#the boogeyman is never just one man

[bearfeathers]

no but the way halloween (2018) restores to michael myers the identity of the shape and the boogeyman is just 🤌

[wynnyfryd]

@messessentialist told me her friend called to rant about spotting an “upsettingly beautiful boy in a tj maxx” and i vomited 1200 words about it, enjoy

—

fic idea: chrissy and eddie work together at tj maxx. one afternoon a guy comes in who’s so hot that it kinda just pisses eddie off? bc like, who does this gorgeous asshole think he is??? coming in here and popping his hip at eddie’s counter, like, does he even know how uncomfortable it is to start chubbin’ up in skinny jeans?? that shit chafes!

so eddie gets all flustered and responds by getting an attitude with the guy because he has zero chill (and also because the dude’s iced coffee is sweating a ring all over eddie’s counter, and so help him if his manager gets on his ass one more time about keeping his station tidy—)

“did you need help finding anything else today?” eddie sneers. “coasters, perhaps?”

upsettingly hot guy looks confused for a second before he follows eddie’s pointed glance at the plastic starbucks cup leaving a cold puddle on the laminate, and then he sneers right back; adjusts the ray bans nestled in his perfect honey brown hair and looks eddie up and down — long, slow, one eyebrow lifting in subtle elitist disapproval.

“what?” he snorts, “hot topic wasn’t hiring?”

oh, fuck you very much!

so eddie’s all ‘nemesis acquired’ and holds the biggest grudge of all time. makes a sworn enemy and a boogeyman out of the guy, turns him into urban legend, starts blaming the Upsettingly Beautiful Man for every little thing that goes wrong in his life — at work, at home, at band practice; no place is safe from the dreaded UBM.

“he’s not a fucking cryptid!” gareth snaps one day at rehearsal, chucking a drumstick at eddie’s head. “just track him down and bone already so you can shut the hell up!”

“wouldn’t he just talk about him more after they have sex?” jeff wonders, to which gareth narrows his eyes and raises his second drumstick as a threat.

meanwhile, eddie’s cute coworker chrissy (who he’s become surprisingly good friends with, to the point of referring to her as his work wife) gets a girlfriend. robin’s sooooo pretty, and soooo nice, and sooooo tall, eddie, did you know how tall she is?

yes, chrissy, he’s supremely aware of a stranger’s five-foot-eight-and-a-half stature now, thank you.

“you have to meet her!” chrissy gushes, bouncing up onto her toes.

eddie hangs another shirt. “you have to chill.”

“hey!” she pouts, pixar princess cute. “you wouldn’t tell the sun to dull its shine, would you?”

“i mean, i would, but i doubt the giant ball of plasma cares what i want.”

“okay, whatever, eeyore.” she rolls her eyes but she physically can’t stop beaming even as she does it, and eddie finds himself melting under it — some sort of radiant area attack coming from the apples of this girl’s cheeks, he swears, because the next thing he knows he’s agreeing to go to rando new girlfriend’s housewarming party this weekend so he can meet her properly.

only he doesn’t get to meet her properly, because when he shows up to the party the two bedroom apartment is packed with people he’s never seen, and it’s loud as fuck in here and he’s sweating through his leather from the six flights of stairs he had to climb to reach the place, so he steps through a sliding door out to the balcony and lo and behold, if it isn’t Upsettingly Beautiful Man looking upsettingly beautiful — positively fucking divine, actually, the last wisps of fuchsia sunset catching the gold streaks in his hair and dotting the tip of his flawless nose. Seriously, does this dude have any flaws? A scar, a birthmark, an unsightly ingrown hair? Eddie can’t even see a single blackhead for fuck’s sake.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the dude mutters, turning to look at him, and, “oh, my god, you again?”

“uh.”

“i’ve got a fucking coaster this time,” the guy says, lifting his solo cup and giving it a little shake to point out the cork round sitting underneath it, “so if that’s what you came out here to berate me for, then you’ll have to think of something else.”

“uh,” eddie says again, because he has no idea what brought this on but he’s pretty sure it has shit all to do with him, and pretty boy’s really working himself up now, arms moving in sharp gestures as he paces back and forth on the short balcony.

“not that it even matters if i didn’t have a coaster, because this is my house! i can do what i want with my own fucking stuff in my own fucking apartment, nance, i don’t— uh…”

pretty boy’s face blossoms rose petal red, a heavy blush creeping up his jawline as he catches himself mid rant and folds in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest with a sheepish expression.

eddie’s always had a thing for shepherding.

“i’m listening,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and holding the pack out in offering. “if you care to vent.”

the guy — steve, eddie finds out — tells him all about his controlling ex-girlfriend as they work their way through two cigarettes each, the sun slipping away to reveal a full topaz moon, big and low and close, ripe citrus bending the branch of a tree. nance was a real piece of work by the sounds of it, and eddie feels like an absolute shit for the way he treated steve, who had apparently just gotten dumped the night before they met and had been out shopping for a “please take me back” present.

“like that was ever gonna work,” steve mumbles, ashing over the railing. “pathetic. anyway, sorry i was rude to you that day or whatever.”

“you weren’t.”

“nah, i was.” steve shifts his weight, knocks their shoulders together. “not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“yeahhhh,” eddie agrees, cringing at himself. “sorry.”

“all good. so what’s your story then, huh? who pissed in your cheerios that day?”

eddie blames the alcohol fumes wafting from steve’s cup — a justification that makes perfect sense and would totally hold up in a court of law — for what he says next.

“honestly? you.”

steve’s face is so cartoonishly offended that eddie busts out laughing, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.

“oh, so you’re just an asshole,” steve nods sagely. “first cute guy to flirt with me in six weeks is a lunatic. love that for me.”

“no, i—” eddie laughs, “okay, we’re coming back to how you think i’m cute, but i just meant, uh-”

oh, fuck it. eddie’s never been good at holding his cards close to the chest. more of a 52 pick up kinda guy, historically, and why change now?

“you were so gorgeous it, like, genuinely upset me for a second,” eddie admits, running his tongue over his lip. he stubs out his cigarette; turns to look right at steve. “like, uh, like cuteness aggression or some shit.”

steve mirrors his posture, leaning an elbow on the railing, nearly chest to chest. “so you are crazy,” he smiles.

“that’s correct.” eddie swallows.

steve moves in to close the gap. “good crazy?”

“fun crazy, so i’m told.”

“i’m gonna kiss you if that’s cool.”

“very”

the kiss tastes like ripe citrus

[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."

[charliemwrites]

Part 7 is finally here! I only gave this a quick look over so if there are any glaring issues (like a random cut off sentence) please let me know! I was just so excited to get this one out.

Content: Brandon.

For all the power and influence it has amassed, SpecGru is a notoriously discreet and secretive operation. Mind, no one’s ever strolling down the street shouting their criminal affiliations for God and everyone to hear, but even by criminal standards, SpecGru is like a collective boogeyman. By the time most anyone knows they’re there, it’s already too late – and the rare (verbal) survivors only ever see masks and guns.

Granted, no small part of SpecGru’s prestige comes from whispered stories and unconfirmed rumors. Criminals are locker room gossips, the lot of them. Not that it’s completely unfounded. An execution is an execution, whether someone died with all their teeth and nails or not. (Usually not)

Few people know Price as more than a shadowy theoretical. (Someone must be in charge, that’s how the mafia works.) Even fewer know his face, never mind his name. It’s just good business that way.

In fact, SpecGru’s entire inner circle is shrouded in mystery. There’s not just the gray silhouette of the Don looming over their enemies’ heads. There are the lieutenants to contend with as well, acting on his direct authority, speaking on his behalf (with permission, of course) in his absence.

And then there’s Price’s right hand, the de facto boss should something happen. His heir, for all intents and purposes.

For those that have met Price in person, and by extension his few but devoted confidants, there’s always debate.

Is it Soap, loud and brash, but sharp as a whip? A decisive man, affable with a hidden mean streak?

Or is it Ghost, the quiet and calculating figure always at his side? A deadly and brutal enemy, shrewd and observant?

Kyle lets them stew in their assumptions and reminds himself that they’ll learn eventually – or they’ll be dead. He’s not fussed either way. It would suit SpecGru just fine if a few of those knobs keeled over sooner rather than later.

If only they knew that the hand that would one day grip their leashes was currently holding your purse so that you could pet a cute dog.

Not that Kyle minds; you have good taste. In purses, that is – though the dog isn’t half bad. A fluffy white and grey thing with a stumpy tail, practically crawling onto your pretty blue skirt as you coo and fawn. He started recording the minute you handed him your bag. (Price owes him for this.)

“His name is Mister Beans,” the uni girl enthuses to you.

You practically sob. “Mister Beans!”

He’s loath to hurry you along, but he’s supposed to meet up with Price for a Business meeting in only a half hour. Thankfully, you’re a considerate sort and don’t linger for long.

“Thank you so much, have a great day!” you cheer to the young woman. Then you turn back to Kyle, smiling huge. “Wasn’t he so cute?”

He chuckles. “It was. Wish I could have pet him, but white hair on this suit…”

You hum sympathetically. “I have a lint roller in my apartment.”

“I’ll scratch the next one,” he promises, offering your purse back.

You take it with your far hand and another mumbled “thank you,” then loop your closer arm through his. Don’t even seem to think about it, just accept the escort automatically. Kyle tries not to beam with pride. He used to have to prompt you, holding his elbow out at an awkward angle for you to get the hint. Now, you reach for the arm of whoever you’re with on instinct – as you should. (Another thing Price owes him for.)

“Do you like little dogs?” you ask, strolling with him for your apartment.

In the office, you’re a speedy little thing. Zooming from your desk to Price’s and back at velocity deserving of a ticket. Soap calls you a busy bee and it’s apt. Fluttering to and fro with stacks of papers or your tablet (“Reginald” you call it) everyone knows to make way at the click-click of your smart heels.

Outside, though, your purposeful stride slows to something less awe-inspiringly machinelike. Little Miss at work is a much different creature from Little Miss off the clock – but Kyle quite likes both.

“My mum had a little white dog while I was growing up. Crusty old thing,” he explains. “Prefer medium sized myself. Like a corgi.”

You giggle. “Like the royal family?”

“Oi, I liked ‘em before that.”

You just laugh harder at his defensive tone, patting his arm. He’s always impressed by how fearlessly you joke and tease him and the others. Have taken everything in stride from the beginning, didn’t even flinch when you first met Simon. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think you had no idea just who you arched your eyebrows at this morning because of a “scheduling disagreement.”

“Speaking of dogs…” you mutter, mirth disappearing.

He follows your gaze through the clear glass of the building’s entry vestibule. Your ex is standing inside, already spotted you and fluffing up like the cock he is.

“Mind keeping back, doll?” Kyle murmurs.

You make a noise of protest even as you hand him your keys. “He’s not going to do anything after what Soap did.”

There’s an ugly black cast around his hand and up his wrist. Kyle smirks at him through the door.

“Rather not take any chances,” he replies.

You huff a bit, but quietly slip your arm from his, letting him take the lead into the building. (He still holds the door for you of course – he’s not a numpty.)

“Get the fuck out, mate,” Kyle says as soon as the door opens.

Brandon looks downright taken aback. “And who the fuck are you?”

“None of your business,” you interrupt, stepping up beside Kyle.

“The hell it’s not!” Brandon replies, taking an angry (stupid) step forward. Kyle mirrors him, making a point of loosening up his shoulders. In a surprising display of good sense, Brandon stops there. “Look, bunny, a high-value man needs a high-value woman.”

Your voice comes out flat and unimpressed. “And that’s you, is it? A high-value man?

Brandon rolls his eyes but sighs, as if he’s trying to be patient with you. Kyle’s fingers twitch. His piece is burning a hole against his back.

“Obviously. I have a degree, a six-figure salary, and two properties – all under forty. I’m objectively attractive, work out regularly, don’t smoke. I’m a good catch, don’t kid yourself that you can do better.”

At Kyle’s elbow, you go very still. The type of still that precedes blood and screaming. He’s seen it in Ghost before.

“Then why are you here?” you ask, tongue dripping acid. “Since you’re such a catch.”

Brandon sighs and shakes his head, trying for fond exasperation and only achieving constipated.

“I’m not willing to just throw away two years. I’ve invested a lot in this relationship, and we can still make it work.” It actually starts to make Kyle nauseous, the way he talks about you like a business decision. “I mean, you have some things to make up for but eventually, we can go back to the way we were.”

