escaping your lips as he turned your face towards his, and then his lips crashed into yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss was made entirely of tongue, teeth, and saliva. His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring every corner with a desperation that matched your own. His teeth grazed and nipped, a blend of pleasure and pain that sent jolts of heat straight to your core. Saliva mixed and smeared, creating a mess neither of you cared to clean.

As he slowed the piston of his hips, switching to a slow deep grind that had the crown of his cock abusing that sweet spot inside your pussy, your eyes rolled so far into your skull that, for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw your own brain. It was like he was carving his way into your guts and hitting the back of your throat. "Lo-gan!" You gasped as a sob welled in your chest, your tears finally falling, leaving streaks of mascara and eyeliner down your cheeks. "M-more, faster, please," you begged.

He tutted mockingly behind you, each sound dripping with condescension and the unmistakable arrogance of pure male dominance. Before you could react, his open palm came down hard on your arse, the sudden, stinging impact tearing a surprised shriek from your lips. The sharp zing of pain cut through your already-burning skin, sending a fresh wave of moisture surging through your core. The sensation caused your inner muscles to tighten around the length of his shaft, gripping him firmly as he bottomed out inside you, his cock buried to the hilt.

He stilled for a moment, savouring the feeling of being completely enveloped by your slick heat. Without warning, he spanked you again, the loud crack of his hand against your flesh echoing through the room. You hissed at the sharp sting, your pussy clenching around him. He growled in response, the sensation of your tight walls driving him wild.

"Greedy girl," he grunted against your ear. His hand came down again, delivering another hard spank that resonated through your body, the sting of it sending a jolt of pleasurable pain straight to your clit. His hand lingered there, palming the globe of your arse as he admired the perfect handprint he'd left, the outline of his fingers vivid against your flushed skin. He could feel the slickness coating your inner thighs, the evidence of your arousal mixing with the sweat on your skin, dripping from his balls as he thrust hard into you.

The air was thick with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the wet slap of skin against skin as he thrust into you, driving deep, setting a fast pace. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice a rough, guttural sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Keep squeezing me like that, and I'm gonna blow right fucking now."

Logan's gaze remained fixed on your arse, his cock twitching inside you at the thought of what it would be like to actually fuck you there. The idea consumed him, driving him to act on his desires. With a growl, he slipped his thumb into his mouth, wetting it thoroughly before bringing it down to your tight hole. He smeared his spit around your sensitive entrance, groaning deeply as your pussy tightened around him in response.

"Logan!" you cried out, his name slipping from your lips in a breathless plea.

His grin widened at the sound, his expression smug, and he tightened his grip on the nape of your neck, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. “You gonna let me fuck you back here next, bub?” he asked, already knowing what your answer would be.

You moaned wantonly, nodding as you pushed back against him, meeting his powerful thrusts halfway and impaling yourself on his thick cock. “Gods, please, I want it so bad,” you begged, sounding like a common whore.

“Atta girl.”

This was all he said, his voice so arrogant and condescending, before grabbing both your hips tightly, steadying you, his fingers leaving bruises on your skin. The force of his thrusts was maddening, driving you to claw at the sheets, your body teetering on the brink of orgasm embarrassingly quickly. Your walls clamped tightly around him, each movement sending you closer to the edge. It felt like a thunderstorm was tearing through your head, igniting every one of your nerves.

You could hear him grunting, feel the droplets of sweat dripping from his hair onto your back and how his fingers bruised harder into your hips, holding so tightly that your bones were sure to bend and break. But none of this registered in your mind the way it should have. You were lost in the moment, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure about to ruin you.

"Gonna cum—right there, right there—please, please, Logan. I need to cum. Fuck me—ah, harder, fuck, fuck—Logan!"

He was wild and feral—an animal.

Without warning, the air was punched out of your lungs as the orgasm struck you like a bolt of lightning, turning your blood into electricity and your limbs into live wires. You came hard, crying out a pretty symphony of his name as pleasure wracked your body. At the same time, he bottomed out, burying himself balls deep and filling you completely, shooting thick, ivory ropes of cum deep inside you, coating your walls.

