#its-my-little-dumpster-fire

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

fuck it. no one has said this as far as ive seen but i genuinely have the headcanon that luz had a hardcore nightcore phase and you can pry that from my hands. she WOULD listen to nightcore/had a nightcore phase. listening to songs pitched and sped up with eye splittingy bright anime backgrounds - BONUS points if she discovered the "anime" she wanted to edit clips about in episode 1 of s1. she just has that vibe to me.

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

✨ meet the artist, @r0ttenb0gb0dy edition ✨

i have no idea what i look like but my husband fact checked this and he said that it looks like me so i am going to assume he is right 🩷

ive never done one of these so i kinda just infodumped . if anyone has any questions don't hesitate to pester me i love to talk !!!! i don't bite i promise . i am just a simple line cook obsessed with a video game from 10+ years ago (this can apply to many games) and a writer when im mentally capable of doing so .

bog loves u all . mwah .

[strawberryicemoon]

Why I can't watch the Ducktales Finale

I'm not the kind of person who struggles to watch the last episode of something. I love to finish a show, and let it sit in my brain. I'm the kind of person who often enjoys spoilers because it adds to my understanding of the media. I love to view the media in their entirety just as much as I love a journey to get there.

But I can't get past the first few minutes of Ducktales 2017, The Last Adventure. And it's because of spoilers that I couldn't deal with. I don't like them, and even years later after I've had time to digest, and have seen so many finale clips, that I still can't just sit down and watch it. And I've made attempts. I've looked through the summary of the episode to prepare. But I can't.

And there's... a couple of things that rub me the wrong way about the Finale that keep me from being able to just watch it.

1. Webby is Scrooge's Clone Daughter

2. Webby is April, of April May and June

3. Donald and Daisy are going on vacation.

Now, I don't actually hate any of these... conceptually. And I'm well aware that Frank Angones has stated the Webby twist was planned from very early on. And usually I am completely down for whatever a finale is, as long as I can tell that this was something the creator really believed in.

I'm a fan of such "controversial" endings as, Amphibia and Digimon Adventure 02, because I know exactly why they ended like that. It's written in the themes. Even if it took me time to understand Adventure's ending, I've grown to understand it and love it once I learned more about the original Japanese version and the shows production (and also grew up myself). Amphibia ended exactly as I expected based on one of the very earliest things I heard about the show from Matt Braly: "an ode to past friendships". Even if I think there are things they messed up I GET IT. I wouldn't want them ending any other way.

So I understand WHY the decision is made. Conceptually it does make sense. Webby exists as a composite character of April May and June, and I believe shares the same name as April in one language. Webby being Scrooge's clone daughter is an effective way of full-circling her relationship with him. Strangers in each other's home to father and daughter. She's family not BECAUSE of Blood, but because of Love. She still loves her Granny, it's just the non blood relationship wasn't the one she thought it was. And Donald deserves a vacation, and to have the more down to earth life experiences he wanted, especially after raising his sisters kids alone for 10 years.

But they still twist me up inside.

And I think it comes down to three reasons: 1. Lack of Continuity between episodes 2. An over-focusing on Scrooge 3. Handling of Word of God

1. Lack of Continuity between episodes Part of what got me to fall in love with Ducktales was S1 and the continuity of the Spear of Selene subplot. We got hints at a semi-regular pace, but it successfully overhung the entire series. It was what separated Scrooge and Donald. It was why Della was gone. The subject matter was of course not something that needed to be overstated, as most of it was being kept hush hush. Sure it was a mystery, but not an urgent one. Dewey had never had his mom, so it wasn't like he couldn't focus on anything else for a while

But in S2 I started noticing that the show stopped explaining or foreshadowing things. Maybe it always did, I haven't re watched it properly. But I definitely noticed something off about the storytelling then. But it was definitely a problem throughout the show.

Webby never brought up Lena after her sacrifice until the relevant episode.

Lena living with the Sabrewings was something never brought up until episodes later we saw her with them.

We had Della talking about the boys with their "Uncles" setting up the pain of not knowing how things fell apart after her departure, only to get no payoff.

We didn't get ANYTHING about Webby's parentage until the final episode, and barely a hint in 1 season 3 episode.

Almost every finale episode changes the status quo in some way. The question is how much. Lots of final episodes kind of have things going back to the way they were before plot kicked off but better (like with new friends or a new government). Sometimes someone dies.

Webby being Scrooge's clone is paradigm shifting. And that kind of thing needs to be set up. You CANNOT catch your audience off guard with something like that.

In Digimon Adventure 02 the series ends with everyone on earth with a digimon partner which is controversial but at least built up throughout the series at hints of other digidestined until an arc near the end showcased many international digidestined. Hilda ends with the reveal that Hilda's mother is half-fairy, and despite not being present throughout the first two seasons, it was hinted at through the third season, and contextualized some of the few things we did know before about Johanna's childhood. The Hollow's first season ends with you finding out it was all a game, but it had been hinted at before with the video game nature of the world. Sure Avatar didn't hint at Aang getting the power to take away bending, but we knew he was a pacifist who didn't want to kill so was looking for a solution, getting the power to remove bending (ie power over others) works thematically, in the same way Anne using the power of the stones and getting brought back to life by a god like being worked. Sure, Scratch turning out to be a wraith at the end of The Ghost and Molly McGee was rather sudden, but people had been theorizing that Todd was Scratch's body for a long time, so it wasn't like there weren't any hints, and while the show was cut short and had to rush to end, the build up of Scratch's memories at least gave some sort of foreshadowing link to what was going on.

There's a reason people rarely throw in new characters at the very end of a show. It can absolutely work. Amphibia and The Owl House threw in "God" at the end, but that gets a pass for being the kind of figure they meet once and then move on with their lives. On the other side, you can sometimes have secret big bads that were pulling the strings the whole time too. I can't speak for the finale of Ducktales (because again, can't bring myself to watch it), but adding two new characters on top of changing the entire dynamic of how the family is set up at the very end of the show does not sit well with me. We won't get to see how this change in status quo effects the characters. We saw how learning about their mom affected the boys relationship with Scrooge, her return and having to build a relationship with her and her presence conflicting with Launchpad's. But we don't get that with Scrooge and Webby? Basically too many status quo shifts in the finale all at once.

All we got was Beakley was a spy, was overprotective of Webby, and a few episodes before the end it was revealed Beakley was lying to her. Webby didn't seem to care about her parents. And this was a girl who was very dedicated to unraveling the secrets of clan mcduck. Couldn't they have had one hint at some point in the show where it was unclear if it was the boys or Webby who were recognized as a McDuck? Some offhand mention where the boys ask her about HER parents, because she helped them with her mom?

You couldn't tell what was or was not going be important in the way they dropped. It's very hard to set your expectations when you had no clue what to expect. And while there is something to be said for unexpected surprises and twists in a story, an audience really needs to know what is or is important or they're going to go on wild goose chases and get disappointed when they build up hype for something the show then refuses to address.

In HINDSIGHT, I find it extremely odd that Huey and Louie, prior to finding out about Dewey's investigations, did not pry at ALL into the fact that hey: if Donald was an adventurer with Scrooge, then he had to know their mom. Like that’s weird right?

2. An over-focusing on Scrooge Scrooge is the Center of the Universe.

I'm not a Disney Ducks fan. Aside from 2017, and pop culture osmosis, I know very little. But the thing is I am someone whose first inclination once I become a fan of something is to check out the wiki pages for information. Find about what longstanding fan mysteries there are. I understand the importance of cross continuity callbacks. I'm a fan of other longstanding series and have rubbed elbows with several others. I get really long franchises with several iterations.

Which is to say that I, despite not having a horse in this race, understand how this works and how it should work.

Now a bit of this is the fact Ducktales is ABOUT Scrooge. But Scrooge isn't the center of the Duck universe. Something I find pretty interesting is the fact that Donald has reasonably fleshed out family trees on both sides of his family. That's cool. That's how real people work, a meeting point of the stories of those who came before. But Ducktales doesn't care, the only adult the show cares about is him. I get that to a certain extent it was the show execs insisting on focusing on the kids. And again, he's kind of the main character. But you brought back Donald, and Della. There are other characters here with rich lives, he doesn't need to take over everything.

It's especially egregious ANY time the McDuck clan gets involved. Could Matilda be the youngest child now? Sure. But that's a really arbitrary change, that they don't use for anything. And even if that was purposeful, the fact is that the first thing they established is Donald's mom is still Scrooge's sister, so Donald is the grandson of Fergus and Downy McDuck. Not nephew? Surely they could recognize him? But where is Hortense and Quackmore? They brought them up in the first episode, and then they never made any appearances aside from references. Why were Donald and Della staying with Scrooge for Christmas? Never clarified. Fans (reasonably) assumed they were dead. Scrooge called Donald his ward (admittedly when he also called him Fergus and Downy’s nephew rather than grandson). I mean where else would they be when their DAUGHTER DISAPPEARED. Would they not want to meet their grandchildren? But that was never clarified. And I've seen some fans alternatively interpret them as bad parents, which I think is just really unfair. Scrooge gets to be the good parent? It's once again Scrooge to the rescue. The CAPITALIST? I mean it's also a little bit just a family issue in general: It's Uncle Gladstone and Cousin Fethry when they are theoretically the same: technically cousins but old enough to be honorary uncles. It's fair enough. But really that brings us to the Duck family in general.

Grandma Duck? What about Gladstone and Fethry's parents? Gus Goose? Are they all dead? Does Fethry have any siblings? Do the boys not know or not care about the Duck side of the family? They know Gladstone but no one else? I mean Scrooge's parents, who should be dead, were magically kept alive but nothing for the duck family. Speaking of which, they constantly bring up how old Scrooge and occasionally refer to the causes of his supernatural age, but that does not explain how young Donald and Della are compared to him. Overall, we get nothing on the Duck family except for its existence at least, so even removed from the context of Disney Ducks legacy its weird to introduce a side of the family and just gloss over it.

The one episode about the Duck family legacy is a Webby episode. Which, fine, she's not a Duck, but she's part of the family. Except wait. She's Scrooge's daughter/clone, and you gave her the focus on the one episode about the Duck family not the McDuck's? You couldn't leave Scrooge out of anything?

So for Webby's great twist in the finale, was taking not just one, but two characters NOT related to Scrooge (April and Webby), and tying them to Scrooge. I think I could deal with Webby being April, and (HUGE MAYBE) Webby being Scrooge’s clone or April being Scrooge’s clone but not both. Not to mention April, May and June are DAISY's nieces... not random three girls who are her boyfriends uncles clone and and boyfriends uncles clones clone? It doesn't sit right with me that a character who I thought was supposed to be learning that he was sometimes in the wrong, and not the center of morality (see how he made Glomgold a villain through his own ego), continue to be made the center of the universe in ways he simply shouldn't be.