“And what,” you say through gritted teeth, consonants sharp enough to pierce skin, “do I have to make up for?”

Kyle listens, flabbers absolutely gasted, as Brandon answers.

“You ran off to play desk bunny for a man I don’t know. God only knows what ‘favor’ you did to land that job. You’ve lowered your value as a marriable woman but there are ways to make it up to me—”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

Kyle’s ears ring like the first time he heard his mum curse.

Brandon looks taken aback too. You don’t give either of them a chance to respond.

“I know it’s not fucking me. Because if you were talking to me, you’d be stupider than you look.”

Brandon’s face flushes with anger. He takes another step forward. Kyle takes two in return, shaking his head in warning. Unfortunately, Brandon doesn’t know how to read his face any better than yours.

“C’mon, mate, it’s common sense. A lock that opens for any key and all that.”

Kyle’s heard it before. “Women ain’t locks, mate.”

“If you don’t get out of this building right fucking now, I will ruin your life,” you snarl.

Brandon does a double take. “Is that a threat? You can’t—"

“You bet your pasty ass it is,” you reply without missing a beat. You raise your voice every time he tries to interrupt, barreling through his weak protest like a train. “Fifteen fucking minutes. That’s all it would take to destroy you, your stupid sister, your bitchy mother, your pervert father, and that fucking slag you got pregnant twice.”

Kyle’s eyebrows rise with each word until he’s fairly certain they’ve floated up to the ceiling somewhere.

Brandon, though… Brandon’s face is ashen.

“How… how did you…?”

“Get. The fuck. Out.”

Kyle doesn’t give him the option to refuse. He scruffs Brandon by the back of his bland suit and shoves him out the first door of the vestibule. It closes and locks just as he turns around, a rebuttal finally juddering to his bloodless lips. You haven’t even turned to watch him go.

Kyle approaches you feeling a bit like he does coming to Price with shit news when he’s already pissed.

He almost says, you sure know how to pick ‘em – but thinks better of it. There’s practically frost forming beneath your feet, the air around you is icy.

“Walk you up, little miss?” he asks, offering his arm.

You gently take his arm and exhale heavily. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

You invite him in at your door. Your hands are shaking a bit. He politely accepts, shooting Price the others a text that he’ll be a bit late. He’s not about to leave you in a state.

As usual, you step out of your shoes at the door, leaving you in your shimmery stockings, then pad to the kitchen.

“Tea?” you ask as he follows.

“I haven’t the time, doll, I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re alright before heading out.”

You turn, expression softening. Just like that, you’re back to your usual self, sweet as honey.

“I’ll be alright, I think,” you reply, sighing. “That was a long time coming.”

He leans his shoulder in the doorway, unable to help chuckling at the memory of your ex’s gobsmacked expression. The corners of your mouth curl up in shy amusement.

“Seemed like it,” he replies. “We should weaponize those f-bombs you dropped.”

That coaxes a giggle out. “Graves would be first on my list.”

“The boss’s too.” And oh, Kyle can’t wait to tell Price about this. (As if he needed another reason to hate Brandon and adore you.)

“Christ,” you groan, “you’re going to tell him about this, aren’t you?”

He’s at least able to muster an apologetic grimace. “You know I have to, sweets.”

“Suppose I’ll get the really good tea tomorrow,” you muse.

“He liked those pistachio scones from the corner café, too.”

You light up. It just so happens that they bake your favorite muffins too. “Good idea.”

“I’m full of ‘em.”

You snort, but there’s a fond smile on your face. Regretfully, he notes the time on the stove clock behind you.

“You’re sure you’re alright here by yourself?” he asks.

“I’m sure,” you promise, crossing to give him a warm hug. “I lock the door and windows like Simon told me.”

“Atta girl,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“Seven sharp!” you chirp.

He pauses at the door, “You call if there’s any trouble.”

You poke your head around the corner. “You don’t sign my paychecks; you can’t tell me what to do.”

He points right back at you. “That’s from the bossman direct.”

“Then he can tell me himself.”

He arches his brows. You blink.

“Don’t tell him I said that.”

He chokes back a chuckle. “Sweet dreams, little miss.”

“Get home safe, Kyle!”

As far as business meetings go, one with Los Vaqueros is almost pleasant. Sure, they always try to overprice their products, but haggling them down is practically a game between Price and Vargas by now. The shipping agreement between them and SpecGru is long established by now, a major link in the international arms market.

“Negotiations” are relaxed enough that Rudy and Valeria are playing cards with Ghost and Soap at the sitting table, whiskey glasses at their elbows. The plan for the next six months is all but set when Price suddenly jerks. In an instant, his face goes dark, shoulders tense.

“Something wrong, hermano?” Vargas asks.

“I’m getting a call.”

Soap and Ghost snap to attention.

There are only a handful of people that can reach Price during a meeting. All but one is in this room.

As he brings the phone to his ear, Kyle sees your name on the screen.

“Yes, love?” he answers.

Even from a couple feet away, Kyle can hear your voice through the receiver – high and panicked. Kyle’s already reaching for his keys.

“He fucking what?” Price barks.

Soap and Ghost jump to their feet, cards and drinks forgotten.

“Barricade the door, get a knife. We’ll be right there.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[salaciousdoll]

✩˚｡⋆ ⋆ ⋆ Reflection and invisibility ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡✩

･˳ . ⋆ Featuring Risotto Nero x La squadra!Fem!reader ･˳ . ⋆

୨⍣୧ ⁺⁎˚ ⋆━━ Be advised to the warnings of Risotto and Reader both being Assassins in Passione, Boss!Giorno, Au where everyone is alive and thriving, smut, hardcore fucking, katoptronophilia( fucking in front of mirror), body worship, reader is a stand user but it’s not used( none of their stands are except illuso, voyeurism, dirty talking, degradtion kink up 1000 in here, there’s praise here and there, dick drunk reader and pussy drunk Risotto, backshots, reader has a voice kink, Risotto cracks subliminal jokes here and there( he’s a little jokester when he was fighting doppio in the anime), pet names in Italian( I really tried here but pet names such as bunny, slut, beautiful, doll, Angel, etc.), your ex is Bruno, Risotto has dick piercings( frenum ladder), Risotto makes you count the amount of thrust he gives you, edging, and mention of somnophillia at the end. Oh and Dark content. Wc: 2.7k

Minors do not interact, 18+ Only!

ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟNote from Salaciousdoll: This is my first time writing for JJBA as a whole and my first time writing for Risotto as well… I really hope you all enjoy this fic even if you don’t watch jjba, hope I can convince you babies to watch it with this fic. If you know Italian please tell me if the words are wrong. ‘Grazii assai mia bellissima, bambola’= Thank you very much, my beautiful doll, ‘Angelo’ = Angel, ‘ coniglio’ = bunny, ‘Bambola’= doll, ‘sudicio’ = dirty , ‘troia’= slut

Salaciousber Masterlist

Risotto Nero was a man everyone either heard of or came into contact with. Both encounters could build up the emotion of fear and the feeling of danger, nothing else. The man could kill without a blink of an eye or a movement of cringe. To everyone else, he was a man who they feared just by either his tall stature or his black sclera eyes combining with the red pupils to compliment them.

Risotto was the scary man , your parents warned you about when you were younger, yet when they always told them stories, you never believed them. You had to see the boogeyman yourself in order to actually be scared. Those thoughts lead to your failures and success in the underground world. The failures of almost meeting your end and the success of getting to see Risotto— being able to keep him between your white manicured fingers. Risotto grew to be obsessed with you just because of your beauty and perspective of him. You didn’t judge him by one look of his eyes, not that he cares what other people think. He only cares when he thinks of the person as a colleague or more. You were more. His love, he adored since you came to his team after transferring from Bruno’s gang.

Bruno Buccirati was your first love but wasn’t your last. Risotto may be the last man you fall in love with, especially since you’ve been in a relationship with him for three years now . At first, you didnt talk with one another outside of missions and the missions he assigned. He wasn’t the one for small talk and you weren’t either, the lingering ghost of love you had for Bruno was in the air everywhere you walked and every mission you did. You couldn’t get him off your mind and the rest of La squadra were fed up with your closed off personality, so they complained to Risotto about you. In response to their concerns over the total of two months you were there, he had no choice but to make the first move.

It wasn’t easy for the both of you to talk to one another since he made it clear that you needed to get your shit together and perform your best on missions, otherwise he might as well start planning a funeral for you now. “ Do you want to die?”

You stared at him with wide eyes because that was the first thing coming out of his mouth after calling you in. You shook your head and looked away. He stared at you even more and under his dangerous but alluring eyes, you couldn’t help but to get a little aroused and nervous. A bad combination of feels to have, especially in front of your boss..

“ No, boss.”, You say to the wall and he didn’t like that one bit.

Risotto's deep voice said your name with malice in his tone, “ I didn’t know I was a wall.” You wanted to laugh because you didn’t think he had humor, yet he proved you wrong so maybe you’ll open up a bit more. When you didn’t look at him at all, he took it as disrespect. “ Look at me when I talk to you. You’re supposed to respect your superiors, did Bucciarati not teach you that. Maybe the perception of Bucciarati being painted as a noble man was another lie he shown everyone because no noble man would allow their colleagues to disrespect an su-”

“ Excuse me, Capo… I would rather not talk about Bruno right now. And I’m just nervous, so forgive me for disrespecting you. It’s not my intention to do this unforbidden action.”, You say to Risotto, who raised a pale blue eyebrow at you. You didn’t want to hear Risotto talking about Bruno like he doubted his existence or portrayal of his existence to the people who adored him— you being one of the people who adored him. The more Risotto stared at you, the more he could see that you were obedient and respectful after all. You two stared at each other a bit longer than usual taking in each other's features. You noticed his beautiful and unique eyes, his full lips, the creases under his eyes from the lack of sleep probably or just a result of getting older, his nose, a nose you see yourself riding any moment if you continued staring. He noticed the shape of your eyes, how your nose looked, eyebrows, big cheeks, and finally your lips. Your plush lips with the perfect shape to them. He loved how thick and full they were— always shiny with lipgloss he sees you apply every 2 minutes also. He wanted to bite them but that’ll have to wait now.

He cleared his throat, “ I asked that question because it seems your head is in another place on missions with your squad members, some of them voice their concerns and I’m here to let you know that you can’t slack off into dreamland unless you want to die. Your stand is powerful and you are powerful, so I need you to start showing me that you're powerful and useful as they say. Don’t let it happen again, understand?”

You nodded your head and he huffed before speaking, “ You’re dismissed and { reader’s last name}, you’re going on a mission with formaggio to shake up Riccolo— Boss orders. So get prepared to leave with him in 15.” You nodded your head and left the office.

You used to hate that Giorno moved you to the team you decided to save just because you knew formaggio from a one night stand. That night was fun especially since you just moved from your home country to Italy with your sister two weeks before. You were a foreigner and it was visible yet Formaggio didn’t care unlike half of Italy would. Bare minimum really but that’s not the reason you fucked the man. He charmed his way into your panties and you had him wrapped around your finger even before you gave him some, basically the first time he saw you He was a good fuck, but not as great as Bruno or your Capo now.

Now, though, you were on top of the moon from moving teams, even after four years, because you were too busy getting bent over in front of the mirror by your Capo. His rough hands were squeezing your stomach making some of your tummy melt in between his long, thick fingers, “ Give me one more, bambola. One more for me.”

You couldn’t hold on for dear life. Your left boob was massaged softly as he pounded into you from behind. The feeling of his red eyes was enough to make anyone fold and you were long gone. You folded as soon as he kissed your neck while you were standing in front of the mirror with your new bra and pantie set you got from your favorite lingerie store. “ I— I can’t, Ris’ pleaseuhhh.”

Your moans mixed with your cries of pleasure as he rolled his fat and long cock inside of you. His frenum ladder piercings were adding on to your pleasure because of the cold metals grinding against the walls of your dripping pussy. You felt every vein of his cock as he fucked into you like he’s never gonna see you again. He couldn’t help bending you over to pound inside of your sweet fat cunt because of how amazing you looked in that set. He loved worshiping and showing appreciation for you and your body. Your body was his favorite piece of art— he could stare at it for hours. Your a live painting that he could worship and fuck anytime he wanted.