Fisting a hand in your hair, he wound the silken strands around his fingers, using the grip to force your face back down against the mattress. His hips ground against your arse, rocking gently back and forth, his movements sending waves of pleasure through your trembling body. And as he came with a guttural growl, his release surged into you, hot and overwhelming, flooding your still-fluttering walls.

The fullness was almost too much, his cum filling you completely until it had nowhere else to go. It began to seep out, slick and warm, trailing down the seam of your pussy where your tight grip on his cock created a barrier. Warmth spread through your body like fire racing through your veins, an intoxicating heat that intensified as he filled, fucked, and possessed you entirely.

His teeth sank into your shoulder in a savage bite as you panted his name in sweet nymphomania, wriggling beneath him, his weight comforting—like a heavy blanket. Logan's tongue followed, laving over your flushed flesh, soothing the sting left by his canines. He growled deeply, savouring the taste of you as his abdominal muscles flexed and his cock ached, twitching inside you with every pulse of your body.

When he finally began to pull out, you couldn't suppress the whine that escaped your lips, the sound filled with a sense of loss. The feeling of emptiness was stark, save for where the head of his cock remained nestled just inside your snug walls, a final intimate connection.

Logan sat back on his haunches, taking a moment to admire the view before him. Your arse was flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, marked by his handprints and the forceful impact of his hips. Thick ribbons of cum dripped from your swollen folds, which were slick with the evidence of your release. The mixture of your arousal and his seed connected you to his cock in a vivid tapestry of desire, each drop falling to the mattress below.

He watched as the thick fluid dripped from both of you, creating a small, glistening pool beneath your bodies. With a rough but affectionate touch, Logan patted your arse, the force making it jiggle and your hips twitch involuntarily. His satisfaction was evident in the low, gravelly tone of his voice. "That felt like a good one," he remarked, a hint of pride lacing his words as he continued to drink in the sight of you, thoroughly used and utterly beautiful.

He snapped his hips forward, rutting into you with surprising vigour, filling you again and relishing in the wet squelching that echoed through the room. Each thrust forced his cum to leak from your well-used pussy, the slick evidence of your coupling escaping with every movement. You gasped, the sensation almost too much to bear, your hips wriggling as though to escape the overwhelming pleasure that teetered on the edge of overstimulation. But Logan only laughed as he thoroughly enjoyed how your body remained so tightly wound, so damn sensitive and ready to take him.

His stamina, just like the weight of his skeleton, was a marvel. It shouldn't have been surprising, given his mutation. His body was in a constant state of peak performance, always regenerating and healing. Logan 'Wolverine' Howlett had never been a one-and-done type of man; he was relentless and insatiable.

"Hope you don't think we're done, bub," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly promise against your ear. "'Cause we've got all night."

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[acid-ixx]

brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

ft. neglectful yandere! bruce wayne x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: did anybody ask for this? no! did i decide to write this anyways? abso -fucking-lutely. is this a rantfic? mayybee. anyways, this is not my best piece nor will anything i write be my best piece but i just love destroying my happiness with angst and altho writing a very anxiety ridden mc is fun, i also love to dabble in sadomasochistic traits for a main character. like i said, i am not proud of this but i figured i should post something. erm... leave comments bec i love reading whatever stuff u guys have in store hehe.

you've tasted blood on your tongue far longer than you've felt the loving touch of a family.

it's metallic. it's salty. it twists every vein in your gut.

it tastes of broken metal pipes in playgrounds, destructive tantrums and broken dreams, of skipped classes and detention rooms, of ripped test papers and missed diplomas. it reminds you of your bitter past every single time; one you swore you've buried six feet deep into the ground. a burning memory with nothing more than heartaches and heartbreaks.

you taste blood whenever they reject your advances for even a single moment of bonding time. you feel it pumping slowly, steadily, painfully whenever you stumble upon a room, only to see them, smiles and all, huddled together in a group with junk food in their hands and a movie playing in that stupid flat screen tv. you know it's the only thing accompanying you whenever he misses another event in your school. it becomes the only friend you have whenever you're alone, inside your too-small room, with shatters glass scattered around and bruised knuckles.