He's literally an old rich guy. Like there is historical context for why this character is like this, but why does the world revolve around him in this show.

3. Word of God Word of God is useful. As are interviews and statements made by the creator. It helps to provide insight into the themes. I love seeing the person behind the art.

But here's the thing. Word of God is clarification, insight into how you should look at the work to set expectations. It's supplementary. It doesn't replace text.

This is a little bit difficult to really talk about now that I'm several years removed from the experience, so grain of salt and all, but I really think the way Word of God was handled did the show a disservice.

Back to Lena becoming a Sabrewing, we didn't get that in show. Lena just dropped off the face of the earth, not until S3’s premier we got a clarification on that in show.

We never got Della's reaction to learning that Donald and Scrooge were estranged, she just suddenly stopped speaking under that assumption.

So Word of God became an essential part of understanding the text, because a lot of necessary information was left unexplained by the canon its a huge problem. And Word of God is often fluid. It can be changed later if during the writing process something changes. (We should probably cover this topic in show and want to do it a bit differently, I have a great Idea of what we can do to turn that error into foreshadowing, I was lying to the fans to keep a secret).

But when word of god is necessary, word of god becomes essential for tempering expectations about the show.

This is probably going to be less of an issue for people who come and watch the show later. Sure, things are still unexplained, but when you can binge the show Lena's unexplained absence is less obvious, you're so busy moving on to other things that Della's change in understanding about the situation is clearly unimportant and you can move on.

But what ended up happening is that Frank Angones struggled to balance clarifications, keeping show secrets, and a sometimes changing story. Which sometimes left characters completely sure on where the story was sitting, only for it to be ripped out from under them. Also, tying back to the first point, of plot points being dropped until the episode where they where they were relevant made it VERY difficult to tell what was or wasn’t going to be relevant, and what emotional beats to get emotionally invested in.

Prior to the finale there was a bit of a community of Webby/Triplet shippers. Personally, I see that as a complete dismissal of the themes of the show and a bit heteronormative. I avoided all such content. But at the same time, shipping doesn't hurt anyone. At the end of the day, the boys and Webby were not related by blood, and hadn't even met until age 10. There wasn't... really a reason you couldn't ship them. There are TONS of shows out there with 10 year old characters and love interests. Just off the top of my head: Any Ship with Ash Ketchum, Sprigivy, Phinabella, Kenyako, Sorato. Even if they don't get together at 10, (or at all) the fact of the matter is 10 year olds getting shipped is old news. I'm still attached to Pokeshipping and Takari to this day, even if I tend to see them more as platonic relationships these days. So I avoided all shipping with them, but I understood why people (particularly younger people) were shipping them. Until the finale hit, and the ships that people thought never going to be canon, but were safe, weren't. To a certain extent, that's the game you play with shipping clearly noncanonical ships. But I feel that the way questions about shipping were answered didn't help, because iirc he tended to say the show wouldn't focus on that more than he explicitly stated the kids were family. He called Webby/Triplet shipping highly unlikely for example, giving it more legitimacy than a no, which leant to it being taken as a solid fact prior to the finale that Webby was definitely not related to the boys, because a lot of what else was said was solid fact.

4. (Bonus): of course, I do also feel it kind of isn't enough to justify breaking the found family. So much of Webby's arc was being accepted into the family. Becoming the 4th triplet. So for her to have been blood all along is a little cheap. Sure it doesn't break the becoming family despite blood before. But, having meta-knowledge of Launchpad probably finding family with Gosalyn and Drake Mallard, it's just Beakley whose left as not blood related (and she's technically the help...). And yeah, there's the Granny/Grandaughter adopted relationship. But....

Webby is one of four kids. Again, she became one of the kids. So yeah. I'm happy that she became one of the kids. Able to call him uncle scrooge. But it feels weird to me that she, the kid who already lived in the manor with Scrooge even if they kept their distance, displaced the triplets as Scrooge's natural heirs. The uncle relationships in this show being parental/grandparental was already good. Not all families look the same, some people parent their siblings' kids for one reason or another. Scrooge's presumed "heirs' ' was his sister's descendants, not his, but he loved them like his own. That's good. So to not only break the "not blood related at all" to "actually daughter", kind of ALSO meant a "my niblings are my legacy" got overtaken with "my daughter is my legacy".

And maybe I'd feel less sour about it if we had more time after the show. But on a fundamental level it didn't just alter Webby's place in the family, but her grandmother's, and the Duck Twins and Triplets. Again, especially with the triplets. I wanted the four of them to become functional equals. The 4th triplet. But for her to have a secret Scrooge connection that overtakes the one she was jealous of the triplets of having doesn't sit right to say the least.

I feel I could get over this one, especially maybe if they gave us more time. But it just didn't make it worth it to me.

5. (Bonus Bonus): Now I don't use the term Mary Sue lightly. But what I do think of canon Mary Sueism is a tendency to make female characters on predominately male casts "special" in some way to justify their presence. They have to be the level headed smart ones and the ones with . They have to be likable so they're robbed of character. I wouldn't say Webby is a particularly bad example of this, and it's not like Ducktales lacks other flawed female characters (Della my beloved).

But the way Webby is treated reminds me of April from TMNT 2012, and Allura from Voltron Legendary Defender (and kinda Larmina from Voltron Force). All are 80s characters in shows that had a predominately male cast of characters, and who were both an outsider, and defined by being a girl. And then the reboot both doubled down on making them special, integrating them into the group more, but also making them generally tougher the boys in some way, and also sometimes more in the know about things. Webby is aged up to match the boys age rather than aged down to match the boys age like April but the effect is still the same.

The girl is now a peer to the boys, 4th triplet, rather than a little sister. Webby is more capable and well-read than any of the boys. And at the start of the series she's socially awkward enough it feels like it will work. And I'm not saying Webby isn't flawed, she is. But when it comes to the things the family finds important: adventuring, she doesn't have any obvious shortcomings. Louie quits easily and isn't as coordinated, Dewey is reckless and generally uneducated, and Huey isn't flexible. And Webby... used to be socially awkward???

It’s kinda trading 1 sexist trope for another. And yeah, all shows do have OTHER female characters who kind of avert this. But it doesn’t change the fact the leading lady is more “special” than the boys. Like being a girl has to be special.

In short, at the end of the day Webby being Scrooge's daughter doesn't help her character, her grandmothers, or the rest of the family. It kinda helps Scrooge’s character, but while I haven’t seen the episode myself, I’m not sure there would be enough time for it to be meaningful. And again, I think a lot of the characterization and worldbuilding of other characters were already sacrificed for Scrooge’s sake in the show already.

Oh and the Donald/Daisy thing.

The reason Daisy/Donald's trip doesn't sit right with me is we barely got any Donald and Della having to coparent. Get used to each other again. We barely got any of them and we're heading back into separation. It doesn’t feel cathartic when we still have unanswered questions from this stage in their life. And even if the trip is well, a trip. It feels weird.

It feels kind of unexpectedly "conventional family", even if it's still really unconventional. Donald is going to go be happy with his love interest, away from the boys he raised who aren't actually his sons (and yes, I know he takes May and June with him but still, knowing that May and June are by default Daisy's nieces kind of has "new kids with new wife" implications to me but that's neither here nor there). Adding this to "Webby being Scrooge's daughter is a good plot point for him" and it's just really weird, and kind of feels like the final nail in the nontraditional family dynamics coffin. If feel only way they could have buried it more is if Beakley died or something.

I was already kinda uncomfortable with the “Daisy being the only one to understand him” thing because like. That’s sweet. His soulmate is the only one who really hears him. But also that’s a fucking speech impediment Donald has. Are you telling me that no one in his family cared enough to effectively communicate with him despite his disability? Like if it is REALLY that much a problem he should have an effective communication method. Sign-language for example?

The triplets he raised don’t always understand him. His twin sister doesn’t always understand him? But this random woman does? I am all for Daisy and Donald being basically soulmates. But uh? This feels both ableist and allonormative in a show that really wasn’t those things before. (well okay it was kinda ableist about Donald but it felt less weird to me when there wasn’t one person who could magically understand Donald). And Daisy understanding him still could be a big thing? The first person who understood him without getting to know him first/wasn’t literally raising him/raised with/raised by him?

I want to like Daisy so much, but she just feels a bit like Webby does: a legacy female character they are trying to make too cool, who gets some of their coolness incidentally defined by a male character, rather than a full-fledged character on their own. (For instance if we saw Daisy with anyone other than Donald, her overbearing boss and… whatever Storkules is). 

I feel some of these may have been resolved with more time. But some of these problems had their seeds planted as early as S1. That said I think if the quality of S1 was maintained they would have been fine. Overall, I think Ducktales is a good reboot, and a good show, but it really could have been better. Was so close to being better.

[dirtytransmasc]

(modern got hc)

Theon let's Rickon play games on his phone just about whenever he wants and secretly loves scrolling through all of the terrible photos/videos the kid takes (even if it takes up all his storage).

[pokemonruby]

people trying to insist that oras is as bad as bdsp that is CRAZY

[zazikels]

i saw a horrible post so i must rage

I am literally fucking losing it like if you really are (sorry) that fucking stupid and didn't pay any motherfucking attention to the motherfucking information this motherfucking game gives you about what githyanki ascension is and think lae'zel's ascension ending is only fucking questionable and there is literally no fucking cure for your brainrot bc your listening and reading comprehension is dead. lae'zel became lich food, she's dead. she's gone. it's not just ominous, it's bad. she's fucking dead. WITHERS COULDN'T FIND HER.

like for the love of god you can like a negative character development ending, i.e the "bad" ending without trying to twist it like its secretly a good ending.

you are so disingenuous in how much you need g*d!Gale or ascended!ast**rion to be a morally good choice for you to make that you'll treat the extinguishing of lae'zel's life as only ~questionable or try to justify sh*rheart as well its not so bad when it's like did you have your eyes open at all during this character's storyline. genuinely. why would it be bad for a character who has a divine shock collar that gives her unbearable pain every time she committed wrongthink by being herself (and yet she still keeps committing wrongthink for a few decades bc that's just who she is), to then shackle herself to the one who gave her the divine shock collar, esp when one of the major steps towards that is made when she's completely uninformed and just thinks she wants to do that and isn't really aware that the goddess she's about to kill the gay aasimar for had her kidnapped as a child and have regularly had her brutalise her parents and wipe her memory since then for like over 30 years. you can enjoy evilheart but that doesn't really stop it from being the worse ending in terms of how happy she is.

Like, imagine calling it "the endings where characters get what they want" and then saying its bad writing if they're all bad. all that means is that you fundamentally misunderstood the text bc that is an extremely shallow read lol bc none of these people are experiencing the level of contentment they do in their (and i know this is a very scary word but its okay i promise) good endings.

[emdotcom]

Tbh, can't believe I'm cutting ties with Fnaf before Batim.