“ Fuck, coniglio, you’re pussy is taking me so well. My perfect girl. Gonna squirt for me.”, Risotto grunt out his response as his hips snapped into your plump ass creating ripples, which was his favorite thing to watch. He loved watching any part of your body shake or jump. Fuck, you are his heaven. The heaven he will never get to see since his hands were tainted with hundreds of people’s blood.

The wetness of your pussy and the slaps of hips meeting was heard so loud in the room as your eyes rolled back into your head, “ You’re tearing me apart, Ris’ please slow down~” he loved how you stretched the word down out. It shows how brain dumb you are right now for him. Brain was filled with nothing, becoming nothing but mushiness. Just the way he liked you.

“ Slow down you say?” Risotto slowed his hips down and watched your expression in the mirror prior to turning himself invisible. “ Want you to look at yourself being stretched and fucked dumb on my cock in any pace. Whether it’s fast or slow, you still couldn’t, guhahh— you naughty little slut; You dare squeeze me that tight after I told you to loosen up for me.”

Risotto dropped his hands from holding you and bunched up the hairstyle you had in your hair before long stroking your pussy— deep and slow. He let out a wicked chuckle, “ Look at you… shaking all because of my cock, right my little angelo. Look closely in the mirror for me and then I want you to, shit! Your pussy is trapping me inside.” He couldn’t focus on what he was trying to say. Risotto was only this vocal with you. His deep voice was everything you needed to hear in your ear. Voice was sending a strike of thunder inside the blood in your body, allowing you to become even more turned on. His voice alone could get you off, so this act being an add on is what your dreams are made for. You brought his dirty talking and surge of pleasure out of him, none of his past hookups got an inch of words from him. Only moans and that’s if they pulled it out of him.

Risotto slapped your ass causing you to move forward into the mirror. Your fingerprints were imprinted in the big 48’ tall and 83’ wide mirror in your room. You were so glad you brought this mirror. You can use it for this exact reason. Risotto yanked your head back enough for you to see you and his invisibility in the mirror. It was like you were getting fucked by a ghost, spooky and freaky. Such a wonderful feeling.

“ Pay attention to the mirror, tesoro. Now choose a number, any number.”, his groans were heard right after he finished his sentence. You moaned when you saw his eyes staring at you through the mirror. You couldn’t even form words because of how slow and dragged his cock was going inside of your sobbing pussy.

Your fingers bunched up on the mirror and you knew you were close to squirting on this mirror. As his cock dragged in and out of you, you tried to form an answer to his questions. Nothing but moans and fumbling words in between were heard. You were really fucked out and he wanted to cherish the sounds forever.

Risotto continued fucking you with groans in your ear prior to biting your ear lob causing you to scream, “ Do you want me to ask the rest of your teammates? They’re watching, you know. Watching how you come apart on my cock, watching how your tits bounce back and forth as I fuck you like the sudicio little troia you are.” Your eyes widen at that information and his words. You finally took a deep look into the mirror and there stood every last member of La Squadra staring or smirking at you through the mirror, damn you illuso and your fucking stand. You shouldn’t have gotten turned on at being watched, but you couldn’t help it.

Risotto felt your pussy grab his cock like she never wanted to let him go. He hissed when he felt you squeezed tighter, stopping his movements all together. You whined and looked back at him to see his eyes looking at you with lust and anger. “ Number.” You tired to fuck back into him, but his finger nails dug into your hips causing you to bite your lip letting out a short muffled scream.

Your lips quivered as you answered him, “ 10! Ris’ please fuck me. I need to cum.” Risotto smirked at you, yet you couldn’t see it due to his invisibility. You only saw his eyes, which was more than enough for you. Risotto then dragged your back to leave a little space before the mirror.

He bent you over to a 90 degree angle and gripped your wide hips with his big hands, “ Count every thrust I give to your sweet pussy, 10 counts for two rounds. Two rounds because how much I’ve had to repeat myself with you.” Tears started to pour out of your pretty eyes as he grabbed your hair in his hands and snapped his hips forward causing a huge ripple on your ass.

“ Fuckkk! One.”, Your moan was so loud that you didn’t even care if someone delivering your packages for today heard you as you heard the house doorbell ring or was that ringing in your head from how hard he thrusted inside of you.

Risotto pulled out of you leaving the tip in, snapping his hips inside of you again, “ What’s the number? I seem to forgot already, bellissima. Help me remember.” You hated how he teased you as he rolled his hips around, mixing your juices inside of your pussy in the process. His piercings was a foreign feeling inside of you, no matter how many times you two fucked or made love, the metals felt so good inside of your pussy and you will always tell him that whenever you want sex or just wanted to compliment him to catch him off guard.

Risotto repeated this technique for two times in a row with the count of ten each time so it was twenty in total. He made you squirt on the first round at the number 5. He did nothing but chuckle at your pathetic display of shaking, “ So pathetic, can’t take this but was surely running your mouth the other day about how you can take me. You know what you are right now.”

He grabbed you up by your hair— your sweaty back was to his sweaty abs as his arms were now wrapped around your tummy. He whispered in your ear as his team looked on from a distance inside of the mirror at your pathetic attempt of holding on, “ A rookie. You know how much fun I like to poke at rookies.” He threw his head back at the feeling of your pussy and you wished you could see his facial expressions, “ Brace yourself.”

Risotto gripped your body like a mad man and fucked you like a caveman. Pussy was squirting non stop as he slammed into you over and over until he came inside of you with a loud groan.

“ Aughhh, good fucking girl. So good. Shit!l have to get you pregnant. Have our children run around our new house I buy for us, away on the, hahh!, countryside, away from everyone. Just you and me.” , He moaned as he snapped his hips inside of you three more times. His warm cum fills you up so gloriously. You couldn’t do anything but lay limp in his arms— still standing up with him. Your body did shake in his arms so I guess that was doing something. Risotto smirked and turned himself back to his visible self, kissing your head prior to looking at his teammates with his famous death glare. Basically telling them to fuck off and leave him and his lady alone. They obeyed his silent order all due to Prosciutto understanding what Risotto is saying.

“ Grazii assai mia bellissima, bambola”, Risotto whispers to your passed out figure in his arms. His dick always made you pass out from the length, piercings, and girth. He massaged your stomach as he walked to you to bed, carefully laying you down and going to get a towel to clean you off, can’t have you sticking in stickiness and wetness, otherwise he’ll fuck you in your sleep. You already granted him permission to perform somnophilia a few days ago too. Maybe he’ll try it out later.

ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟTagging: @chosoist @honeybleed @simpingfor-wakasa @happygoluckyalexis @mastermindenoshimaalicia @angelshub @bxrbie1 @sylisan @lilvampirina @deftrow @uzxotic @tayler17-84

ﾟ•┈© all right reserved to salaciousdoll, she does not give permission to steal, plagiarize, and translate.

[battymommastuff]

The Other Side

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

!!TW!! - MENTIONS OF SA AND OTHER DARK THEMES

Part 1 Part 2 Masterlist

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

You didn't get a chance to address the deep voice before a cloth was covering your face and the world went dark. A throbbing pain came next when you awoke. You were laying on a very luxurious bed. Looking down, you saw that you were still in your same clothing. Just a silk robe that covered your underwear. Your heart was racing as you looked around the room. Whoever lived here, lived in style. Everything looked as if it would cost you bodily organs to own. 

Before the shock could wear off, the two massive double doors opened, and a man walked into the room. A mask covering his face, and his eyes watched you carefully. Your body visibly shrunk as you stared at the intimidating man across the room from you, "Ms. (L/N), I do want to apologize for the rather harsh retrieval of you. We have to take precautionary measures these days." The man said while stepping closer to you. He stepped into the moonlight, and you finally saw every detail of his mask. A golden bird mask...no owl mask. What the hell is going on? 

"W-What do you want with me?" You asked, moving off of the bed once he got too close to you. The bed now served as a barrier between you and your kidnapper, but it didn't provide any comfort for you. All you could think of was being raped, and sold on the black market. Gotham City wasn't the safest city, but you never thought this would happen to you. How did this happen? There was always security watching over the bunk area every night to make sure this never happened. How did these men get in to kidnap you? Whatever the reason, you didn't feel safe with the circus anymore. 

"To give you a chance...a chance to be apart of something great. My organization works from the shadows to ensure the safety of our beautiful city..." Beautiful isn't a word you would use, but sure, "You possess a talent that could be beneficial to our cause." The man picked up a remote and turned the tv on. What played was several of your acts and some of your rehearsals. All taken from vantage points, and places that you wouldn't have noticed someone watching you, "We've come to realize that our organization is seen as a myth, a boogeyman. Many criminals fear us, and with your talents...we could harness that fear." He stepped around the bed and started making his way towards you once again. The fear you felt kept your legs from moving, so this time he got uncomfortably close to you, "Join us (Y/N). Join us and help us purge Gotham of everything that taints it." 

The Court of Owls. One of Gotham's scariest myths. You've heard whispers of them while spending days in the city. Some of your fellow performers even mentioned them once or twice. Everything you've ever heard was never good. This cult believes they are doing the right thing, but are harming so many in the process. You couldn't join them...you couldn't live your life in the shadows. What could ever be so wonderful about someone so full of darkness? It seemed that the man saw what you were thinking, and he backed away, "Such a shame...you would have been such a valuable asset. I'm afraid if you won't join us, then we have to do away with you. You will pose a risk to all of us." The man turned his back towards you, and you knew now was your chance. Grabbing the closest thing to you; a lamp, you hit him over the bed. The man dropped to the ground, and you ran to the window. Luckily you weren't too high from the ground, so you pushed the window open and climbed out. 

You could hear voices and yelling as you dashed into the dark, raining city. You hadn't a clue where you were going, but anywhere would be better than this. The circus would be the first place they would look, so you had to find somewhere new. You could hear footsteps behind you as well as some above you. They were after you, and they were fast. Thankfully, your breathing training worked wonders. Still you were no match for these skilled men. They managed to corner you into a dead end alley. This is it. The place where your dead body would be found. It all ended here. The vile smell of puke, piss, and garbage filled your nose as you looked around at the court members closing in on you, "P-Please...I promise I won't tell anyone. Just let me go." You pleaded, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. From behind you were pushed to your knees, and you could see your reflection in the blade meant for your death. 

The member lifted the blade up, but before it could meet your skin...a rope wrapped around their wrist. With a scream, they were pulled into the darkness. It felt as if all sound in the city stopped...everything went quiet. You felt fear before, but this was a new level of fear. A fear that you never would forget. A black shadow flew by, grabbing another member. This caused the rest of them to ignore you, and turned their attention to their surroundings. Now would have been the perfect time to run, but your legs were screaming. The adrenaline was wearing off, and it felt like you couldn't move an inch. A bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, right as a shadow covered the alley...a shadow of a bat. The mysterious savior dropped down on one of the members, and a fight broke out. You could only watch in awe as your savior took down every single member without much struggle. Once it was over, the figure turned towards you. Again the lighting allowed you a glimpse of him. The bat symbol of his chest matched the one in the night sky. 

"Batman..." You whispered, with relief before your eyes rolled back and you slumped to the ground. Batman walked towards you, and gently picked you up from the ground. He didn't see any visible injuries besides little scrapes on your knees from being pushed to the ground. Even now you were just as beautiful as you were while performing. He held you close and summoned the Batmobile. No hospital in Gotham would be safe enough for you. He needed to take you to the batcave. There you would be safe, and he could question you. 

"Alfred, get the med-bay ready. We have a guest." Batman said into his comms, after sitting you in the passenger seat. Your head leaned on the window, but your lips were starting to turn blue. Judging from your attire, you must have been getting ready for bed. With one final look over to make sure you were secure, he raced off into the streets of Gotham to the batcave.

TAGLIST

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @tayswhp @rainycloud858 @luna-zendra-star @starlets-things @simpfourmarvel @kawaistrawberry21 @js-favnanadoongi @kodzukenmaaa @xxrougefangxx @pixviee @discocactus-world @b4tm4nn @minimoxha @crutoyu @nightw-izhu @legendarylearner18 @mangegeek17 @pixiedust0604 @that-one-fangirl69

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yay I was the anon who asked if you watch the new John Wick film, I hoped you enjoyed the movie!

Can I request some yandere marquis de gramont headcanons? (it can be romantic or platonic)

man was the biggest prick that i had seen in a while from a movie lol

Yandere Vincent de Gramont Headcanons

A/N:You read my mind Anon lmaoo - I was literally planning on writing some HCs for the Marquis <3

Despite the initial conception one may have about Vincent's dedication to a lover – that being none – he's actually surprisingly...loyal.