blood, for most, is vile, utterly repulsive. it reeks in every corner of a room, its scent is overpowering, it stains, it's hard to clean. it imprints. and it will always remind you it's there, in the depths of your body, curdling and boiling and ready to burst out of the seems every time you rip at your skin with a razor sharp blade. blood has always been your only friend, like a scar that will never fade away.

yet you embrace crimson like it was the color of your soul, and accept how it's the only color you allow in your grim life. black has never provided you solace, but red allowed for a mantra of emotions to trail into your very being.

blood. it's more homely than you let it out to be.

and you're far more familiar with it than anything else. you cradle it like an unwanted child, you kiss its wounds, allow it to fester and grow into an abhorrent disease that crawls like a lump in your throat that you could never get rid of.

in moments of solace, of quaint prayers and hours of kneeling into the floor— it is the thing that slides on cold, hard tiles. it is the warmth, the numbness, the thing that seeps out of your bruised knees, your scratched neck and your thighs with fingernails buried deep into flesh.

you've come to love blood, cherish it even.

especially if it's your own.

especially if it came from the punch of none other than your father.

left, right, left, right.

his punches were cruel and his kicks can easily crush bones into powder. he demands answers with every strike he delivers, he exudes an energy far more adrenaline based than yours. batman is methodical in the way he moves, the way he acts, and you're not; you're impulsive, you had no plans to counter the towering man— no counter for the brutal hits he lay upon you. you let him, you open every doorway world to beat your body black and blue, with red painting the canvas as a finishing touch.

he's stronger than you, and every time he bashes your head into the wall, the urge to spit into his face, to piss him off, to laugh at him and his Idiocracy; it all becomes stronger.

yet all you do was allow him multiple openings, denying yourself the pleasure of attempting to even take your abandoned gun at the corner and shoot at his cranium— you want him to suffer, even if it costs you your mobility by the near future, fuck it.

up, down, to the side, then an uppercut to your jaw and you're nearly depleted of anymore moves to counter. you want to seem like you've given up; but you want him pissed off, enough to punch you 'til blood seeps into the fibers of your mask. until your face starts bruising, until your nose breaks, until he finally rips your mask off and sees your face.

and he'll come to regret.

you shift to the side, and ignore the sting of your throat, the lull of your head and the soreness of your entire body.

because if you hadn't dodged, then your head would've left an imprint on the walls. you would've preferred that now, rather than the disgusting feeling of sentimentality that creeps into your heart at the implication that his blows were slowly, but surely, weakening.

he's holding back, you hold back a sneer.

as if he actually cares about you.

maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. you know he cares far more deeply for his enemies than he does you, and you hate how glad you are at the pride that finally, just finally are you being acknowledged. at the opposite end of his side, as enemies. but for once you can feel the care he offers others, most of which were nonexistent back when you were just some... nobody.

batman never kills; but he can hurt, he can injure, and he can destroy. and right now, you feel all the air leaving your body as the cloaked vigilante delivers the last punch to your ribcage.

you fall, on your hands and knees, a loud thump resounding through the empty abandoned building. all you hear are your crackling joints, and heavy breathing. heavy, like your eyelids, about to fall, about to shut until black encompasses your vision. if not for the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would've fainted— but you won't, you wouldn't, not until you see him, see his face.

the thumping in your heart beats louder, and your hands. god, they feel like jelly, it's burning, it's one step closer on collapsing under gravelly concrete and piercing skin into rocks. yet you're forbidden any time for grace, not when he lightly shoves you out of your position, and not when you fall to your sides, hands paralyzed, tears prickling against your cheeks at the pain that burns throughout your body.

"you don't deserve peace after shooting that family in front of that child, you know it."

his voice, domineering, absolutely fucking vibrating with a tremor of sheer anger. he directs his words at you, without empathy, without mercy. he wants you to learn to never mess with him in the streets of gotham. but you'll never... not until he notices you. fuck, you just want him to notice you. and now, he is, with utter vexation that causes a lump in your throat to form.

shit, you've never felt so happy.

it's when his tussled form — heavy, pitch-black boots slathered with crimson liquid — enters your sight that you cough, violently, out of breath, and you can feel it one second, then taste it in your tongue the next.

blood.

you grin, and slowly, ever-so eminently, did you spiral into a cackle. your throat gurgles crimson liquid, and yet it only builds into a cacophony of a broken record. you move your head, look through your nearly shredded domino mask, with so little strength to accompany you, to look at the man above you, eyes glinting with a glow never so alive until now.