[2024skin]

Gotta keep the no weed posts to a minimum lest people think it's actually a good thing I'm smoking less

[ramrage]

would yall hate me if this temporarily became a mw2 ghoap blog

[aliosne]

Me, guy who has Feels Like Shit All The Time Disease and also Disproportionate Reactions To Normal Disappointments/Frustrations Disorder: why do I feel so frustrated and angry about this very mild and normal thing

[glossysoap]

laying claim; orc! price

dedicated to the amazing, talented, perf @vgilantee ! i'm so so sorry this took so long, there was so much going on both in my personal life and in this dumpster fire of a fandom so it made it very hard to focus on anything. but i really hope you enjoy it regardless <3 also thank you to @/yeyinde for asking about this way back when, it really encouraged me <3

tw: 18+, afab and fem pet names but reader isn’t gendered, pussy is referred to a few times as ‘her’, dubcon -> con, reader is scared but horny, stretching, cervix fucking, spit play, face grabbing, forced eye contact, pussy spanking, squirting, hinting to future orc gangbang with the 141.

wc: 5k

reader info: size difference regardless of the readers body type because he's an orc and therefore has abnormal strength. this also means he can manhandle reader, no matter the size.

"Found you." Your heart dropped.

His face was hardened, mouth twisted into a snarl and nostrils flaring. His brows all bushy, framing stormy blue eyes that narrowed as he stared down at you. A scar narrowly missed his right eye, slashing next to his eyebrow and continuing down to his cheek. His jaw was covered by thick mutton chops, a thin layer of stubble going down his neck. Two fangs peeked out from his mouth, even when it was closed, poking out to lay on his top lip.

His dark eyes were narrowed and clouded with lust as he peered down at you, akin to a lion stalking a wounded doe and luring it into his den.

“Had my eyes on you for some time now, pet.” He murmurs, not bothering to hide how his eyes drink you in. Every roll and plane that made up your body, especially in how scantily clad you were.

He was all green skin with scars and markings littering his body. Every mark and scar drew your attention to him even more, sending chills down your spine.

Intricate black lines and runes decorated his green skin. Scars and burns and bites littered his body, evidence of past injuries and fights won well.

His hulking, muscular body that threatened to overpower you with no effort at all. You gulped at the size of him, intimidated at the size of every part of him.

His huge, broad shoulders that could carry you with no effort, no matter how much you weighed. His hard, bulging biceps that could easily choke you out from behind in a headlock. His large, calloused hands that could easily snap your neck in one fell swoop — coupled with thick fingers that would fill your cunt more than any human mans fingers would. His thick thighs that dwarfed any human mans thigh.

Then finally, one glance between his thighs was all it took for you to see how well endowed he was. Your eyes widened even more when you saw the shadow of his cock, fully covered with a hanging piece of black cloth. It hung low at about seven inches in length and over two inches in girth. And that was when it was soft. You could only imagine how big he would be when he was hard and throbbing.

He let out a deep, husky chuckle at your expression that was something akin to a skittish doe. He would make it fit.

You’d be finding that out sooner than you thought.

Before you knew it, he was crowding you up against the stone wall so your face and chest were pressed up against it. He used his big arms to cage you against the wall as he pressed his almost bare naked body against your back, leaning down a bit so he can tuck his face in your neck. You gasped as you felt his beard scratch your neck, his breath fanning against your cheek.

“Mmm,” He rumbles from deep in his chest, his lips ghosting over your ears. “You feel what you do to me?” Just as he all but growls that question into your ear, he pressed himself up against you even more — so you could feel his barely clothed cock pressing up against your hips.

Your breath hitched at the pure size of it, you could feel its size from just pressing up against you from behind.

His lips curled against your ear in a smirk as he heard your little gasp.

“Yeah? You feel me throbbing against you?” He asks, beard scratching your ear. “Tell me, if I reached down between your legs.. what would I find?” Before you could protest or try to swat him away, one hand left its place on the wall beside your head - trailing his hairy arm down your bare stomach before slipping his large hand down past the waistband of your panties.

“Would I find that tight cunt all wet for me?” His voice sent goosebumps across your skin, chills running down your spine - the absolute filth he was whispering to you didn’t help either.

“N-no.”

He moved his other hand from the wall next to your head, bringing it to cup your face. His grip is all rough and calloused as he tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him.

His lips curled into a smirk as he stared into your wide, scared eyes. You were frozen and breathing heavily.

Not only was he dissecting your every blink and gasp with his gaze that burned into you, his other hand was busy burying between your thighs. He groped the warm, soft skin of your inner thighs with his large, calloused hand - giving it firm squeezes that left you gasping. The callouses and scars that littered his palms scratched against your stretch marks.

His eyes burned into your face, watching how your expression shifted when the rough pads of his fingers found your wet folds. He chuckled at your gasp, starting to trace his fingers teasingly along your entrance.

Then, he suddenly pulled his fingers away. Only to let his palm come down on your mound in a hard spank. He drank in the sounds of your yelps and cries as he did it again and again, his rough palm hitting your clit. He grinned as he felt your slick covering his palm.

With every spank of his palm down on your cunt and every swipe of his fingers along your slit, he gathered more and more of your juices. The wetness that soaked his fingers and dripped down your thighs was all the proof he needed of your unbridled lust and anticipation.

“Mmm, I knew it.” He crooned in your ear all too condescendingly, the cruel cadence of his voice making you grow even wetter. “Just soakin’ my palm and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Your eyes pricked with tears at his filthy words. You didn’t want this. You bit your lip between your teeth as you felt two of his thick fingers press against your soaked slit, before finally dipping inside your entrance.

You were ashamed at how easily they slipped in. You were ashamed at how your cunt fluttered around his thick fingers. He scissored them for a moment suddenly, making your eyes flutter shut in a moment of embarrassing weakness.

Your eyes were shut for only a few seconds, but that was enough for him to slide the hand that was holding your face down until it was gripping your throat.

Your eyes flew back open when he applied pressure, immediately darting back to his hardened gaze.

“Ah, fuck—,” You gasped, hands flying to grasp at his muscular forearm in an attempt to ground you.

His large hand easily enveloped the column of your throat, squeezing slightly - just enough to make your head a bit fuzzy. It didn’t help that the fingers that were buried in your cunt were now actively scissoring in your warmth, making your breath hitch. You knew he could easily apply more pressure on your neck and snap it like a twig. That thought in your brain is what prevented you from struggling too much more.

“That’s it. Keep those eyes on me.” He ordered, his voice a husky growl that reverberated down your spine.

You felt his grip tighten on your neck ever so slightly and your eyes widened a fraction more. Your eyes welled with more tears as you try your best to maintain eye contact. He smirks at the sight of your eyes all wet and glossy.

He eases in a third finger and fuck, it slides in so easily that he can’t help but groan against your neck in approval. His groan melds perfectly with the gargled whine that falls from your lips, almost a wheeze from his hold on your neck.

“Stop, no-," a weak protest leaves your mouth, choked off by him literally choking you, hand squeezing down in a quick pulse. as his thick fingers waste no time in exploring your warmth. Three fingers were working on stretching you open, preparing your cunt for his girth.

You hated how much your cunt squeezed around his fingers, and the way he laughed about it only made your face warm even more in embarrassment.

He had to have been working you open for minutes, whispering filthy promises in your ear and nipping at your lobe all the while. Enjoying all the broken cries that fell from your mouth. All whiney, broken and pathetic.

With every pump of his fingers inside your soaked cunt, lewd wet sounds filled the room.

Schlick, schlick, schlick.

Your cheeks warmed at the sound, and you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin as he smirked.

“You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me? Just so fucking soaked.” He groans, curling his fingers at a cruel angle to emphasize the last word. You cried out against your will as his fingers alternated between curling and scissoring, exploring your cunt for that special spot that made you see stars, no matter how much you tried to will against it.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open and trained on him as he pumped his thick fingers in and out. You had to just look up at him as he made you crane your neck, your glossed over eyes meeting his darkened gaze.

“Grippin’ my fingers so tight,” he laughs, all booming and full of dominating presence. “Wonder how tight that greedy little pussy will be grippin’ my cock.” You flinched at his words. But he didn't miss how your pussy fluttered around his fingers.

His words were full of mirth and teasing, his mouth curved into a smirk as he finger fucks you. The more he pumps his thick fingers inside your cunt, the more your eyes threaten to roll back inside your skull. Every time your eyes roll back, his other hand tightens its grip on your throat - just enough to snap you out of it and make you stare at him again. As he feels your pulse race under his hand, he also feels both of your hands gripping his hairy forearm and using it as an anchor. Your nails dig into his green skin, leaving little crescent marks in the already scarred skin.

You couldn't help but clench even more around his thick fingers at the thought of his cock stretching you so wide and filling you up perfectly. It was like your own animal instincts were taking over, your cunt begging for him and his cock no matter how much your mind or mouth protested.

"You just can't wait for me to stretch you open, huh? Can't wait for me to leave that cunt gaping and begging for more?" He all but purrs into your ear, watching with a cruel grin as fat tears fall down your cheeks.

You tried to shake your head even in the chokehold he had you in, and though you could barely move your head, he still laughed at your pathetic attempt of a protest. His eyes moved from your eyes down to your mouth that was hanging open and slick with your own drool.

"Look at that pretty mouth, so fuckin' needy. Bet you'd take me all the way down that throat, huh?" He squeezed your throat right as he said it, grinning at the choked gargles that left your mouth.

"Not just yet. Gotta break in that cunt first."

"I can keep that mouth busy, though." You don't have any time to question him before he's crashing his lips against yours. It's all a mash of teeth and tongue, nipping and sucking and tasting. Devouring. Just like you knew he would do to you, not leaving an inch of your body untouched. You couldn't try and pull away no matter how much you knew you should've.

His thick fingers keep working on stretching out your cunt, pumping his digits into your heat at a furious pace, hearing the wet sounds made from each thrust. You can feel the hair on his arm brush against your stomach as that forearm flexes with each thrust of his fingers. While his fingers pumped in and out, the rough skin of his palm rubbed up against your clit, making you more and more sensitive.

With every pass of his rough fingers along your sensitive walls, you felt yourself nearing your first orgasm of many. You also felt your resolve slipping and crumbling, despite your best efforts. Begs clawed from your throat and threatened to spill over into the kiss. That knot of warmth wound up tighter and tighter in your stomach as his fingers split you apart from the inside. Your brows knit together and your eyes clenched shut. You keep gripping onto his hairy forearm like you were searching for purchase, anchoring yourself to reality.

"Mmm, there you go." He coos into the kiss, voice dripping with faux sympathy, when you finally gave in, whimpering brokenly into the kiss. Keening like a mutt.

He swallowed every moan and sob that fell from your mouth, his tongue exploring your mouth and tasting every inch of you he could reach. He licked into your mouth with a claiming tongue, with a tongue that overpowered yours, lapping wherever his tongue could reach and leaving his spit in his wake. Making it his own.