While he has the playboy exterior, enough money to soak up the oceans of the Earth and all the allure that comes with his occupation, he secretly feels as if he has nothing at all.

What he wants, what he really, truly wants, is to feel something new. Something he’s never experienced before.

Love.

Not just for himself - for someone else.

His brush with John Wick made him realise how empty his life was by comparison to the Boogeyman, who lived and almost died for the memory of love.

And that stuck with Vincent. Affected him more than he’d like to admit.

But, his heightened status above most others has left him isolated with few who wish to know him in a capacity beyond acquaintances for fear of incurring his wrath with a misplaced word or an overstepped boundary.

Thus, love is almost an impossibility for the Marquis.

And then he met you.

And grew obsessed intrigued. Fast.

He likely met you in passing completely separate from his usual crowd – which is to say hunters and murderers.

And he's taken aback by you; your beauty, your charm, your personality. In a way that, while many others have tried, have never breached Vincent’s superficial interest.

Or perhaps you nurse that same melancholy void he harbours; the desire for something more. Which, divulging it to him, a complete stranger, the Marquis finds oddly endearing. Vulnerable.

He’s enchanted. The void in his chest seems to tighten somewhat. Heal.

You’ve given him what no other has before. Genuine, friendly, interested conversation. All without even knowing who he is.

Now, having to rush off, apologising with a smile for taking up his time with “Trivial banter,” Vincent watches your retreating form.

He has his sights set on you.

Over the next few days, while conducting business and going about his everyday life, Vincent’s mind keeps crawling back to you, those fateful minutes wherein he felt he knew everything about you and nothing at all.

Though, he doesn't actually want to admit it at first.

While, yes, he does want to experience true love, he is entirely unwilling to acknowledge the disgustingly human need to feel something.

So, he tries to hide it. Bury it beneath his work, French desserts and luxuries you've never even heard of.

But, over time, you spring back up in the forefront of his mind when you are no longer content with being a voice in the background. A memory of a time where Vincent felt as if he’d truly been seen.

And Vincent, passing off his secret enthusiasm as boredom, a mere meandering of memories, ‘allows’ the odd thought of you to trickle in here and there.

You are a form of medicine. Whenever Vincent feels something undesirable brewing in his chest, he finds himself back with you on that bench in the park, your warmth and presence sun rays against his face as he’s transported from one of his many mansions to beside you once more.

And, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, you scratch the right spot in his psyche that material gain just can’t. Not in comparison to the human touch you have.

Gramont’s so used to people regarding him with favour or fear that it still takes him aback now how kindly you treated him, not knowing who he is or what he does.

You had nothing to gain from your kindness. And yet you still gave it to him.

Healed him with it.

Vincent’s daydreams start to grow more intense the longer he thinks about you.

An emulated conversation. Additions and projections of the recollections of your encounter, no matter how brief. Anything to let Vincent feed off the feeling you gave him when he’s exhausted the phantom of your first encounter.

There comes a point, weeks after you first met, where Vincent spends more time in these memories, both real and fabricated, than in the conscious world. And they strengthen, pulling his focus from his work, from his duties.

At first, this manifests as a glazed look in his eyes, one which, to all those who knew of him, could pen as the typical, uninterested Marquis stare.

He wears the same one in the comfort of his private rooms, one where nobody can see what he’s thinking. But now, people can see Vincent couldn’t care less about the projected bounty of this one killer from Wales; he just wants to be left alone with his thoughts.

His men have started to notice, too.

And, one evening, Vincent decides to lay upon them a task.

“I need you to find someone for me,” he says, his chin resting atop clasped hands. There is no jest, nor leniency, in his stare.

The task itself sounded easy enough. But with only a physical description to go on, not even having gotten your name, Vincent, for the first time in his life, is anxious.

Anxious his men won’t find you, no matter how deep his connections run.

Anxious that, while he’s lived in his dream world for the last month, you’ve since disappeared. Been killed, perhaps, or exposed to some freak accident.

Vincent pains at the feeling in his centre whenever he considers this a possibility. It tears the scabbing void in his chest wide open again.

Sometimes, while he lies in bed, the thought that might have perished somehow, that his men will have misinterpreted his specific instructions not to interact with you, only report on what you’re doing, plagues him.

He knows his men are loyal – that they’ve never failed a task before now. And he clings to the hope that their winning streak won’t run dry one of these nights.

One day, sat in his office, glancing over a document he’d tried reading for the last half hour yet couldn’t because, surprise, you were distracting him, one of his men came into the room.

“We have them, Sir,” he said, the image of victory. Vincent couldn’t help but scan his suit for any sign of blood. Your blood.

To say Vincent was excited is an understatement of epic proportions.

At first, he’s just numb.

Then, a few minutes later, his chest burns and sparks with an electric passion one acquires when meeting an idol.

Vincent wishes to deploy himself immediately. But he knows this is a waiting game.

So, he remains far enough away from your life that you do not suspect a single thing is wrong.

You don’t even glance over at the guy who’s been tailing you for the last few hours.

You don’t think twice about the stranger who’s been sat in perfect view of you in the cafe for the last two weeks.

You don’t even consider that the guy you bumped into earlier is responsible for your house key going missing.

Now, with access to your inner sanctum and your daily routine burned into his mind like a holy scripture, Vincent makes his move.

He stages meetings between the two of you.

Starts ‘bumping into you’.

At first, you simply recognise him, ask him how he’s doing and what he’s doing in the area.

And, Vincent, the man with an answer for everything, finds himself doing something he never has before.

He fumbles.

Even when he imagined you in a most vivid detail, nothing compares to this moment, where what he says has consequences, where he has one shot at getting this right. Or risk your uncertain stare.

He can feel fear rising in his chest as he stutters. Only once, but enough to knock him down a few pegs in your mind’s eye. At least, that’s what he thinks.

But, he completes his task, albeit not as pristinely as he wished.

He asked you out to coffee.

And you, with a signature smile, accepted.

And now, your fate is sealed.

Vincent beats himself up over his ineptitude of speaking to you like he did in his head: suave, cool, collected.

And, given the fact that he’s never had to take accountability for anything he’s ever done, he tries to blame it on someone else.

Not you, though.

Never you.

Regardless of this minor hurdle, as Vincent sees it, he purses this…friendship with you.

He isn’t used to the concept. Not in a visceral sense, anyway.

The saying ‘It’s lonely at the top’ comes to mind when describing Vincent’s relationships.

There is always a power imbalance, no matter who he’s speaking with.

He is always above them, and they are always below him.

But that’s when they know him. Know his dynamic.

You, you have absolutely no idea who he is, or what he’s capable of.

To you, he’s just Vincent, the owner of a successful manufacturing business.

No, Vincent couldn’t quite ditch the theatrics. He still needed an out to impress you – to have a valid excuse as to how he owns so many nice cars, how he never wears the same designer suit twice.

He doesn’t tone it down with the suits, by the way.

He’s too enthralled by the fascinated look you wear when you’re taking in the patterns, the chains, the craftsmanship.

Which, to his surprise, makes his face warm.

People have only ever looked at the label of his outfit, never the ensemble itself.

That’s just another of the ways you make him feel seen.

You tell him so much of yourself, yet not enough to break your mystique.

Vincent knows more about you than you think, and he uses this to create another version of himself – one which likes the same records as you (though, he unironically does enjoy them. But, he knows he likely wouldn’t unless you listened to them, too), has the same preferences for how you fold your clothes, whether you should brush your teeth before or after breakfast.

And Vincent devours every detail you grant him like a meal, saving them, storing them, testing them out in his newest daydreams when he gets home, his heart thrumming and his breathing short as an unfamiliar feeling of wholeness and anxiety overtakes him.

And yet, there is little he can offer in return.

Nothing that isn’t a lie, anyway.

He keeps you as far away from his work as possible, hence he meets you in such public spaces.

His men are always stationed nearby, disguised as civilians. Should the need for bloodshed ever arise.

Eventually, your weekly coffee meet-ups evolve into something else.

Vincent, after asking one of his men (under strict confidentiality) ”What do you do when you…like-like someone…?” starts taking you to restaurants.

He tries not to scare you off with anything too fancy, but he can’t help but feel part of himself die whenever he thinks about how dull the food here in this 5-star restaurant is compared to his usual dining preferences.

But you’re happy, thanking him for the meal with a gratitude that isn’t borne from a life-or-death scenario.

You’re not paying for these dates, by the way. Vincent won’t let you.

“I brought you here; I’m paying.”

He also has a tendency to go overboard with the gifts.

You tell him your watch is broken ? Here are five designer timepieces imported from a selective brand whose clientele is vetted and chosen by the CEO himself.

Of course, you can try to refuse these gifts – tell Vincent that you “Can’t possibly take them from you; it’s too much !”

But he plays the guilt card well.

“No, I insist,” he says, pushing them into your hands. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

If you actively wear or use anything he buys you, he’ll be overjoyed. Prideful.

You’re wearing something he got for you. That basically means you’re saying you belong to him.

Of course, he does get a little carried away with his…delusions. But he means well !

He’s just territorial.

Vincent can be a gentleman when he wants to be.

And can also be a vicious creature when he doesn’t.

He only presents one of these sides to you.

The other is reserved for his more…private affairs.

When he started feeling more intensely about you, his mind wandered to some rather unsavoury places – places that, usually, VIncent would walk through without batting an eye.

But now that he, dare he say...liked you…he felt as if he’d been drenched in cold water whenever he imagined you doing anything risqué.

So, with the steadily growing number of these thoughts, these images of you, piercing his mind, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

He beds people who look like you. 

The two of you aren’t dating yet; haven’t even held hands (though Vincent agonises over finding the right opportunity to do so).

But he still feels wrong. Like he’s cheating on you.

His sanity tries to prevent him from thinking like this, tries to keep itself intact by urging Vincent to pursue another mindless conquest.

Your name does slip out between his panting, though.

Much to the chagrin of whoever’s beneath him right now.

He wonders what you’d look like, what you’d feel like in this same position. What your preferences are.

There’s only one way to find out.

He tries turning up the boyfriend factor after he decides now’s the time to pursue you. Properly.

He sits a little closer to you whenever you invite him over for movie nights, holds you for just a little longer whenever you engage in your traditional parting hug.

And he can’t help but think about how much he wants to stay with you like this forever.

And permanence is a rare commodity for people in his line of work. No matter how many bodyguards he has, or how skilled he is.

Nothing is certain.

Which is why, one evening, lying awake in bed, he decides to act.

He knows it’s a risky manoeuvre, but he can’t deny how careless he’s been with you these last few months.

Not that you’d know, but his men have intercepted five people who’ve tried to kill you, take you – or worse.

All just to get to him.

He can’t leave you in the wide open world like this. He can’t let you be at risk. Not because of him.

So, that night, his heart in his mouth as he commands his men to “Find (Y/N). Bring them to me.” Vincent awaits your arrival.

And, eventually, he hears you. Clamouring in the halls outside his office, screaming and fighting. Resisting.

Vincent can’t help but crack a smile, knowing how defiant you are – how stubborn you can be in your method.

As the heavy footsteps of his men come to a stop outside his door, your screeching is blunted only by the thick wood.

And, doors open, here you are, shoved into the room.

Your captor revealed.

You look at him with what you could construed as almost-neutrality, your bewilderment a damper to your anger, your fear.

“Vincent,” you say, breathless. You take a staggering step towards him. His men take a step towards you, reaching for weapons concealed by their coats.

Vincent raises a hand, and they retract.

He looks at you.

His eyes are filled with nothing less than adulation, misplaced happiness in a situation you view as dire.

“Sit,” he tells you, casting a glance to the seat before his desk.

With little else you can do, you obey.

And your world begins to unravel.

Vincent, in the lamest, most gentle of terms, explains that he is “Not who you thought I was,” – that he does “More for a living than make vases and luxury dishware.”

“I,” he says, watching your eyes carefully, glassy and holding no less potential for terror. “Am the Marquis.”

Vincent stands, and when he sees you flinch, something in him withers. Hurts.

He shoves it aside.

“I am responsible for making sure that the right outcome is brought to the right people.”

His hands behind his back, pacing the length of your field of sight, he swallows. 

You’re judging him now. In a way you never had, you’re judging him.

His desire to display how grandiose his lifestyle is doesn’t seem so forthcoming anymore, hiding, shy.