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

batman, he who strikes fear into the hearts of gotham villains and civilians alike. he who protects the city at night. he whose name is said with wavering uncertainty— he's looking at you, only you.

'bruce wayne: my dad— is finally looking at me.'

and you! you're laughing, the sounds that emanate from your throat are so scratchy, so utterly decimated that it sounds like vultures feeding through a dead corpse; but you don't let your chuckles die down, because you're so, so happy.

he looks at you, with contempt, with disgust, you don't know; but you're still so overjoyed.

"y-yeah... it's me, i did it. are you proud of me...?" you ask as you look up, through the tears that flow out your eyes, through the grin that couldn't die down. he looks at you like you're insane, and you know he's confused, shifting uncomfortably as he gives someone a status update through the comms, his eyes never leaving your pathetic form—

you look at him like he means the world all throughout.

"call for red robin, i have one of the culprits," he orders through the intangible device, eyes squinting as he takes you in— you whose chuckles slowly calmed down, as your breathing finally becomes heavier, as blood, yours, seem to seep into clumsily made apparel. you, who bruce realized seem too oddly familiar, too small, too childish, whose moment of spiraling insanity is too damn innocent to ignore.

you're not like the typical rogue he encounters, no. and right before you finally allow sleep to overcome you, you muster the last of your energy, to stare back at him with shining eyes, expectant, and like a child's, you ask with the meekest voice.

"hey... dad, i have a surprise." scratchy, absolutely broken, yet spilling with joy, with... your last word right before you continue, bruce's heart thumps ever the slightest faster.

"take my mask off, please?"

crimson began to overtake your entire body, and bruce should've never complied with your... request, but as he kneels and finally gets a grasp of what you truly look like, he notices the frailness, the vulnerability, as if you were never built for... combat. with just how quickly you succumb to the depths of rest, with how oblivious you are to the fact that if it were anyone else, they would've killed you.

you're not properly trained, you fight out of impulse, and he knows it with just how swift you gave up midfight.

when he pulls the domino mask (which seems oddly inspired by the shape of... his vigilante partners, the robins...) off your face, did his heart finally hastened its pace, loud thumping crawling its way to his ears, his eyes registering your face: its form, its shape, your eyes, your nose—

all similar to his, all an amalgamation of your mother's, too.

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

your eyes, flickering one last time stared at him, softly, like that of a child who looks at their father with pride like nothing else. your hand, it shakes, it shivers, as your fingers find its way creeping to his hand, holding your mask. fingers so dainty, now pulverized bones lay atop his shivering hand, tenderly, as if trying to comfort the very same man who has nearly killed you.

batman— no, bruce looks at you. at what he's done, and only now did he realize his greatest mistake. a child, his child, one whose innocence retained through heinous acts, now a villain, whose actions were all a testimony to merely wanting their father's attention.

he failed you, his child. he failed to protect you, who he has never held up close until now— as your body is hastily taken into his arms. so small, so easily wrapped around his body, so unbefitting of committing criminal activity. now bloodied and laid into barren ground by their very own father.

bruce wayne never felt this much terror, for nearly killing his child.

this, this day marks his sin.

and you? dearest you feel like today is your greatest day.

crimson, nearly every part of you is stained with that putrid color.

yet blood has always been your best friend, no? and right now as you bleed into the arms of your father, you find yourself grateful that it is the last thing you see before a black cloak wraps around you, before black fills your entire line of sight.

short rant ahead: another author's note??? wow. yeah this was such a hard drabble to write. plsplspls leave a comment or some sort of input. anything will do. ive been so demotivated to write lately and i feel like anything i write is just, so bad 😭 like is my pacing good? are the emotions out of place? am i even doing this right ?? i don't know, and i feel like every time i post something i always put up expectations on myself that I should've done better so yeahh. is this attention seeking behavior? probably. but i don't get how people have come to like the stuff i write when i hate whatever i write hence why im in a constant cycle of hiatuses and short breaks. and really, it's just so hard to come into terms with things and i need input lest i accidentally get into a year or two of hiatus, lmaoo.