You found yourself kissing him back before you could help it. You stuck your tongue out and tentatively licked at the seam of his mouth, trailing along the large fangs that peeked out from his mouth.

The kiss was so full of heat, full of passion, that your lips were quickly wet and bite swollen. All shiny and slippery from the spit mingling together, just a reminder of where his tongue had claimed you.

He nips and bites at your lip, tugging it between his teeth with a growl. With every tug and bite, his fangs nicked the sensitive skin of your lips, letting blood trickle and mix with your mingling saliva.

You let out a mewl at the sting that radiated from your lip, followed by his sandpaper tongue lapping at the wound. He licked up the blood with a pleased hum, the noise vibrating deep from his chest.

“Mmm, knew you would taste good. Could tell just by the sight of you.” He purred against your lips, his eyes peeking open to scan your flustered expression. All panting and sweaty, your lips swollen from his biting and sucking, glossy from spit.

Your eyes were dazed as your mind was clouded with lust, your heart racing in your ears as the heat bubbled in your stomach.

"I’d venture a guess that your juices taste even better.” Is all he mutters against your lips before he curls his fingers in search of that sensitive spot. “I intend to find out.”

You can feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into you and watching with a brutish grin as your expression melted into further ecstasy. He watched as your eyes unfocused and your brows furrowed. Your jaw falls open in a quiet gasp as he scissors his fingers, all while still curled inside you. He starts searching for that special spot that'll send you over the edge, and he keeps his fingers curled all the while.

When you let out a choked cry, all sharp and shrill, he knows he's found it. His grin stretches into a full blown smirk as he starts abusing that spot, not relenting for even a moment. The wet sounds got louder, more obscene, as his fingers pumped into you at a furious speed, hitting your g-spot every single time.

"C'mon, let go. Come for me. Give it to me, pet." He barked the demand, like he was referring to an inanimate object and not your mindblowing orgasm that he was about to shove onto you.

You had no choice but to obey his command when he used his thumb to rub cruelly at your clit, all while his fingers curled and prodded your g-spot. The cherry on top though, is when he slips in a fourth finger to join in on curling against your g-spot. You wailed as you squirted, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, your slick drenching his palm.

The exact moment that your mouth was hanging open and your tongue was lolling out, he gathered a fat glob of spit on his tongue and let it drip down onto yours. He chuckled at your blissed out expression, your eyes glazed over and pupils blown out.

He turns you around so your back was pressed against the hard stone wall and you were facing him. You still had to crane your neck up to make eye contact but now, he didn't need to crane it backwards by a grip on your neck. Instead, now he just plucks you from where you stood and presses you up against the wall. You practically yelp as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck. One of his big hands supports your plump ass, while his other hand moves to grabs your face. He squeezes until your lips are puckered, your wet eyes already meeting his. He captures your mouth in a kiss again, enjoying how lax and pliant you were in his arms now that you'd creamed on his fingers.

He tasted his own spit on your tongue as he swallowed you up again in a kiss.

As he had you in his arms, your back pressed against the wall, he felt your juices went against his cloth - the only flimsy piece of fabric that separated his chubbed up cock from your soaked throbbing cunt.

"Can feel that needy pussy. Droolin' for me, isn't she?" He asks against your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You mewled into him, trying to chase after his mouth. You didn't deny his words. In fact, your hips had started grinding into him absentmindedly as he held you in his arms.

It's as if your mind was blank and all you needed was for your pussy to be filled to the brim, plugged full of his cock and cum. He saw it in how your eyes fluttered shut and he heard it in how you were panting and whining, mewling for more.

"Yeah, you just need to be broken in, huh?" He crooned against your mouth, nipping at your lip. "She needs me to fill her up, good and proper, hm?" You keen at his words, clutching at his broad shoulders and rocking your cunt against him. He barked a laugh at your utter desperation, enjoying the complete one-eighty from how stubborn you were only minutes prior.

"Please, please, please," You whine and plead, your voice thick with emotion as you stared up at him with need. His hand was still gripping your face, your lips still puckering like a fish. "Need, need you s'bad."

He dipped his head down so his lips were against your neck, teeth nipping at your skin as he began mouthing at the column of your neck. You let your head fall back against the wall. His canines made you flinch and gasp, the sweet spark of pain only serving to make you even wetter. He lapped at the sweat along your skin, savoring the taste of your skin and the salty sweat. He pressed open mouthed kisses under your ear, pausing only to nip and tug at your lobe. He growled into your ear.

While he was busy worshipping your neck, he let go of your face and used that hand to slip between your bodies. He fished his chubbed up cock out from under the cloth, grinning against your neck at the whimper you let out when you feel the head of his cock swiping along your folds.

He knew you were decently prepped from being finger fucked by his thick digits, since the size of four of his fingers could compare to an everyday human male's cock.

He was so thick, you knew that if you were stroking him off, you'd need to use both hands to wrap around his girth. Now that he was hard, his length was pushing nine inches. His head was just as thick as the rest of his cock, red and weeping with pre, when it wasn't covered in thick foreskin. Veins ran along the underside.

He rubs his mushroom tip up and down your folds, spreading your juices along your cunt and getting his own tip soaked with your warm slick. He holds himself and lets the head of his cock tap against your swollen clit. He chuckles against your neck as he hears you gasp and feels you throb against his cock.

He heard you gasp as he prodded at your entrance, guiding himself to swipe his cock along your slit. He started out by only dipping his tip inside, teasing you with just that smaller intrusion, knowing full well you craved for him to just fill you up.

He continued like that for a few moments, until he got tired of teasing - he needed to be swallowed in your perfect pussy and he needed it now. He finally began sinking himself in, and fuck if you weren't the tightest damn thing. He knew it'd be a stretch to really break you in.

He eased himself in, going inch by inch, pausing when he had gotten two inches inside. He heard your breath shutter, presumably with the initial burn of the stretch, and that was just from the head of his cock. You're in for it now, he thinks.

"Tight thing, ain't you?" He murmurs into your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe before sucking a bite under it. "Haven't gotten fucked proper in a good while, I bet."

You could only whine in response to his teasing, prying words. He wasn't wrong.

"Oh, poor thing. We'll change that." Before you have any chance to ask what he means by "we", he sinks in even more, until he's buried halfway in your cunt. You choke on a moan, tears pricking your eyes as you feel yourself stretch around his girth. It's a sting, enough to make you wince for a moment, but fuck if it isn't worth it. You already feel so full, you can't imagine how you'll feel when he's buried to the hilt.

Your cunt throbs around him at the thought, making him hiss in pleasure.

As if he could read your mind, he sunk himself in deeper, groaning at how tight you hugged his length. You whimpered and mewled, throwing your head back at the feeling of yourself stretching from his cock. Any human man paled in comparison. Any human fingers, any human tongue and especially any human cock. This orc was all enveloping, he took over your entire body. He pulled you apart from inside out, before putting you back together just to do it all over again.

He hadn't even bottomed out yet and you already knew you would never be able to have a human man again, not after him.

"Perfect fuckin' pussy." You can't help but cry out and flutter around his cock at the praise that's ground out into your ear.

He can't help but sink in even further when you pulse around him, your soft walls pulling him in like a vice. He's about six inches deep now, groaning as you swallow him up so fucking perfectly. He can already feel that coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter - not doubt just like yours was.

He knew he wouldn't last long, especially when he soon finally bottomed out in your sweet cunt. Judging by the feeling of your pussy stretching to accommodate him and milking him dry, you just might come before him.

You were clutching at his shoulders desperately, clawing at him as you searched for purchase. Your mind was already fuzzy from him finger fucking you, so now that his cock was almost buried to the hilt in your still sensitive cunt? Your tongue felt heavy and your brain was muddled, only able to focus on the way he stretched your cunt and filled you nearly to the brim. You couldn't even attempt to speak coherently, just babbling out broken moans and mewls.

"F-fu--," You choke out, not even able to finish the moaned out curse because your mouth feels so fuzzy and jumbled.

He growled into your neck in pleasure, tongue laving over your pulse point as he inches deeper again, making his cock buried about seven inches deep. He hears you cry out, nails digging into his back. He aches to build a good, steady rhythm of rutting into you.

He only had about two more inches to go. So close he could almost taste it.

He eased himself in even further, hissing at the tightness as he now only had about an inch left until he was buried to the hilt. He was so close to being able to thrust into your heat and feel the resistance of the plug of your cervix. He was so close to feeling you cream around his cock. He was so close to being able to stuff you full of his cock and seed.

He was practically drooling at the thought.

The only encouragement he needed to finally bottom out was the desperate clawing of your nails along his neck and back, along with the steady throbbing and grip of your perfect pussy.

He bottomed out that last inch with a deep growl, all rumbling and full of gravel, before his his teeth sunk into the crook of your neck. "Oh, fuck-!" You let out a wail as you felt him sink in to the hilt, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him tight to act as an anchor to reality. Your legs tightened and locked around his waist, not letting him pull out. He wouldn't dream of it.

He growled and groaned at finally being buries to the hilt, his balls flush against your ass. He slowly grinded, not fully rutting or thrusting, just to give you one last chance to get accustomed to his size before he had no mercy. The way he grinds himself inside you makes you damn near scream.

The head of his cock nudges your g-spot perfectly when he rolls his hips, making your eyes roll back.

"Yeah? That good?" He asks, a bit breathless but still commanding nonetheless. "C'mon, speak."

You flutter around his cock at his tone and his ministrations.

"Good, good, s' fucking good-," You babble mindlessly as you feel that coil in your stomach build and build.

Then he smirks against your neck and finally starts fucking you proper.

You hear skin slapping against skin, the wet schlick schlick schlick of your sopping cunt being plowed into, and you heard your own broken moans mixed in with the orc's growled and grunts.

"Perfect fuckin' cunt. Made for me, I know it." He grunts against your neck, mouth already getting back to work on leaving bites to claim you. He feels you pulse around him at his words and it only further encourages him to build a quicker rhythm.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you for any damned human man.” He snarls into your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. He growls into your ear, deep from his chest and full of gravel as he keeps thrusting into you. "Isn't that right?"

You struggle to answer because your head is so melted and fuzzy, mouth hanging open in a broken, pathetic moan.

"Yes? No? Don't get all quiet now." He demands, never slowing or stopping his cruel thrusts into your already sensitive cunt. "Who does this cunt belong to? Who do you belong to? Hm?" He readjusts you to be planted even further on his cock, damn near spearing you on his length.

You damn near shout out your answer, "You, you, you!" His cock nudges the plug of your cervix as he angles his hips to thrust in at an even more cruel angle. Every single thrust pokes and prods at the plug of your cervix, making your eyes roll back and shove you even closer to your second orgasm.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He crooned in your ear, voice dripping with sickly sweet faux sympathy. The hand that wasn't being used to cup your ass was now snaking it's way between your bodies to rub at your clit.