This is more difficult than he anticipated.

“What does that mean ?” you say, voice tight and quiet.

Vincent’s fist clenches. He doesn’t want you like this. You should be happy he’s rescued you ! Albeit from threats you didn’t know pertained to you, but still !

“I’m…” he starts. His gaze wanders to his men, who, with perfect understanding, leave.

You almost don’t want them to go.

“I’m a reaper, of sorts,” he says. He draws closer, taking a step in your direction. You bite back the urge to flee.

“A face to a cause.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, instead watching you with what you think is scrutiny (but couldn’t be further from it), you ask, throat dry, hoarse from your screaming. Crying.

“What cause ?”

Vincent bites the inside of his lip. And, for the first time, he can feel himself cracking under your gaze.

You’re scared. He knows you are. He just wished he didn’t have to see it painted so blatantly on your features, downturned with grief should everything end on this night.

Where was your smile ? Your crinkled eyes, your sonorous laugh, your upturned lips ?

“I fix problems,” he says. There’s no way he can put his occupation lightly. “I used to do it with knives. Guns, a pencil, perhaps – whatever was at my disposal.”

He’s closer now, approaching. His arms are at his sides. And he stands before you.

You don’t want to look up. You want to look – be – anywhere but here.

But Vincent doesn’t let you.

“But now,” he says, and he gets to one knee. His hands trap you, on either of the arm rests of the chair. Yet he does not possess the face of one who is a captor, instead a mask of total capitulation to a feeling he couldn’t even begin to understand before you showed him.

“I do it with diplomacy. With people who are much better suited to that life than I.”

His voice is soft, quieter than before. There is a hint of a smile at his lips, pulling the corners, beginning the total eclipse of his eyes from full to crescent. An offset to the anxiety bubbling in his centre.

Your hands in your lap, he takes them in his, slowly, gently, fingers resting atop yours.

And he squeezes them.

Holds them. Just as he’d always wanted to.

“Why–” you swallow a sob, turn your head so you don’t let him see your face scrunch into the epitome of fright. “Why am I here…?”

Vincent’s lips part. His hand slips up to your jaw, urges you to look at him.

He’s forbearing. A butterfly.

Nothing like how his men handled you.

That in itself could almost convince you that he’s not such a bad guy. Even after all he’s told you.

“Because–” your face in his hand, he looks up into your eyes. Barely contained tears fill them.

“Because you’ll be safe with me,” he promises. There’s an unencumbered optimism in his eyes. A dangerous one at that.

“Because I can’t trust that my men can protect you when you’re so far away – alone – in the city.”

“What do you mean, Vincent ?!”

You don’t mean to snap. But since you’d just been kidnapped and the truth behind the matter is no clearer to you, you can’t help it.

Vincent almost seems to flinch, his eyes narrowing just for a second. He returns to you with his puppy stare.

“There are people out there who know who I am. What I do.”

He squeezes your hand again, his other still wrapped about your jaw.

“The problem now is that they know you, too.”

He swallows thickly, looking down for a split of a second. Guilt.

“And it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve just left you alone, let you live your life…but I can’t undo that now.”

He laces his fingers between yours. And you’re too frazzled to refuse.

“What I can do, what I will do–” his hand comes to the point of your chin, holds it gently between his fingers like glass.

His gaze falls to your lips, and you try to ignore it.

“Is keep you safe. Here. With me.”

You’d have laughed if you didn’t believe everything he’d just said.

It all just made sense to you.

The lavish gifts, the people watching you that you hadn’t dared notice before because you’re just being paranoid. The hard glares Vincent would grant to all that passed you by in the rooms of higher society.

And now, everything shatters. You cry.

“Oh, non, mon Cher, don’t cry–” Vincent moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but you pull away. Retract from his kindness.

"You're insane–" you’re breathless, gasping between sobs

"Not insane.” VIncent tells you. He stands so he’s perfectly level with you, his eyes piercing yours. And, just as he had many times before in your presence, he smiles. Genuine and heartfelt. Then, a statement. A declaration.

“Just… in love.”

[latenightdaydreams]

Triggered!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

This was inspired by a Tiktok I saw from the creator CrëëpyKönig (Spooky Vexx)! So if you enjoy please go show them love and please remember to be kind and respectful 🩷 Link attached!

Master List✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, bullying, stalking, obsessive König, non-con, p in v, biting, anal, humiliation, recording

1.6k word count

.

.

On KorTac’s base, König is known as a bully. He is a massive, arrogant, and aggressive man who always seems to enjoy stepping on those beneath him. When you joined a much smaller woman, you quickly found that you weren’t spared from this treatment. 

A year into being a part of KorTac and things with König have only escalated. No one is brave enough to stand up to him, so you’re left to fend for yourself. He uses his height to his advantage as well as setting you off by being incredibly sexist. In his eyes, you’re the easiest target on base. 

Underneath your calm exterior, a rage was forming. Yes, you’re small, but you know your own strength. Respect is the only reason you haven’t gone completely crazy on your colonel. Everyone knows he deserves it. 

It’s been raining hard these last few weeks, leaving the outdoors training field to turn into a muddy mess. That doesn’t stop the military, though. König has his men, and you, outside running drills back and forth through the slick terrain. Everyone is slipping, unable to gain proper footing; yet it’s when you fall that you hear König’s harsh accent boom throughout the open space. 

“Pathetic little girl!” König barks. “Get up!” 

As you scramble to your feet, you feel his hands violently lift you before setting you on your feet. You can feel your hands trembling, but not with fear; it’s that rage. König looms over you, yelling down at you as everyone around you stops to watch the vicious verbal assault with looks of sympathy on their faces. 

Time seems to slow as you lift your dominant hand into a fist, pulling back and punching König with everything you’d got. His head actually snaps back, causing a loud gasp to echo out amongst the team. Your eyes widen once you realize what you’ve done, you just assaulted your colonel. 

König feels a sharp pain, followed by the taste of blood beginning to fill his mouth. This little bitch. His eyes snap down to yours with a look of shock. 

First, it was one laugh, followed by a roaring laughter that spread between everyone. The smallest tear slips from König’s eye as they widen, glaring down at you. He looks around quickly, trying to fight back the waterfall of tears threatening to be released. It’s as if he’s eleven again and his entire class is mocking him. For a moment, he isn’t the 6’10 280lb colonel; he’s that chubby 5’9 child that didn’t fit in. 

Slowly, his look of shock turns into a wild look of horror. Without another word to you, König leaves. He hurries to his barracks, leaving you alone with an odd feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. A few people come up to you simply to thank you for doing what they’ve been too scared to do. Others make sure that you’re okay. 

The events of the day came and went. It was talked about for a while, but you were never reprimanded so no one ever reported you. König has backed off of you, leaving you to believe he simply realizes that you’re not the one to mess with. If only you knew how wrong you were. 

Then you begin to notice König almost everywhere you are. He’s never obvious, hiding within the cover or crowds and dark corners of the halls. Almost as if he has become your own personal boogeyman. At the same time, it’s base and your schedules line up, so maybe you’re just being paranoid. Simply noticing him where you never did before because of the deep-rooted fear that he might retaliate one day. 

Your first thought is the correct one though. König is everywhere you are, watching every move you make, attempting to familiarize himself with every little aspect of your day to day. Ever since you humiliated him, he’s grown obsessed with you. Not even a fully grown man has ever had the balls to do what you did to him. That day he cried like he hadn’t in a very long time, not since his mother passed. 

The desire to own you, forever, consumes his every waking thought. His mind continues to replay the look in your eyes when you hit him, the sounds of laughter, and the taste of blood. He’s obsessed with the idea of getting back at you, making you feel the humiliation and torment he felt in that moment. 

König was missing from training today, not that you mind, it was just odd. His job is his life and you’ve never known him to have missed a day. Either way, you felt as if you were finally able to relax and focus on excelling at the tasks at hand. 

That very night as you walk back to your room, a recruit you don’t recognize walks up to you with a note in their hand. He holds it out to you, looking into your eyes with a blank expression. You reach out and open it to read that you’re wanting to finish signing paperwork. Confused, you look up, ready to ask a question; but the recruit has left in a hurry.

You look down at your watch to see how late it is, wondering if the people in the offices are even still there at this hour. With a deep sigh you turn and head across base. The sun is setting, the sky a beautiful pale blue color setting a calm tone over the moment. 

Upon entering the building, you notice that the halls are empty. Some lights are still on, so you just continue on to the room that was scribbled down. You knock. No answer. You know again and wait before trying the handle. You walk in to see a blinking red light in the darkness. Confused, you linger for a second; long enough for König to reach out, grabbing your neck, and pulling you inside. 

You get slammed on to the wall as the door closes leaving you in complete darkness. Short shaky breaths flee your lips as you try to not scream; you know it’s König. A million things are running through your mind as you gaze up in his direction. 

“What do you want?” You ask, trying to be bold, but your voice cracks.

“You.” König whispers, dragging your body forward and slamming you down on a desk. 

Your head hits the cold wood hard enough to cause a ringing in your ears. In a panic you begin to push up against the desk, but it’s no use since König is nearly twice your size. Finally, you realize the blinking light to a camera recording; what is he about to do? 

König lets go of your neck and moves his hands all over your body, tracing every curve and contour of your much smaller frame. He completely towers over you, consuming you. Having you underneath his fingers, completely defenseless and vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry! Please don’t do this!” You cry out as he begins to strip you of your clothing. His sharp canines dig into your back as he slides your shirt up, pulling a loud scream from you. No one heard you, you're completely alone with this monster. 

“You’ve been an arrogant, disrespectful, little slut!” König shouts as he spanks your ass harshly. 

He undresses behind you, pulling his pants down to be around his knees. His eyes flick over to the camera to make sure it’s still recording before looking back down at you. Your outline is visible to him as his eyes have adjusted to the dark. He laces his fingers through your hair and pulls your head back to bite your neck. Again, you let out a loud cry making König feel a rush of excitement. The more pain you feel, the more pleasure he feels. He lets go and you fall back on the desk. 

“Keep screaming for us, Hase.” He mocks. 

Us? 

Your thoughts are redirected as you feel his cock slip along your dry folds. You beg him to not do this as your hips squirm back and forth to attempt to get him away. The searing pain of his cock pushing into you causes your body to tense up. 

As you lift your abdomen from the desk König slams you back down. His hand remains on your back to hold you there as his hips pull back and slam into you. A soft moan leaves his lips as a pained whimper leaves your own. 

“This…” König speaks with a voice laced with lust. “…is what women are made for. To be whores. To be fucked.” He growls as his hips begin to buck forward into you faster.  

In infrared, the camera records König’s thick veiny cock slamming in and out of your tight little cunt. The pained look on your face and sad little whimpers coming through perfectly. On the other side of the camera men sit with their cocks in their hands, masturbating to your torment. 

“Say you’re a worthless whore.” König demands as he closes his eyes and leans his head back to immerse himself into the pleasure of you. 

You say nothing, only angering König more. He pulls out of you, spitting on to his hand to rub on the head of his cock before moving back to you. The tip pushes against your asshole. 

“Say it.” He growls once more. 

“I- I’m a worthless whore.” You say with a weak voice. 

“Ah, good girl.” König whispers as he presses his cock painfully into your ass. 

Your humiliation pleases König. Now you feel how he felt when you hit him. How he felt when the squad laughed at him. Now you have thousands of people getting pleasure from watching you getting violated; your small body destroyed in König’s hands.

[pressureplus]

Ah hi there Author-San! Just saw your ask box open so I had to request this prompt which is bugging me forever

The reader is female, but looks exactly identical to Sebastian when he was human, hair, eyes, face, everything. Like identical twins, except for the gender change.

Like one fine day our foish guy is chilling in his shop waiting for the expendables when the reader comes through and open her helmet, causing Sebby to go through five stages of confusion like a washing machine.

Hi there, author here, and I LOVE this idea! Hope you don't mind me running a bit wild with it!

Reflection

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: N/A

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟ ◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

You broke through the water, hands grasping the metal in front of you with a huff. A bit of a struggle to pull yourself up and into the room, but you managed anyway. Laying flat on your stomach for a moment to try and catch your breath. Any moment to spare that wasn't spent looking over your shoulder for an angler was a good one. You felt yourself begin to relax, but that didnt last long at all as the light in the room mysteriously flickered on. A more golden color than the other rooms you've been in, and higher too? You sit yourself up only to freeze, panic rushing through your veins like shards of ice. There, sitting taller than any of the previous creatures you've encountered, was what you could only describe as some kind of fish man. His fins flick back and forth as he tilts his head. A smile on his face as his upper set of hands clasp together.