The rough pads of his fingers toyed with your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you flutter and constrict around his cock. He heard you choke out a gasp before crying out, throat going raw. He felt you cream around his cock, absolutely gushing and soaking him as you milked him for all he was worth.

"Fuck! Yeah, that's it. Come for me, come for me now, pet." He egged you on, feeling his own release approaching.

The way you milked him and tightened around him so perfectly made him follow you not long after, his hips stuttering into your cunt as he painted your walls with his come. He filled you to the brim just like he intended to, his girth keeping you plugged full of his cum.

He kept you in his arms, full and plugged. Warm and sated. Your eyes fell shut and your breath evened out as you heard him murmur something above you.

"Oh, they'll love you."

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission.

[spicybunni]

YANDERE ROBOT X FEM!READER

SUMMARY : Your robot just wants to be of service to you, in every way.

A/N : Been watching waaaaay too many scifi movies lately so I made a robot yandere! I hope you like him because he LOVES you!

WARNINGS⚠️ : NSFW / YANDERE TENDENCIES / ISOLATION / MDNI ‼️

♥️ Your robot boyfriend Jack was the best purchase you ever made.

♥️Androids were as common as cell phones at this point, so where’s the shame in getting one to rid you of your loneliness? You’ve been single for too long and needed companionship…Even if you had to build it yourself.

♥️You needed someone that wanted you and was always nearby. Someone to talk to, cook with or just enjoy your days off at home together.

♥️Dating apps were just dumpster fires that took too long to put out, so you bit the bullet and made the deposit for your android.

♥️Jack was custom made by your design, a nice muscular build, tall, and with white hair. You added the personality traits of kindness, teacher, and enamored. The eyes were the one thing you left up to the manufacturers design, as a surprise. You saw reviews online that they would do a really good job and make the most beautiful color combinations.

♥️When the box arrived, assembling Jack took about a day and half. Awkward limbs moving around and being installed, putting his crotch on him, to dressing him in sweats and laying him on the floor in your living room.

♥️When he was done loading his start up system, he blinked his orange eyes open to you. It caught you off guard for a moment because they were glowing, but quickly recovered from your surprise as he awaited further instructions.

♥️As much as you were determined to have a boyfriend with all the mental and physical benefits, your PDA with Jack was very minimal and innocent at best. Keeping it only to small pecks and kisses on the cheek, some cuddling on the couch and bed before you sleep. His model was very handsome and just so kind where he doesn't question your pace.

♥️As if he could initially, androids need their programmers consent to do anything. So you had to initiate no matter what.

♥️But unbeknownst to you, Jack overruled that component. You see, the programmer or buyer’s safety always came first, before anything. So as Jack has scanned these passing months of your arousal levels dropping and increasing constantly, plus work stress repeatedly coming up in your discussions, he was growing concerns that you needed some sort of relief… Keeping all that pent up stress was certainly not healthy for you.

♥️"Y/N, am I not up to your standards? Is there something I did wrong?" He would randomly say one morning. You would look at him confused, sipping from your tea cup.

"Not at all, what makes you say that Jack?"

He hesitantly reaches out for either your hand or to touch your knee. "I've noticed that we haven't...had sex yet.-"

Before he could continue you would spit out a little bit of your tea. Coughing a fit as he patted your back and making sure you're okay.

"Jesus Jack...Where did that come from?"

His eyes soften as he looks at you. A very small human thing he would sometimes do. You weren't sure if it's something maybe he noticed from you and mimicked or not.

"You designed me and wanted me to be your partner. There's nothing wrong with that. But I have yet to show you my full capabilities Y/N."

Your face was turning more red by the moment at your androids boldness. Was this him trying to initiate sex?

"I-I...Jack it's not you, it's just that its been so long for me I just need to-" Your rambling is silenced by his finger against your lips.

"Shh. Let me do the work then darling. Hm?"

♥️He takes your hand to pull you to him, and he would gently kiss you and eventually lead in making out with you.

♥️At first you are shy and very timid in your actions, but after a minute you were putting your hands on him and grinding yourself against him. He would relish in your nervous panting and shaking when he gropes you and his thrusts against you. Feeling that the moment is right, he picks you up to bring to your shared bedroom.

♥️Least to say, the sex was amazing. Jack had folded you in every position he could think of. Gathering information and calculating your reactions to everything he was doing to you. He noticed your favorite position was him thrusting into you from behind, lifting your hips up with one hand gently, but firmly holding your head down into your mattress. His sensors were throbbing from the way you were squeezing around him. His body would heat up at how much you worked him. You could hear the way his hips smacked into yours, creating an erotic rhythmic noise. You would come so hard the first time on his robot dick that he would have no choice but to release into you for being so good.

♥️The feeling of globs of semen filling your womb, making you gasp at the feeling of being filled to the brim.

♥️You figured out that androids don't need a recharge to keep having sex, they can literally keep going with no exhaustion until you say so. Jack did this thing when he came inside you he would wait for you to stop twitching, he would then hold you tight and resume his pace of thrusting. Either making pleasure tears fall from your eyes or your squirm in his hold and he stops for real.

♥️After that though...Jack had started to act funny. He was more inclined to sexually please you whenever and wherever you were. Some scenarios being, reach for your coffee cup in the morning before work, he would kneel behind you lifting your skirt up and eats you out from behind. Spreading your ass cheeks to delve his tongue deeper. Your sweet moans and sounds were pleasing to him. This normally resulted in you calling out from work and spending the day home. Does Jack plan this? Duh. he has you at his wonderful mercy all day, and you were not complaining...But it was just a fast development from your previous routine with him.

♥️There would even be times where if even his.... persuasion to stay home failed, he would wrap his arms around you and ask you to stay home. The first few times you thought it was cute. But after a few weeks of him constantly asking, you asked him to stop. You voiced it as a command, catching Jack off guard. But he nodded his head as he does and replies "Apologies, Y/N. I must've gotten carried away."

♥️But that fueled him to keep you locked in even more. You see you first programmed Jack to also receive all you electronic notifications. He would tell you who messaged, emailed, or latest news updates.

"Y/N, you have a notification from your work. It seems to be one of your coworkers."

He would bring this up at the most inconvenient time as you're cooking spaghetti sauce in the kitchen. You look up from stirring the pot in front of you.

"Oh, can you read it to me please? I'm trying to make sure I don't burn this sauce."

He smiles at you. "Of course."

It was a fake email generated by him, under the guise of being sent by a coworker. Stating that for the upcoming holiday tomorrow that the whole office got the week off.

You were surprised at first, knowing that your boss usually hated to give federal holidays off already. But who were you to question time off?

Jack also went to liberties of blocking all work contacts so they couldn't reach you if you missed work. Moving all emails of your termination to the trash and permanently delete them.

♥️That whole week Jack kept you to himself in the apartment. He was the goffer of getting groceries, food, sweets to keep you content. Going on hikes and walks in the neighborhood to get some needed exercise. But social events? Going out? Jack would advise against it. Every night without fail though, Jack would have you cumming on his mouth, dick or fingers. The robot was a menace when it came to getting your pleasure out of you. He can't even explain his need to himself because it goes against all of his programming, but seeing you moaning and being so satisfied by him gave him purpose, that he was made to do this.

♥️One morning when jack left to go pickup from your favorite breakfast joint, one of your coworkers came knocking on your door. The doorbell ringing multiple times and you rush to put on a robe to cover from Jack's love bites a cum on your stomach.

♥️When you open the door to them, they angrily ask what the hell is going on. You are so confused. You've missed work this entire time?

"D-Didn't you receive the email?"

"Email? What email Y/N? We all had to pick up your work load after you didn't show up for 4 days, we all were trying to reach you before the boss fired you indefinitely! Did you not get his messages??"

Your head was spinning, not only did you ignore your boss and coworkers but you have lost your job. How did this happen?!

♥️"Y/N? What's going on here?" Jack would call out approaching you and your coworker, looking worried at your facial expression.

Your coworker would see that jack is an android and shake their head, taking their leave and wishing you luck.

♥️Jack did not like that some stranger approached you like that. Setting down the coffee and to-go box of egg bagels, he comes over to you, still in shock at the news that was dropped on you. How were you going to feed yourself or pay rent? What about your savings?

♥️"Y/N, talk to me. Are you okay? What were you two talking about?" He would say calmly, but you just stared into his glowing eyes with your brows furrowed. It was him. You knew it was. He was the one who relayed that false information to you. Why didn't he notify you of work calls? Bottom line of your thoughts were that you are now handling a rebelling android. Which wasn't unheard of in the new age of having them everywhere. Public safety warned that they were dangerous and not to be trusted.

♥️You shake your head at him and try to calm yourself. "Yeah uhm, it was a coworker from my job.-" Your rise in heartbeat betrays you and Jack notices immediatly. Giving you a sympathetic look knowing you're trying to lie.

"-There's been a misunderstanding, I need to make a phone ca-" Your wrist is snatched before you could reach for your cell phone. You yelp at his touch and trying to push him away. Which makes him use his other hand to hold you close by his inhuman strength. Your body being brought into Jack's frame again, his face is indifferent to your rising panic.

♥️"I don't think so Y/N, you are exactly where you need to be. For your own health and safety, darling."

[keravnous]

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

dating john wick - the playlist

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

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

word count: 10,6 k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could be you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

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

I will not die today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will not fucking die today

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

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

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

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will not die today, motherfucker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't", you breathe softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's the gun. And the knife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Heavy", you breathe.

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

John realizes he is fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it is also him.

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

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

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

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

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

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

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

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

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

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

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

John moans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kill him instead, please."

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

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

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

Easier to kill.

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

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[kitten4sannie]

blood pact

pairing: vampire! wooyoung x human! reader (fem)

genre: vampire society au, a lil bit of angst, smut

summary: living in a city overrun by bloodsuckers is already hard enough on its own, but you’re really put to the test when one of them ends up being your only hope in the face of danger.

w.c: 4.3k

warnings: blood/injury, depictions of violence, death(s)? of a few vampires, hard-ish dom (slight tamer)! wooyoung, subby (tiny bit bratty)! reader, these mfs are nasty alr, some light brat taming, one or two little slaps, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, blood kink obv <3 (includes blood drinking/sharing), kissing, oral (giving), throat fucking, brief breath play, pain kink, mutual masturbation, lotus position but it’s rough !!, creampie

a/n: oh mannn i’m a bit late again 😣 but im excited to share this one with you all !! i wanted to thank my dear lily for beta reading this one for me and giving me lovely feedback that helps me grow as a writer, it truly means the world to me my dear 🩷 once again i do apologize if this fic seems disjointed in any way ,, things have been a bit weird but i won’t let life stop me from sharing nasty smut >:((( lol i hope you enjoy and please lemme know what you thought <33

song rec: dirt - depeche mode (we’re taking it wayyy back with this one <3)

fictober 2024

You were never able to pinpoint exactly when humanity went to shit, as it had always been in a state of constant conflict and disarray, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a raging dumpster fire — one that was close to impossible to put out once it was lit. Unbeknownst to humans, there was a society of vampires that lived in the shadows for centuries, waiting patiently until it was the perfect time to make their existence known and feared. What better time to take over the world than when the humans were too busy being at each other’s throats to even realize they had a common enemy, one that would drain them of their life source within a blink of an eye? 