“Welcome, welcome! Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you.” His voice is smooth and calm, an unfamiliar playfulness that you'd have never expected of a creature down here ringing through.

“Despite what you may have seen, heard, or been told. My name is Sebastian, your only friend.” You aren't particularly fond of the way he says only. Something about it makes your stomach churn and your anxiety build. You can't tell if that's to say he isn't really your friend, or if that's more to the effect of saying there's more things looking out for you down here. You don't like either option. You don't want anything watching over you, mostly because you don't trust it. You've only ever heard this name spoken by the higher ups in whispers, like he's the boogeyman or something. His voice on the intercom talking about the mess he's made of all the operatives sent down to dispose of him. Its a little hard not to be intimidated.

“There's no need to be so tense, I'm not going to bite. Look. You have data, lots of it. All that data you've been collecting doesn't really have a use to you, now does it? Now I have all sorts of things you might need, medkits, batteries, and the like.” He shifts his tail forward just a bit, allowing you to get a good look at his wares.

“For the price of that data that you certainly have no need for, you could have something actually useful to you down here. Isn't that nice?” He hums out as you stand up. Your hands coming up to your helmet to tug it off with a gasp. A nice deep breath in of the oddly fresh air in here leaves you a bit more relaxed as you shake your head. Your hair falls into a messy heap more so than anything particularly pretty or graceful. Imagine if you could have that kind of hair care routine down here? A girl can dream, right? You lean over to get a good look at Sebastians things, but the fish doesn't say a word. His entire body seems tense, gaze locked on you.

“Uh- everything okay?” You ask, but he seems to almost be staring through you.

“Whats your name?”

“Y/N? Why?” You attempt to ask but he’s already leaned his face close to yours, leaving you both tense and uncomfortable. His third hand falls to your hip to tug you in. One hand pushing your hair back, and the other cupping at your cheek. His eyes bright as they flick around your face. His breath comes out oddly shaky, its hard to tell if that's fear or anger or what. Still he releases you all at once, staring you down like you'll stab him while his back is turned. He seems shaken up, like one of those small puppies that gets lost in rooms that are too big.

“You alright? You're acting really jumpy for a man that was talking so smooth just a moment ago.”

“Where did you get that- why do you look like that?”

“Ouch? I can't exactly help the way I was born. You didn't have to be so rude about it. That's a real fucking mean way of calling me ugly.”

“No- no you're not- that's not-” He attempts to correct himself but really just devolves into confused choked noises.

“Is there something specific about my face you don't like or? Like, should I put the helmet back on?”

“NO! No I just…haven't seen a face like that in a while. You remind me of someone is all. Someone I miss.” You hesitate for a moment before allowing the defensiveness to wash off you. He’s grieving, maybe? I mean seeing someone that looks like a loved one you can't see anymore must hurt, right? Especially down here. You're certain that if you'd been trapped down here as long as he has and saw someone that looked identical to a loved one on the surface, you'd probably freak out too.

“Can- Can you see them again?”

“No. They…They've been dead for a long time.”

“Im sorry for your loss.”

“No, no it's fine. Seeing you was just a bit shocking is all. Never mind that- is there something you wanted to buy?” He tries to carry on, but now, every time you step into his shop. He can't help but let his eyes linger on your face.

[katalyist]

Life series!Grian a survivor not a traitor

Alternative title: I thought about Life series!Grian for too long again and because Tumblr doesn't have a character limit I'm putting my thoughts on the Internet.

I'm not normal in how while watching Cleo's secret life final episode there was a silent agreement that Grian was no loyal when they had that conversation with Scott when they were trying to convince Gem to be on their side.

"I mean, don't ask about Grian's loyalty"

And Scott response was "I have never seen a man drop a pair of sunglasses quicker in my life. As soon as Joel dropped, the bad boy glasses were off"

To which Grian responded "My boys died, what did you want from me?"

Like how is Grian seen has someone that betrays or isn't loyal to his teammates? HE IS LOYAL, HE IS JUST TOO COWARD. He has never betray a teammate first.

Look, for example to third life: He promised Scar his life, and altough he warns the rest of players at the beginning about the scams Scar was doing, he always do what Scar did, he helped him, he create traps and didn't thought on betraying him until Scar betray him first, until Scar did it, when he recovered he was so mad and just jump to them shouting out that Scar was a traitor. AND THEN when Scar apologies and offers Grian to have the win he refuses because he still considers Scar his ally, and then the cactus ring happens and he feels bad, he feels bad for killing Scar, I don't think a traitor would be that bad to the point of killing themselves

Then in last life, where he killed two of his four teammates and started his reputation as "allies killer". First of all, when he turned red he had the oppurtinity to just turn on them, sure, he went back to the nether and threat Mumbo, but it was mostly joking and I think the most messed up thing was how afraid he was of not having any teammates that he was willed his best friend but couldn't find the courage on himself. The next episode he has already a plan to go back with his team AND get Joel out of red, like- he planned a way to be back with his allies and get his new ally (that if I had to remember you, was the one that killed him, but Grian was perfectly with him because he understands it was for the red impulses) out of red. Once he gets his yellow life back and goes back to the southlanders for a happy teammate reunion and discovers Jimmy was exiled he doesn't hesitate in saying he doesn't want him back because he betrayed the southlands; they have the votation, he says 'no' inmediatly and is surprised that other people said yes but doesn't oppose to it.

When Mumbo and Jimmy turned red he didn't try to kill them until their few attempts of murder, he did not attack Mumbo when he tried to end cristal him, he didn't attack them, even when they had that terrible attempt of a trap for him and Martyn. He attacked them when Jimmy physically tries to punch him to the trap that he looses the little patient he had left and kills him and then Mumbo for trying to stop him. Then Martyn betrayed him because of the boogeyman curse and when Grian finds Impulse he sounds so wounded because of that but even then he doesn't try to go for him, he makes a plan with Impulse to put a Wither on the base of team B.E.A.S.T because they were one of the biggest threats. Once Impulse died he was back with Joel and he didn't betray or left him, even when he had the opportunity to join bigger alliances than him.

With that out of the way we arrive to the fatal Double Life, I feel that this is the catalyst of Grian's character misinterpretation, mostly because of the cheat situation but: 1, that him and Scar and soulmates doesn't mean they are allies (see the two pair of soulmates that were literally divorce) and 2, he really tried to protect Scar and be a good ally. He made a base, he warned Scar to not go to places he could die and he even trust him with the sugar cane, when he lost it he trust Scar the sand he isn't even that angry or dissapointed on him. It also applies to BigB, he was a great ally with him too! He gave him sugarcane, cookies, tnt, they didn't attack eachother and the only reason why he killed him was because he forgot BigB was soulmates with Ren in his red madness, he even had a funeral for him and apologise for killing him. That is not traitor behaviour if you ask me.

And then finally Limited Life (my excuse and the real season I wanted to talk because I haven't left that bread bridge), the season where Grian is in his most loyal teammate arc of all. He is a coward of course, he plays safe always, in every single season, and that is what ends up being one of the reasons why Joel ends up dead. The bad boys were too reckless and idiots (in an affectionate way, I love them) for him to not fear for their lives constantly, and yes they almost felt apart, but that was after Jimmy killed Grian. Grian left Jimmy get the kills, they were trying to save him, when Tango (the boogeyman) killed Jimmy he didn't took the two hours from him because that would had permakill him, at the end Jimmy didn't die because of him, he just slip from the platform. They had the funeral and all, he left diamonds at his grave as an offer.

With Joel it is a little different, Grian didn't betray him, he didn't kill him, but he wasn't there because he was afraid of dying, in the middle episode 7 Joel wants to murder the family because they wanted to kill Jimmy "It wasn't their fault he died" trying to persude him to not do that to which Joel answers "I'm gonna send Scar a message" and Grian almost begs "No Joel, you got to be careful or I'm gonna be alone. I'm gonna be a singular bad boy" but he doesn't follow him, he doesn't go to kill people with him because they don't have a plan and it's obvious they will die.

Grian is a survivor, when he notices things are getting ugly he looks for a way out. When Joel goes on his murderous rampage after they talk to BigB he reunite again with him and Pearl to offer himself as a ally, making a list of all the things he is useful for, selling himself because he knows he will be alone at the end of that episode and alone players are easy targets. At first he wants them to become bad boys, he doesn't want to leave the mark, but they refused, and a survivor has to do what they have to do. He isn't even hiding why he wants to be friends with them and they don't have a problem with that.

"I have already kind of accepted he's gonna die in a way" he says while making a trap for the nosy neighbours while watching how Joel died (again)

"I mean, you completely abandon him at this point" Pearl points out (and if I watched Pearl more I could talk about how Life Series Pearl seems to have really trust issues with people that is so confident in leaving allies behind because she keeps repeating how Grian is not with Joel, she is so 'I will die for you', and it was prove in the final of secret life, I love her so much).

And Grian doesn't deny it, he does try to excuse his behavior with a "Joel reaches a point where he just loses his mind completely and he was way past that a while ago. Jimmy's death has kind of got an adverse affect on him" just to be silent a second, finish placing the TNT cards and going "But I will have to go and see if he is okay in a minute"

He cares about his last truly ally even when he knows Joel will die, Grian can't just stand still and wait for it to happen "I'm gonna have to go and see if Joel is okay. He must be on less than an hour and if I don't say bye, I'm gonna regret it"

And once he is with Joel again he doesn't hide that he has allied with the nosy neighbours from him. It is the first thing he tells him actually "I've just been like making new friends because you have lost your mind". That is not betray behavior, that is not 'I'm gonna back stab you' or 'I'm leaving you now'. And Joel gets it, he gets that Grian is too coward to confront people directly, that he is not a pvper and accepts him like that. And then they have this conversation on Skynet while trying to get kills for Joel:

"Yeah, do you know what would be really funny? If I just knocked you off right now but I won't, I won't, I won't do that"

"I would do that for you. I would do that for you. Bad boys for life"

HOW IS THAT NOT LOYALTY? Grian, the one that is afraid of death, willing to die for his ally? Without hesitation answering that yes, he would do that for Joel. We have the hole "Kill me Joel. KILL ME" dialogue and scene after that even. Grian didn't wanted Joel to died, when he has five minutes Grian tries to tell him to kill him again before Joel denies. When they are going to see who Joel can kill is when he starts hesitating because he would lose two hole hours to get Joel back to just one hour, he is balancing saving his allies with keeping himself alive and at the end Joel's rampage ends up killing him and Grian is without his bad boy.

He enters in full survivor mode and downplays Joel's death in front of everybody but contradicting his discourse of 'It was getting expensive to keep him alive' once everyone is gone he tells Pearl and BigB they should have a funeral for Joel fully knowing they weren't his allies. He makes Joel a grave too, like they did with Jimmy and says some words for him. How could that not be loyalty? The last episode he uses the bad boy skin, all season he forgot to use it and had to be remember by the others to use it, and then he puts it even if he 'isn't a bad boy anymore' to honor his allies.

I think the most close he was to betray an ally was when at the end he enacted the sword and ally with Impulse and Etho whitouth talking it with Pearl and it ending with both Etho and Pearl killing eachother to be in peace. When they first met after Grian enactes the sword and Pearl goes to kill he tries to stop her, but he doesn't defend her (or Etho), he just tells them to stop. Grian character just... always leaves his allies do what they want? even if it is not the best for them, it is something he does with every one of his alliance really, he does his own and they do his own, Cleo actually points it out on their last episode while they are talking to the heart fundation and Grian gets bored and goes to do his plan to get Gem and Cleo is like 'yeah, he does his own things, don't pay attention to him'.

In Secret Life he was also truly loyal to the roomates, in part I think because he was afraid of loosing his only oportunitty to get some friends after three episodes of loneliness. Grian is always so desesperate to make allies every season, make people like him because it would mean someone would fight for him. The rommates is a very solid team and he reassures himself and they how he made the correct decision. They are not as attach as he was with his bad boys (that, talking about them, he had this weird no-alliance with Joel, changing hearts and not really attacking eachother until the very end) but it is stable.