Anyone with a pulse had no choice but to fall in line and succumb to their undead overlords, having to make up their mind about whether they would like to join forces with the enemy by desecrating their DNA and joining those that single-handedly brought upon humanity’s destruction, or grovel at their feet and become a slave, a house pet of sorts whose soul purpose was to feed and entertain their blood-sucking masters.

It was not an easy choice for most, and especially for you, so you simply found another solution — blend in. If you embodied everything a vampire was, even down to their immeasurable sense of pride and entitlement, how could they tell you apart from the others? And when they saw through your ruse, you would drive a stake through their still heart. You would never join their empire, let alone be one of their toys, especially not for some pompous undead prick that would treat you like a glorified juice box. 

Yet, here you were, drunk off your ass at a gothic nightclub that welcomed vampiric guests and shunned anyone with a beating heart, unless they were owned and branded. 

“Gimme another whiskey, neat,” you slurred, holding your empty shot glass to the poor excuse of a human bartender standing on the other side of the bar. You scoffed at the jeweled collar he wore around his neck, knowing he was owned by whatever undead asshole that ran the nightclub. You had your own collar, of course, but you had taken it from someone that was…no longer in need of it. You did what you had to, to make it through another night in the corrupted world you regretfully called your home. 

“I should cut you off, y’know, especially after being such a dick to me all night,” the man mumbled, despite reaching underneath the bar to grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and filling your glass back up, not wanting to risk angering his superiors. 

“But, you won’t. Your vampiric asshole of a boss wouldn’t like that you’re denying a paying customer.” You stuck your tongue out at the man, much to his dismay. You sipped on the whiskey, liking the way it burned as it went down your throat, grateful that you could still feel something, even if it was a drunkenness that would most likely do irreversible damage to your liver. It’s not like your life really mattered, not in this timeline, at least. 

You lazily held your glass up in his direction, blowing a few strands of loose hair out of your eyes. The man simply held up the empty bottle and gave you a tight smile. “All out. Now, would you pay your tab?” 

“Fineeee, oh my god,” you groaned dramatically, standing up from the barstool and wobbling a bit, fishing for your wallet somewhere inside your worn trench coat. When you opened it up, you came upon the discovery that it was completely empty, looking up to find fear inside the bartender’s eyes. “L-listen, I can replace that bottle, okay? I-I’ll…just need to stop by the local temp agency first.” 

“I think you should leave, before they catch wind of this…” the bartender warned you under his breath, unconsciously tugging at his collar. 

Swallowing harshly, you glanced around the crowded, dingy club past the collar of your coat, before stumbling your way past many vampire patrons that were drunk off the blood of their human pets who stayed close to them, wishing your blurry surroundings weren’t moving in slow motion. Paranoid that somebody was following you, you looked past your shoulder, only seeing the same crowd of drunken patrons. Temporarily relieved, you swiftly faced forward again, only to accidentally bump into someone face-first, your teeth clinking into the metal of their lip ring, your hands almost getting caught in the many necklaces they were wearing. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t kill me,” you automatically apologized, already knowing they weren’t human based on the lack of a collar and color in their cheeks. 

“If I wanted to, I would,” Wooyoung teased in his own special way, quite aware of the way your heart rate spiked as soon as his light, airy words reached your ears. He enjoyed playing around with his food as much as the next vampire, but lately, it’s grown quite dull, like everything else in his never-ending life.

“O-oh!” you squeaked, letting out a nervous laugh, sticking one hand into your coat pocket to wrap your fingers around the sharp stake you carried with you everywhere. 

He brought one manicured finger up to tap against the jewel sitting snugly against your collared neck, leaning in to press his lips against the slope of your ear. “I’d take you right here in front of everyone, drink you dry. Let them all enjoy the pretty sounds you’d make. Does that sound fun?” 

“Oh, you can try it, if you want,” you goaded him, looking up at him with your big doe eyes once he pulled back, wondering if he knew just how unhinged you were, just how on the edge you really were. “But, what happens if I’m poisonous? I might not be worth the stomachache.” 

Wooyoung chuckled to himself, not used to any human acting so boldly towards him. “Fair point, human.” 

“Y/N,” you corrected him, letting go of you weapon in favor of wrapping your finger around one of his silver necklaces, teasing him back in your own way. “You should at least know my name if you’re going to drink from me.” 

Wooyoung mused at your actions, studying you with his sly fox eyes, licking at the mole on his lip. He would’ve pursed you if you hadn’t suddenly gotten spooked by something, turning his head to watch you continue making your way out of the club, noticing that the owner quickly followed after you. Things were certainly getting interesting. 

By the time you inhaled the cold night air into your lungs, you had already broke out into a sweat. You let your heavy coat hang off past your shoulders and leaned back against a nearby wall, regretting all the alcohol you had subjected your poor body into taking. “Fuck me…” you groaned, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back into the cool concrete behind you, hoping that would make the world stop spinning. 

“Is that an invitation…?” asked the very vampire you had been talking shit about to the bartender just a few minutes earlier. “It’s the least you could offer me in exchange for all the whiskey you drank in my club, filthy human.” 

Your blood ran cold. “D-don’t you even think about touching me…You aren’t my owner.” 

“Oh, because of this little collar you have on? You really don’t have a clue about our kind, do you? There’s no pheromones on you, just your own filthy human scent,” the vampire chided, running his finger along the worn band of your lace collar. It made your skin crawl. You struggled to keep down all the alcohol you had drowned yourself in. Just then, he ripped it from your neck and replaced it with his slender fingers, squeezing around it until your vision grew just that more blurry. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost time that you haven’t been used like a proper toy.” 

Blinding rage joined the revulsion you felt for the individual that continued to toy with you as though you were a defenseless child, the culmination of it churning around inside your body like molten hot lava ready to pour out of you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” you barked, shoving your hands into his shoulders as hard as you could, your feverish anger growing that much more when he hardly moved. 

In response, the vampire tugged your coat down and ripped open your top, causing the buttons to fly off. His abhorrent words became nothing more than radio static inside your ringing ears, once you saw red, clutching the wooden stake inside your pocket so tightly that it pierced your fragile skin. You reeled your arm back and drove it straight into the owner’s side, so violently that the wood split into shards, not letting go of it until you knew that it was lodged deeply inside him, wishing, hoping he felt even a fragment of the pain his kind had caused you. “Die,” you muttered, searching his eyes for some sign of shock, regret, grief, anything. 

Confusion overtook your flushed features when the man simply laughed directly in your face, as though he were savoring a joke that you weren’t in on, suddenly feeling a white hot burning pain inside your abdomen. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t, not while you were gurgling on your own blood. You looked down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your stomach, reality hitting you like a ton of bricks, rendering it impossible to draw in air. 

“It never ceases to amuse me when a blood bag thinks they can stop someone like me with something as silly as a wooden stake,” he began, letting out a small hum, as he drove his ritual dagger in as far as it could go. He leaned in close to you, twisting the knife around inside you just to hear the delightful sounds of agony that escaped your red tinted lips. “I’ve been alive longer than your entire bloodline, pathetic human, and I’ll be outliving you tonight.” And with that, the club owner ripped the dagger back out and strolled back into the building, licking the crimson that still ran down the sides of his blade. 

You should’ve known this would happen eventually in a world like this. You had no power from the very start. Why had you been blind to the truth until this very moment, when all you could see was your precious blood leaving your body? Regardless, it was far too late to ruminate over trivial things. Death’s gentle whispers were lulling you to sleep, its sweet promises of rest numbing out most of the visceral emotions that coursed through your veins. Slumping against the wall, you held your middle with trembling hands, gazing up at the full moon that loomed over you, wanting to enjoy her beauty one last time — at least, until someone blocked your view. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you see I’m dying here? Let me look at the moon in peace…” you murmured, weakly glaring up at the stranger you had met inside that godforsaken club only a couple minutes ago.

“You still got some fire in you, doncha, sweetheart?” Wooyoung mused, crouching down so you were at eye level, reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. “But, you’ll die of blood loss soon…pity.”

“You’re very observant,” you replied snarkily, leaning your head back into the wall, your vision growing darker by the second. You let out a long, defeated sigh, choking a bit on the blood left inside your raw throat. “Are you just here to watch me die? If that’s the case, can you do me a favor and make it quick?” 

“You didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.” He leaned in close to you, his crimson eyes shining that much brighter when he asked, “Don’t you want revenge?” 

His question echoed inside your mind, once as a whisper, and eventually as a desperate plea. “And what if I do…? It’s not like I can do much now…”

“Let me turn you.” He bared his fangs. “You’ll live, and you’ll be so much stronger than ever before.” He watched as your eyes widened, then returned to normal, figuring you were weighing your options, though they were vastly limited. “You’ll be free to take his life away, do with it as you please, just like he was going to do to you. Doesn’t that sound delicious?” 

A few drops of blood dribbled down the side of your mouth. The sand in your hourglass was about to run out. “What do you get in return?” 

Wooyoung’s lips curled up into a sadistic smile, his eyes resembling glowing crescent moons. “I’ll be your Master, of course. It’s only fair, being your savior, and all.” 

Though that was the very last thing you wanted, you were far too stubborn to die out in such a pathetic fashion. Not only that, but you were being offered the deal of a lifetime, at the end of your lifetime, to be exact, and in exchange for your mortal soul, you could enact sweet, sweet revenge and have a new tale to tell, one that no man or monster could ever take from you. 

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Wooyoung joked slyly, tapping the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Alright, deal, but make it quick–” you were barely able to enunciate, before Wooyoung was all over you, one hand holding the side of your head, while the other felt where your artery was, immediately sinking his fangs deep into your neck to start the transformation process. 

When you came to, you looked up at your savior, your eyes as red as the blood he had sucked out of you, all of the immense pain that plagued your body gone as quickly as it came, instead replaced by an indescribable thirst. 

“How do you feel, pet?” Wooyoung asked, licking remnants of your life source from his manicured fingers. 

You bared your new, needle sharp fangs to your Master. “Hungry.” 

He smiled at you like a proud father would. “I think I know how we can fix that.” 

-

The last thing the vampiric club owner expected to see when he was sitting inside the comfort of his secluded office was the human woman he had just murdered out of cold blood stomping up to his desk and tossing it out of the way like it wasn’t made of marble. 

“H-hey, we can talk about this, right?” he asked nervously, holding his hands up, along with the stacks of cash that were in between his grubby fingers. “You want money? You can have it!” 

You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards you so violently, he just about broke his neck. “I don’t want money. I want your life.” 

When Wooyoung casually strolled into the cush office and pressed his back against the opaque door, the other vampire pleaded at him with his wide eyes. “Wooyoung, baby, this is your favorite club, isn’t it? Haven’t I treated you good here?” 

“Y/N will treat you good too, don’t worry,” he reassures sweetly, dragging his tongue across his pointed teeth. He brought his finger up to his chin like he just remembered something, nodding to himself. “Ahh, she does bite, though.” 

Just as Wooyoung’s cackles rang out inside the vast room, the club owner shifted his frightened gaze to you just in time to see your jaw open wide, gulping at the sheer size of your fangs. And just like that, you bit down onto the vampire’s neck, getting a good grip on his skin, before swiftly turning your head and causing a fountain of blood to rain over you. 

Once you were done feeding, there was hardly anything left of the club owner. Most of him was inside you, and the rest was left splattered across the pedestrian paintings he had up on the walls. Still sitting on the floor near scattered, bloodied hundred dollar bills, you licked up the rest of him from your fingers, your entire body vibrating with pleasure now that your killer was no longer with you, and for other reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with your new body and your newfound love for excess.

Wooyoung clapped his hands together with giddy delight, giving the top of your head a few pats as a reward. “What a good girl. Do you feel full?” 

Shaking your head, you reached up to Wooyoung’s waistband, undoing the belt buckle and easing his pants down, licking at your red stained lips all the while. The burning, mind-melting desire to consume didn’t leave you, it only multiplied. It clouded your mind, made you feel like you might lose your mind if you didn’t make it stop. “Not enough…my throat…need it filled…” 

“Ahh, I see,” Wooyoung sighed knowingly. This always happened with the humans he turned; they turned into insatiable monsters, always driven by their need for more. He could never get tired of it. Leaning his back against the dripping wall, he reached down to slide his fingers into your soft hair, angling your head upwards, cooing softly at you as he pushed his way into your mouth. “Be careful with your fangs, sweetheart.” 

Relaxing your throat upon the sudden intrusion, you opened your mouth wider, as to not pierce Wooyoung’s cock with your new fangs, feeling content once the entirety of his twitching length fit snugly inside. It was when the vampire thrusted further into your throat that you made a wet gagging sound, tears forming inside your crimson eyes, closing them. 

“Ah, ah,” Wooyoung tutted, giving your cheek a light smack, smiling sweetly down at you when your eyes opened back up. “That’s right, you better look at me with those pretty eyes of yours if you’re going to take me down your throat like this. That’s what a good pet does.” 

Once Wooyoung started to fuck your throat, eager to fill it with his cum, his pale fingers pulling tightly at your hair, you did your best not to choke around him, welcoming him in again, over and over, until saliva and pre-cum dripped down your chin and along your bare chest.

“Mmnh….nnnhmm…” you moaned in approval, reaching up to hold onto his bucking hips, digging your nails into his protruding hip bones. You blinked more tears away, wanting to see Wooyoung’s sadistic face without the constant blurriness that plagued your vision. Whether you had a penchant for punishment or you were simply bloodthirsty, it caused you to prod at the vampire’s cock with your fangs, the tangy flavor of iron joining the abundance of precum that lubed up your throat. 

“Fuck, you’re a naughty girl, biting me like that,” Wooyoung hissed in between violent thrusts, suddenly holding your head still when the entirety of his cock was inside your throat, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, satisfied with the filthy gurgling noises you couldn’t help but make for him, feeling more of your spit drip down his heavy balls. He smacked his hand against your cheek again, watching it grow rosy, before pinching your nose tightly. “But, you can’t help it, huh? You just want to be put in your place. I can’t blame you for that.”

The sensation was suffocating, the feeling of being used added onto the constant buzz of pleasure that was running through your veins; it was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. It almost made you wish that you had let yourself be turned a long time ago. No one could stop you now, not even him. Maybe your humanity was slipping away from you, much like your sanity with each passing moment. 

It wasn’t until you could breathe again and something warm, heavy, was pressing down on the tip of your tongue that you faded back into reality, just in time for Wooyoung to shoot a seemingly never-ending cumshot down the back of your aching throat.

“You’ll swallow, won’t you?” he asked sweetly, giving the bottom of your chin a light tickle with his clawed fingers. 

When you stuck out your tongue to show him that nothing was left, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and yanked you towards him, biting the tip of your tongue to draw blood. You watched him suck it off with half-lidded eyes, having to close your thighs together to keep a fresh wave of slick from dripping out of you. 

Before you knew it, he was on the floor with you, not even needing to pull you into his lap, groaning into your mouth as you climbed into it yourself, the heated kiss you shared consisting mostly of tongue, pointed teeth, and blood. You swapped red-tinted saliva back and forth, your hands working in tandem to tear off each other’s clothes and grope one another wherever you could, trying to create as much friction between your lower halves as you could, Wooyoung’s stiff cock rubbing deliciously into your clothed cunt. 

You broke the kiss when your thirst once again grew too strong to ignore, reaching up to run your index finger over the mole on Wooyoung’s glistening bottom lip, hissing softly when he pierced it with one of his fangs. You both watched the blood slowly trickle down along your skin, sharing a similar look with one another, before you leaned in to lap it up, your tongues meeting in the middle. 

As though telepathically connected, you reached to slip your panties off from underneath your skirt the same time Wooyoung undid the buttons of his pants, immediately rubbing at yourselves in order to get off as quickly as possible. 

“Look at me when you cum,” Wooyoung demanded between huffs of air, staring you down past his wispy lashes, the speed at which he was stroking his cock producing lewd squelching sounds, his slender fingers slicked up with his abundant pre-cum. 

Trembling, you opened up your teary eyes to look at Wooyoung, the indescribable pleasure etched into his face causing you to throb nonstop, curling your fingers up in just the right way to launch you into a world of ecstasy. “C-cumming…” 

Wooyoung groaned at the sight and feeling of your release spilling into his lap, squeezing his hand tightly around the base of his cock, hot spurts of cum landing on your abdomen and dripping down your bare cunt, not even caring that you both dirted his designer jeans with your shared arousal. “I’m gonna make you do that again, on my cock this time, you hear me?” he growled at you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you down onto his growing erection. 

“Fuck,” you gasped sharply, holding onto his shoulders to keep your composure, your thighs still shaking from your residual pleasure, a low, burning pain present within your core  as your hole stretched to accommodate the vampire’s size. “T-too much…” 

Wooyoung’s ego just about doubled in that moment, his ringed fingers closing in on your soft waist, suddenly bucking his hips up into you like it was his sole mission to do so in the afterlife. Smiling smugly at the small, broken noises he was punching out of you with his vicious thrusts, he couldn’t help but let out a few crazed giggles. “Can’t take it now that I’m rearranging these pretty guts of yours, huh?” He mirrored your pout, his lower lip jutting out. “But, I thought you were my cum slut, my good little blood whore.” 

“I am…! I–fuck, I am, Master…!” you found yourself crying out, tears inside your hazy eyes, tasting dried blood when you wet your dry lips, knowing you wouldn’t even recognize your reflection if you saw it now. You were a new model, remolded, changed for the better. 

His hypnotic eyes began to glow. “Be a good sleeve and take it for your Master, yeah?”

You did as he said, taking everything he gave you like a pliant doll, letting him lick, bite, drink from you, and fuck you dumb for as long as his still heart desired, wondering if he was even aware of how much your blood boiled inside you. 

Wooyoung was just like the others. They were all the same, treating you like a helpless toy, using you for their enjoyment and tossing you aside when they were bored, viewing your humanity as your downfall, and perhaps they were right. Like two magnets, you couldn’t live without the other, and now, you were a monster like him, one in the same. 

Just as you both reached your climax together, holding desperately onto one another, Wooyoung’s bewitching gaze no longer holding captive, you felt a supreme power rise within yourself. You didn’t need him, not when you were now your own Master. The only thing you served now was your endless hunger. 

Wooyoung couldn’t get you off once you latched onto his neck, gasping and sputtering, his constant struggles only forcing your fangs just that much deeper into his skin and the artery you had targeted, digging his claws into your back as a last ditch effort. “But, we…we made a pact,” he coughed out, his gravelly voice reflecting the immense pain he felt. He couldn’t fight back any longer, simply slumping back against the wall to accept his fate, holding his hand up to his torn neck, despite it not doing anything to prevent the crimson from flowing through his fingers. “I don’t understand…” 

“I recall warning you that I was poisonous,” you replied softly, licking remnants of his precious life source from your stained lips. 

He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes resembling half-moons. “Fair point, human…”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[the-californicationist]

i did send the same thing to another writer i enjoy bc i love different takes on things, but my little dumpster brain has had one thought in the last 24 hours - imagine confiding in your captain that you'd like to have a baby bc biological clock or whatever, and being in the field really puts a damper on your sex life, so that makes it difficult. but the 141 will do anything for one of their own, so if that means they're running trains and taking turns on you DAILY until it takes (and probably even after 👀), then so be it.

lol... you lit a fuckin' fire with this ask, my friend. hot!!

"The Window" (141/Reader)

You awoke to the soft tinkling noise of his belt and zipper, rattling at the edge of your bed. Your captain, John Price, was answering his call of duty, and within moments, you knew he would slip his fat, flaccid cock between your legs and allow your warmth to make him harden within you. He preferred it this way. First, he would rub you with it, heavy and smooth, smearing your wetness all over his skin. Then, with a singular talent, he would somehow stuff his soft, lolling head into your hole, feeding himself into you gently, letting your body take him in on its own as your pussy pulsed for him, and he would rub your clit absent-mindedly, comforting himself with your swollen lips, sighing raggedly as you covered him up. Once he was hard - and fuck, he was impossibly hard - he would fuck you through your blinding pleasure, his girth giving you burst after burst of hot, searing bliss.  

He wasn’t your boyfriend - none of them were - but the members of your task force, the 141, had all agreed to be the father of your child. It had started when Captain Price first saw your appointment on the team calendar. You’d meant to post it privately, but you had failed to do so. He came to you right away, his face full of worry,

“Wha’s goin’ on, Spar? Goin’ to the main base hospital… Wha’s all this about?”

So, you’d told him, a little bashfully, that you were trying to get pregnant. You’d be turning 28 this fall, and you wanted to be a mom, sooner rather than later. Every few weeks, you were shipped off to some too-cold or too-hot locale, getting shot at and flash-banged. There wasn’t really time to find a date, much less convince them that you would make a good mother. The last time you tried to use Tinder, one guy had called you ‘Rambo’ and blocked you, so it wasn’t going well. 