Grian includes them in his plans, if they are not on board he respects it, but when he thinks it is something that can protect them he insists. He insists they should go to Joel's platform where he hide from the zombie apocalypse because it is the easiest to defend and they were chase by the people with more health on the server. When Etho died they took it seriously, when they are scaping he goes first through the portal that belongs to Gem, Impulse and Scott because "No point both of us dying" he could have left Cleo go first to be more safe but he didn't, he tries to make a trap to get Gem and the Scotts and he tells Cleo to back off because they would get hurt if they stay to close because he will manually activate it.

My conclusion? Grian is not a traitor, he has never betray his teammates until they cross the line first. He is a bad teammate? Oh, totally, not because he won't provide his allies with supplies or plans but because the moment it becomes dangerous, too risky for his constant safe plays he distants himself because he doesn't like risky plays, he is an expert in the 'long game' even if he won't win anything with it, he also has some kind of honor (if you want to put it that way) he won't attack the weakest unless he is corner to do it to keep himself alive, he always goes for the biggest alliance, the people with most hearts, the people with most potential of giving to bring them down with the rest.

As always thank you for reading how normally sane I'm about Life series Grian. Again, I write this mini kinda essays on the fly and don't check facts too much but Grian himself implying he is not loyal had me "are you sure about that?" and then this was write on my drafts. Thanks for coming to my Grian talk!

[saijspellhart]

Things I liked about the Netflix ATLA and some critiques:

Before you read. Please go watch the series, take off your blinders and keep an open mind. It’s surprisingly good. This review has spoilers.

They reordered some scenes so that emotional moments would have a larger pay off. Like getting to see and experience Aang’s relationship with Monk Gyatsu, and seeing his tribe before it was destroyed. So when he has his breakdown in the air temple with Sokka and Katara later, you really feel and understand his agony.

Azula is introduced earlier, with a story running simultaneously with the Aang’s journey but not involved with his. So she has a chance to be more fleshed out and explored before she becomes a major threat. Only time will tell if this more complicated Azula comes close to the animated one. Big shoes to fill, but not a bad start.

Fire Lord Ozai plays a more sinister and oppressive role. Not a faceless boogeyman anymore. You get to see his machinations and the cruel games he’s playing with his family, and see the emotional abuse that warps them.

Appa is adorable as fuck, and so is Momo. So well animated, such gorgeous care put into them.

Kyoshi, Kuruk, and Roku make more of an appearance. With Kyoshi narrating the prologue. And if you loved the novels you’ll see they incorporated more of Kyoshi and Kuruk’s backstory from the novels than what we saw in the animated cartoon.

The acting was competent, even if a little wonky at times. I found Sokka very endearing, I loved the kid they cast as Aang and you can tell they really tried to find a balance between serious and playful. They didn’t always hit it, but the effort was there.

Zuko was great. I think they nailed him and he had great chemistry with the actor playing Iroh.

King Bumi was great, I love how they made his internal struggles more complex. He wasn’t just a crazy old man anymore. He was a crazy old man who was weary and worn down by the horrors of loss and war. A crazy old man who struggled to reconcile that the best friend he lost is the avatar and wasn’t there for him.

I loved the costume and set design. It was like stepping into the actual world of ATLA. Cities were complex and well constructed. Every setting was incredible and the attention to detail was intense.

Zuko’s boat is full of artifacts he pilfered from the Air Nomads while hunting for the avatar.

They changed how Aang got the bison whistle so it makes more sense and fits more seamlessly into the story. It never made sense why a random peddler would be selling a bison whistle if air nomads and bison have been gone for 100 years. Not impossible for a peddler to do, but not probable. The Netflix series actually gave more meaning for the artifact and changed how Aang received it.

Emotional points in the show are now more intense and brought me to tears.

Commander Zhao is more competent and conniving, and his presence felt more dangerous and less comedic.

Sokka’s outright sexism was changed from putting girls down, to just manly machismo, talking himself up. Not gone, but not degrading. They decided to let the sexism message shine more prominently with the northern water tribe, rather than tackle it twice with Sokka too. (Sokka’s sexism being solved in one episode was never well written to begin with. And the animated series quickly forgot about it and moved on to him tackling more important issues, like his being a non bender inadequacy, his leadership journey, his physical combat journey, and him finding himself as more than just the funny sarcastic guy.) For time constraints, it was better the Netflix series did not to tackle the same problem twice, especially when you might not have the resources to give both sexism issues the gravity it deserves. By focusing the sexism problem to the northern water tribe they were able to give Katara more attention.

We got to see Katara’s water-bending go from being ultra sloppy and weak to badass. It feels like they are spending more time focusing on her developing into a warrior rather than being the mom of the group. I’m honestly not sad about it. She’s still the hope ridden, emotional glue, but now it feels like she explores that warrior side a little deeper. It felt so earned when she got the title of master at the northern water tribe finale.

The actor playing uncle Iroh nailed the role. I couldn’t think of a better live action adaptation of Iroh. I love him so much.

The shirshu looks fucking phemonal.

Koh was scary as fuck and I love it. They really nailed his horror elements. Even if I’m a little sad that they changed some things about his face stealing. (He eats faces now to steal them, rather than stealing when someone shows emotion.)

The three actresses who play Mei, Azula and Tailee actually look appropriate for their age. Since they are introduced earlier, they are clearly younger, and since this show is intended to get more seasons, the casting choice made sense as we are intended to watch these girls grow up over the course of the entire show. These actors will get older, and the characters will get more menacing and sharper. It’s great. It’s thoughtful. I love it.

We get to see Zuko’s dynamics with his crew more. And find out that he did more than just speak out against his father at that meeting. His outburst at that meeting saved an entire squad of soldiers, and they don’t even know it. Zuko feels such disdain and bitterness because of the situation, and his crew doesn’t even know why. It’s so complex, you can see how the abuse Zuko endured causes him to take out his anger on his crew, and in turn they are bitter back. And it’s this cycle, that festers. But the crew also grows with Zuko, they change and evolve as he evolves. And it’s such a delight to watch.

They could have cut the Secret Tunnel minstrels altogether, given the time constraints and that the episode was mostly fluff in season two. A fun romp, but not necessary. But the creators knew people loved the minstrels so they found a way to use them anyway. Because they knew they were special. I am thankful for that, even if they show up waaay earlier than they should.

I was honestly more sold on Sokka and Suki’s relationship in the live action. It’s was so adorkable. Do I wish it had more time to develop? Yeah, of course I love a good slow burn. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun as hell watching the two flirt so badly with each other. Sokka being a buffoon, and Suki overstepping and being too rough, before realizing she was being too hard.

Some Critiques:

They reordered some episode storylines to happen at the same time, and while it does bloat some episodes. it’s understandable due the episode and budget limitations. In the cartoon, during the inventor episode Katara didn’t have a lot to do, and during the freedom fighters episode Sokka didn’t have a lot to do. So they ended up combining both stories into one hour long episode in the live action, so that both Katara and Sokka would be involved in something. Is it the best? No. But it makes sense. I get it.

Katara starts off bland in the first episode and it takes a bit for her to grow into the character.

The past avatars can be a bit strong with the doom and gloom, and I wish they’d toned that back.

Koh and Heibei (I dunno how to spell the panda spirit’s name) got combined to the same episode, and Koh stole Heibei’s spotlight. Again, I understand why these got combined, but I think it could have been handled a little better and Heibei should have gotten more closure.

There should have been a ninth episode, placed between the two episode Koh storyline, and the Northern Water Tribe storyline. Why? Because the Koh storyline was really heavy and intense. And it leads right into the season finale. An extra ninth episode should have been added with a more lighthearted tone. Something to ease the tension between the two very intense storylines.

Aang should have been using a glider to flit about the temples in the first episode. But it’s not something that ruins the whole show. It was a dumb that only happens in a single episode in the season.

I really missed Momo and Appa’s presence. They appeared atleast once in every episode, but it was still sad they weren’t more of a presence. Again I understand why. They were so beautifully animated that everytime they were on screen it (without a doubt) cost the production thousands of dollars. They were generous including as many of the unique animals and creatures as they had.

I still don’t think Sokka had enough time to develop a relationship with Yue at the northern water tribe. It was rushed and contrived in the animated version, and it was rushed and contrived in this Netflix version. There also wasn’t any of the chemistry like Sokka had with Suki to make the whirlwind romance work. I never liked the romance from the original, and I wasn’t a fan of it here. But that’s ok, because it’s such a small and insignificant thing.

In conclusion most of the changes I can see made were due to budget, and episode limitations. The creators were clearly trying to bring theater-cinematic quality to what was essentially an eight hour long film. And you cannot deny that this show is stunning. Absolutely breathtaking. Most of the episodes cut were filler, and while hilarious and mostly loved by fans, were stories not as necessary in the grand scope. You could feel the love and appreciation the creators included in this series. It wasn’t soulless, it wasn’t a heartless cash grab, it wasn’t a shot for shot (thank god) but it also didn’t butcher the source material.

I understand that the animated show creators had creative differences with the live action Netflix adaptation creators. But that doesn’t mean that the Netflix series completely failed. As every fanfic writer out there knows, the original authors are not going to love what you create based on their works. Tolkien hated every adaptation of his works, HATED them. But no one is going about saying that the Lord of the Rings trilogy movies were hot garbage. A creator doesn’t have to endorse a project for it to be good.

Netflix ATLA is good, it’s not perfect. And it never was going to be perfect. The cartoon it was based on wasn’t perfect either. But the ATLA cartoon was definitely some huge shoes to fill that set a bar very high. Any adaptation was going to struggle to be just as good.

I think the Netflix adaptation was a treat and a pleasure to watch. I think people should go into it with an open mind and see that it’s not trying to replace the cartoon. It’s a love letter to the cartoon.

PS: According to behind the scenes commentary on the Nickelodeon ATLA cartoon, the reason we didn’t get a season 4 was because the creators wanted a live action film. Nickelodeon offered the original cartoon creators the option to make season 4 or to spend the budget meant for season four on a live action ATLA film. The original creators chose the live action film directed by M. Night Shamalan. They wanted a live action for their show over a 4th season. They had no idea M. night would butcher their baby with his pathetic film all those years ago.

This show was a second chance after the M. night abomination. And you know what? It’s a pretty decent adaptation. And guess what? With a resurgence of interest in the series, we are getting more animated content for the original animated series. There’s definitely something for everyone on the horizon if this succeeds.

[vnards]

NSFW MAFIA!AU SNIPPET

Ghost pushes Johnny against the wall, all teeth. “You never know how to listen.” Ghost made his way down the scot’s neck, biting a bit more than necessary.

It didn’t matter. Johnny loved it.

“Aye did what aye did.” One of ghost’s gloved hands come up and cover Johnny’s throat.

“Shut up,”

A quick flash of a hand strikes against Johnny’s face. “Only words I want to be hearing from you is ‘yes’ and ‘sir’, are we clear?” Johnny hesitated with a smirk, but Ghost wasn’t having it. Another slap to his other cheek, “I said are we clear?” He rumbled.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Ghost didn’t let up on the grip in his hair, “Now, Get on your knees and suck my dick.” He shoved Soap to his knees.

The Scot was still muttering curses as he begrudgedly started to undo his pants. Ghost was pissed, annoyed that a situation like that could even happen with him around. He needed to let a load off before he can even address having you down the hallway.

Another pair of hands wrap around Ghost's torso, the silky voice like a devil on his shoulder, “Do you need any help punishing Johnny boy?” Kyle teased.

Gears began to turn in Ghost's head. Johnny reveals his member as his pants slide down his hips. He has always been a considerable size, but there were never any complaints about it.

“I think Johnny does need to be taught to listen. You hear that, boy? Kyle is gonna help me tonight.” He punctuates his sentence by gripping his mohawk tighter.

Johnny pointedly ignores him as he gives him a few strokes before putting him in his mouth. Regardless how angry Soap was, he could not deny how much he loved Simon's cock in his mouth. He worked his way up and down his shaft, eager to take him all the way down his throat as an apology.

Ghost groans in pleasure as Kyle’s wandering hands continue downwards. He watches Kyle slide down to his knees next to Johnny who's eyes were already tearing up. The portrait the both of them make; on their knees, looking up at Ghost as the absolute unit that he is. Johnny's anger melts away as he sinks on his cock.

Adjusting his grip once more, Ghost begins to move his hips, shoving his dick further down his throat. “Take it.” He grits.

And Johnny's such a good boy.