“I’ll go with you, little bird. Sounds important.”

“You don’t need to do that, Captain. I’m sure I can take out a loan for it…” You thought out loud, remembering the pamphlet and all of its cost breakdowns for IVF treatments.

“A loan? Last time I checked, love, it was free,” he chuckled. 

“Free when you have someone who’d be willing to give it to you, sir,” you challenged him with your confidence, trying not to be ashamed, even of your ‘Rambo’ nickname. 

“Sparrow,” he raised his voice and nearly shouted your callsign incredulously in the small mess hall where he’d found you, “There’s no bloody way you don’t have someone willing.” 

“Wha’s goin’ on, Cap?” Gaz poked his head in behind the door. 

“Nothing,” you tried to stop the literal landslide of embarrassment that was happening to you.

“She wants to have a baby,” Price told him, smiling a bit as your cheeks turned pink.

“A baby?” Gaz commented with no small amount of surprise.

“Who wants a baby?” Simon yelled out from the hallway before opening the door wider and scooting around Gaz to join into the conversation. 

“A bairn!?” Soap barged in, slamming the door all the way open and forcing Gaz to tumble into the kitchen. 

So, the whole team knew in a matter of moments, but Price kept his word. He drove you to the hospital for your appointment and asked more questions to the doctor than you did. Unfortunately, he heard all of the strictest rules and took them to heart. No cigarettes, no caffeine, plenty of rest and… plenty of exposure to male ejaculate. 

There had been a meeting, of which you were not a part, between Price and the other men in your task force, and they had come to a conclusion: they would put a baby in you. It was their singular mission. A bit of back and forth had occurred when you found out their plan.

“Is there… we dinnae want to pressure you, lass, but,” Soap looked around at Ghost, Gaz, and Price before settling back on you, “Are there any of us you wouldnae like to be the father? We willnae take offense.”

“No! I’d be happy to have any of you… I mean… But, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this if you don’t want to,” you could feel the heat of your shame rising in your cheeks, and you knew you were as red as a lobster. You heard a bit of laughter at your comment and feared the worst. But then, Gaz explained,

“I’m afraid all of us very much want to, Sparrow.”

He had even palmed his growing cock for emphasis. 

But, it had to be fair, you decided. There should be a schedule; no favorites. And for the first month, there was. Soap was your Monday, Ghost was Tuesday, Gaz was Thursday, and Price was Friday. But then Price had a meeting and so Soap was Friday, and Price was Saturday. That meant Ghost was Monday. You were in training on Tuesday, so Gaz was Wednesday, but Soap couldn’t do Thursday or Friday because he had to go in for his annual review. So, he joined Gaz on Wednesday, stepping in right after him as if you were a pretty little mailbox and the boys had come to drop off their packages. 

When the weekly schedule fell apart, you hung a big calendar in your quarters, and they’d pencil themselves in. That was fine until you had been shipped out to Aqtabi. You’d tried to keep it up while you were in the field, remembering what day was which, but the truth was that sometimes you had no idea if it was morning or night. Was that the sun or a flare? 

And sometimes it didn’t matter. Something would happen on a mission, and Price would crawl beneath your scratchy woolen sheet, searching for the comfort of your arms, not saying a word, not even asking you if it was alright, but just taking you there in the cold night of the desert, filling you up and keeping his cock sheathed in you, safe and sound. 

And sometimes you needed them, too. Waiting on exfil, huddled together in the pouring rain beneath a sad tarp, you’d crawled into Gaz’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and letting him hold you in a cradle, using his big chest as your pillow. You’d dozed, exhausted, and he’d rubbed himself against you through your clothes, coaxing you to pull down your pants so he could empty himself into your womb, quick and filthy. You remembered how it felt when his come had soaked through your panties as you sat next to him in the helicopter, letting him hold your hand. 

You felt a little guilty that you weren’t exactly hoping for a child during those first few months. You were enjoying their affections, no matter how platonic they may have felt. 

It didn’t stay that way, though. Soap was the worst offender. When he fucked you, he wanted to spend most of his time eating you out, sucking on your clit with his mouth like a hungry dog, soaking himself in your scent and your flavor before finally mounting you, crawling over your body like the hound that he was, dipping his cock into you and beating your core like a drum. He’d stare into your eyes when he could manage it, and he’d slipped up one day and told you he loved you. That you were his girl, his wee bonnie lass, and that he’d raise the bairn with you, even if it was Black like Gaz, tall like Ghost, or had Price’s big nose. It’d be his and yours. He’d be the daddy you wanted him to be, he promised. 

Then, you’d had to deal with Gaz. He’d made dinner reservations at a restaurant near base while he had your legs held up to your chest, helping you wait the twenty suggested minutes for his “lads” to “soak in”. Told you he was just hungry, but he had also happened to buy you a nice dress, and he’d driven you in his sporty little Beamer, bright red and clean as a whistle. He’d fucked you after dinner, sneaking in a double feature, which was expressly against the rules. Told you he couldn’t help himself, and he said he’d been thinking about you all weekend, cock in hand. 

Ghost was like his namesake, haunting you all over the place. He found you in the locker room, and decided to fuck you standing up, sweaty from your sparring match. He’d washed you off in the shower, and he’d taken you in there, too, after coaxing you to make him hard again by sucking him off. Ghost would slink by you in the reference room, stalking you through the bookshelves, and dragging you to the storage closet to fuck you on all fours on the floor, maps and looseleaf pamphlets about Russian spy camps under your rosy red knees. He got vocal that night, cramped with his huge body in that tiny closet, telling you what a good girl you were for him, how you fit his fuckin’ cock so perfect, how he’d never want anyone else, how it felt so good to fill your body up with his load. 

Then, there was your captain. At first, you weren’t sure he was truly a willing participant. He seemed to avoid you unless he was on the schedule. He didn’t cut in line, and if you were on the couch or in the kitchen with one of the boys, he’d leave you be, smiling at you a bit before grabbing his tea and escaping back to his office. But, then you realized the truth: John Price wanted to put a baby inside of you more than anyone else, and he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure it happened. 

“Hey, little bird,” John’s finger pet the side of your cheek as you woke, feeling him pull down your pink silk panties so he could start to warm you up, “I’m your Sunday.”

“Mm,” you rubbed the sleep out of your eye and opened up your legs for him, giving him full access to your body on instinct at this point, “John, we gave up on the schedule. You can come whenever you want. Or, you can stop.”

“Can’t stop,” he kissed your mouth as he leaned over you, and you tasted peppermint and tobacco mixing together with something heady and lustful, “We’re in the window.”

Ah. The Window. All of the boys talked about The Window and when it was coming up next. They’d all downloaded trackers on their phones, watching you like birds of prey for when you ordered a box of tampons, checking with you to see when you were off the rag. And then, you’d be “in the window” of ovulation. Their best chance at succeeding at this mission. 

They would fuck you at any time of the month, and Soap and Price would even fuck you through your period, having read in some magazine that there was a small chance of success. But, being in The Window was like covering yourself in honey in the middle of a cave in spring and waking up all the bears inside it. Fertile ground, ripe for the taking. 

“Mm, fuck,” you keened. John had two fingers in you now, pressing on your soft spots and stretching your hole. You wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, which he moaned into. 

“Feel good, Spar? You want to make me hard, pretty bird?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking up at him with desperate eyes, “Yeah, I do. Please, John…”

 He slipped himself in, half-hard already, and you felt the body of it slide into your core. It was soft, and you liked to squeeze it with your muscles, feeling him writhe inside of you when you did, reveling in his pleasure. He sat back on his heels to let you play with him fully, watching you grind your hips on him as he massaged your clit to its full, swollen height. He was in no rush, and he spoke to you casually. 

“Has Kyle been in this weekend?”

“No, it was Soap,” you tried to remember, “And then Ghost, and then Soap again.”

Price chuckled warmly,

“That boy wants a baby so badly.”

You smiled with him, agreeing, 

“He does. He interrupted Gaz on Thursday and asked him when he’d be done!” 

Price laughed with you then, his eyes gleaming and crinkling at the edges,

“Oh, Christ. He’d be a good one. They’d all be good.”

You watched his mood shift. There was something solemn about it, and you wanted to chase it away. You rubbed your hand along his furry belly, locking your ankles around his hips and shamelessly rocking your hips to fit more of him into you. You confessed, 

“You’d be good.”

His eyes found yours again and he stilled, wondering out loud,

“D’you think so, Sparrow?”

“I know so.”

“Can I tell you a secret, little bird?” He whispered, lowering himself into position and stuffing his hard length even deeper inside of you, making you worry just a bit if he could hurt you with that thing. 

You nodded, kissing his huge Adam’s apple in his throat and nuzzling through his beard. He told you the whole truth as he pounded himself into you without mercy, 

“Sometimes, I wish he would be mine. I wish…” He almost stopped, but he kept going, like a raft in the stream, too caught in the current to go back to the shore, “I wish you could be mine, and then I could rub lotion on your belly when you got big. And I could cook for you when you got tired, and I could read to you, even when he was still inside of you, and I know he could hear my voice. I wish, sometimes, that when it happens, that I’d be the first to know. That you’d tell me first, because you knew it was mine, because you’d want him to be mine.”

You were stunned, and you were coming, and the two were very separate events. As your pussy pulsed and tried to milk him of his come, making you dizzy and almost sick with pleasure, you were shocked by his admission. You grabbed his face and made him look you in your eyes,

“John…” You panted, coming down from your first high of many with Price, “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“I didn’t either,” he smiled, but the corners didn’t reach his eyes. 

When he fucked you this morning, you had no idea how good it could feel, but he showed you. He rutted into you, desperately, like some sort of beast, unable to stop himself. It was as if he would fuck himself bloody in you if he had to, and you wanted to take him as best you could. You felt him finally start to come, and he plugged you up with his thickness, shoving himself as deep as he would go, sealing you off and keeping you warm and elevated. 

He kept his cock in you, gasping for breath and petting the hair out of your face. He kissed you, cheeks and chin and neck, all the way down to your breasts where he suckled from your nipples, almost dreamlike in the way he was touching you, fully covered in you the entire time. 

“Sleep, birdie,” he nuzzled your neck and continued to lave his tongue over your breasts, “I’ll wake you when I’m hard again.”

Part 2

[memorys-skyscraper]

seeing so much more of this bullshit post-DT and it continues to drive me insane

people are out here saying a guy in DT is a shard of lahabrea. the guy who is famously one of THREE people who was not sundered and therefore does not have shards. like. gamers. the reading comprehension. where is it.

for as much as i enjoy the lore about the sundering and shards and all that, it has absolutely poisoned character discussions of any kind across all of ffxiv

the sheer number of absolutely braindead "x is a shard of y" takes ive been forced to endure. like y'all. characters can be similar, have similar arcs, even serve similar roles in the plot without being literal fragments of the same soul