Ghost uses his leverage against Johnny, using his throat roughly. Kyle's voice is teasing, almost sinister. “Johnny boy is just a little confused on who's in charge.”

Ghost hums in agreement, He leans his hand out, rubbing Kyle's cheek, “Why don't you help him out, Kyle?”

Kyle smiles, “Gladly.” He goes for his heavy balls, licking between them before sucking one into his mouth. Ghost's mood was increasingly getting better.

He throws his head back in pleasure, getting lost in the sensation of being serviced. Fantasies of you come forward, something that's been happening since he first met you. One your knees with the boys. He imagined your hand would be soft and gentle. Did you even know how to please a man? Ghost will teach you, he promised.

As the boys make quick work of his cock, all shiny with spit and standing to attention, Ghost starts getting impatient. Luckily, Kyle, the good boy he is, was already fingering his hole for Ghost to use. Another groan came from the boogeyman, “Such a good boy, Kyle. Knowing you're about to get fucked.” He thrusts in Johnny's throat particularly deep as he punctuates his sentence.

Johnny looked up at him with those baby blue eyes, silently pleading with him. “No,” Ghost states simply, “Bad boys don't get to get fucked.” He takes him off his cock, keeping him from diving back on. Johnny eventually listens.

Kyle undresses, always a tease as his curves always caught the eye of every passerby. His bubble butt so firm and supple. Ghost doesn't admit it often, but he loves Kyle's ass. He gives himself a few strokes as Kyle continues his show.

Still on his knees, Johnny kept trying to gain Ghost's attention. Ghost catches Soap's eye and he scolds him, “You could've gotten more than her hurt, Johnny.” Johnny's puppy dog eyes were not going to work today, “You can't be getting sloppy out there like you did tonight.”

Getting too close to being vulnerable, Ghost closes off, going back behind the mask he uses to stay seperated. Johnny knew there’d be no talking him out of this.

“Bend over, Kyle.” He does as he’s told, just like always. Ghost come up behind him and lines himself against his hole. He slips himself in and they both groan at the sensation.

Kyle never complained about his size, convincing Ghost he liked the burning stretch. Ghost pushed until their hips connected. Kyle starts to pant, “God, Simon, I-"

Ghost pulls back just to shove himself forward again, pressing Kyle's face into the wall. “Shut up.” Ghost was very demanding tonight, “Only thing I want to hear from you is permission to cum.”

Ghost starts up a brutal pace, focusing only on his pleasure after the shit night they had. Kyle bounces between the wall and a hard place, biting his lip to keep some of the noises down. You were only on the other side of the house after all. Ghost didn't care. His grunts and growls were only low enough for the party to hear him. Johnny was still on his knees, watching Kyle get fucked the way he loves being fucked.

His thrusts became heavier as he spoke, “God damn stubborn assholes you lot are.” The boogeyman found his grip on Kyle's hips and was able to fuck deeper into him. Kyle's pitch changed, an edge of a whine starting.

“That's it, boy, make those pretty noises for me.” The bulked man leaned his head back to bask in taking pleasure, bottoming out with heavy strokes as his ball draw closer and closer up.

“G-Ghost, sir…may I cum?”

Ghost decided to be mean, “No.” He whimpered. “Not until I do.”

That's when Ghost felt an extra pair of hands cupping his balls as they swung against Kyle's ass. Ghost grunted in surprise, the sensation doing nothing but driving his hips harder.

“I-I can't. I-" Kyle blubbered.

“Hold,” He commanded. He was close. He continued to pound away at Kyle's hole when he suddenly feels a finger slip into his own hole. “A-Ah!” It catches him by surprise, drawing his balls up and unloading into the smaller man.

Finally, Kyle was able to cum and he shivered and shuddered against Ghost's arms, his own cock spewing cum. Kyle's head lolled as he basked in the pleasure of his orgasm.

Spurting out a few more times, Ghost moves his hips absently, trying to cum as deep as he can. It satiates a deeper feeling in him, to mark them all. He wishes you'd let him mark you.

It took a few more moments for his breath to even, but he notices the very well known noise of Johnny stroking his cock. Ghost looks and sees the art Johnny makes.

He situated himself under Kyle, leaning back against the wall with Kyle's cum covering his bare chest and a few strings on his chin. Johnny is too blissed in pleasure to feel bad for stroking his needy cock, his pulsing need hot and ready.

Johnny makes eye contact with Ghost and that seems to be the thing that tips him over, his cock pulsing out strings of cum that land in tandem with Kyle's.

Johnny's orgasms are always a wonder to watch, his mouth agape and forehead creased. He was doing a great job keeping eye contact until they started rolling, the ends of his orgasm striking him with pleasure. The dazed glint afterward was always Ghost's favorite.

He allows a few more moments, feeling a bit winded himself, “You both need showers.” A chorus of moans started, “You're not going to see her covered in cum, Johnny.”

“But what if she likes it?” Ghost could hear his smirk.

“Johnny.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kyle helps Johnny to his feet and they give each other small kisses. Kyle takes in Johnny's tablaeu, “'s kinda hot.” He mutters.

Johnny turns over his shoulder, “told ye.”

Ghost ignored him and headed towards his own room in the safehouse. He was already pulling off his shirt as he stepped through the door. Now that he can think without his dick getting in the way, it was time to figure out what to actually do with you.

They couldn't kidnap you. Maybe. They shouldn't kidnap you.

But you couldn't go back to your every day. Not getting run up with them. As much as Ghost hates to admit it, you're a target right now and you need to protecting.

I can protect you.

It seemed to be settled in Ghost's mind. You're his pretty little doll, after all.

[genericpuff]

hi, i know the episode came out weeks ago, but i wanted to talk about ep 277 and your essay on it. i thought it was very well thought out and had brought up lots of concerns abt apollo's other victims and the harm persephone caused to others that i just. hadn't really thought about myself because honestly this webcomic is a BLUR to me LOL. thank you for writing these insights and putting them online for others to read ! i think you manage to keep a respectful distance to rachel [1/]

Yeah, regarding how the SA was handled...

I think Rachel did exactly as well as anyone might have expected someone like her to write a plotline like that.

Honestly if Rachel really did want to do the arrow thing, I think it would have worked WAY better if she had used the arrow of hate. First of all, because it had already been established back in S2 when it was shot at him by Psyche, but ALSO because making it an arrow of love confirmed that Eros literally did what Apollo asked despite the fact that he's Persephone's best friend and should have been more suspicious of what he was going to use it for. Why not just do a bait & switch where Apollo is under the impression that it's an arrow of love but Persephone trusts in her friend and pieces it together that it's probably an arrow of hate? It would also payoff the whole "news crew being nearby" thing (as well as all the other gods that just randomly showed up) because uh oh now they all see his true nature and he can't hide behind his lies anymore!

After all, as I mentioned in my previous post about this (the one I believe you're referring to) it's not like there wasn't already foreshadowing that Apollo was going to fall on his own sword the way of Mr Waternoose from Monster's Inc, he was already showing signs of cracking under the guilt that he was feeling towards how he treated Persephone/Eris/Hermes/etc. so why did it have to be Persephone taking a massive risk by sticking him with an arrow of love that still doesn't fully explain why he would even suddenly be a changed man? Loads of people like Apollo think they're in love / define their infatuation as love so I don't see how an arrow of love would suddenly make him empathetic to her pain. Especially when, again, he still begs her not to make him confess, so the guilt he's feeling is still completely empty and unmotivated.

I will leave this with one final thing that I saw the other day that very much reminded me of the Apollo SA plotline and I think it rings very true for the misdirected conclusion of the plot itself:

One of the biggest issues of the Apollo SA plotline, at least in my opinion, is that it never really gets to the root of why people like Apollo exist. There absolutely were strong foundations for this - he's the son of a guy who's known for being a serial cheater, he's popular and egotistical and is used to women wanting him, etc. - but all of those foundations kind of fell to the wayside in favor of turning Apollo into just another boogeyman, especially to lift Hades up as a "good man" by comparison (when Hades himself also falls on this spectrum). But many people like Apollo aren't just random guys in an alleyway or conspiring with some "higher power" that's manipulating them, they're men who fundamentally do not understand consent and assault on the varying spectrums in which it exists from "SA just exists, oh well" passiveness to "I'm an actual monster who gets pleasure out of victimizing women" aggressiveness. I think there's a lot to discuss about how people like Apollo exist WITHOUT sympathizing with them, but LO manages to do neither - not only does it give us uncomfortable and unnecessary looks into the rapist's POV more than we get the victims, but it does it in a way that doesn't actually address the issue of how people like Apollo come to be, it's just "Apollo is the big evil boogeyman who raped Persephone". Not only does it not actually put enough focus on the victims, but it reduces the societal and cultural complexities of where Apollo's brand of egotistical entitlement comes from to just "some guys just be evil like that". Guys like Apollo don't just come out of the womb like that, they're often shaped into what they are by a society that both excuses them for awful behavior towards girls ("Boys will be boys!") and enables - if not outright encourages - them to objectify women as trophies that they're entitled to. Even the seemingly innocent and sentimental practice of "giving away a bride" at a wedding is rooted in these patriarchal systems, with the belief that a woman first "belongs" to her father before being "given to" her husband.

It's the part of feminism that often gets overlooked - it's not just about uplifting female voices and helping survivors speak up about and heal from SA, it's also about deconstructing and challenging the patriarchal systems that lead to SA victims being created in the first place. Sure, Apollo got sentenced to building temples in the Mortal Realm, but what is that actually doing to address the bigger topic of how men like him come to exist in the first place? Especially when it was also treated as a good thing for TGOEM to be disbanded, instead of, idk... reworking it into a women's support group for survivors like Persephone?

IDK, it's a very complicated subject that you can approach from a million different angles, I don't think that my criticizing it should outweigh the opinions of those who were satisfied with the punishment that was given to Apollo (my saying the SA plotline sucked doesn't mean you're not allowed to find your own validation in it) but I do think that, at best, Rachel ended the SA plotline the only way she could because she herself is just not equipped to tackle such broad subjects that require a lot more education, experience, and nuance than what she's capable of writing. There are definitely 1298423108 better ways that plotline could have been resolved, but not with Rachel Smythe at the helm.

And that's my many cents on that.

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

The Boogeyman (Alfie Solomons x Reader) 🎃Halloween Special🎃 ONESHOT

(UNEDITED) Pairing: Monster!Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 21,697

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, dry humping, forest sex, oral!fem receiving), age gap, child murders, eating children, Dark!Alfie, obsessive!Alfie, controlling Summary: "Do not misbehave, be a good girl. And no matter what. Never! enter the woods. He will get you." In a small village plagued by the ominous presence of the Boogeyman, you, a young and curious woman, find your world forever altered when you cross paths with Alfie Solomons, an enigmatic and older man. Instantly captivated by his mystique, you're drawn into his intriguing world, but as your connection deepens, you can't help but wonder if your newfound association with him will lead to unforeseen danger and consequences. A/N: This is an AU is set back in time with no real timeline and more than likely not in London. And literally after writing this out, I realised that this story would have been way better for Eddie Brock and Venom but...too late! It's also a bit fast paced but I got a lot to fit into a one shot so...it is what it is. This is also written in second person.

⛓🥀⛓ "Do not misbehave, be a good girl. And no matter what. Never! enter the woods. He will get you."

Parents would solemnly caution the young ones throughout the quiet village each and every night, their voices laden with apprehension.

"Don't be fooled," Mama repeated, her voice like a broken record.

The Boogeyman, that dreaded spectre that parents invoked to instil discipline, was a shadowy legend, perpetually elusive yet steadfastly believed. Has anyone ever truly encountered this enigmatic figure? The resounding answer was no, rendering him nothing more than a tale spun to terrify. 

But, oh, how parents revealed such a lie! In our village, renowned for its disquieting history of frequent child disappearances, this sinister persona took root. The lore declared that the Boogeyman would " abduct children and consume them," using his uncanny abilities to manipulate young minds, often infiltrating their dreams. This malevolent entity remained shrouded in darkness, dwelling deep within the heart of the forbidding forest, where the realms of reality and nightmare intertwined.

As you reclined in my bed, your gaze fixed on the window, the ethereal moonlight casting eerie shadows of leaves that relentlessly scraped against the glass, you couldn't help but wonder about the secrets concealed within those unfathomable woods. The nights blurred into years, and the elusive forest seemed to guard its enigmas ever more jealousy.

Clusters of trees interwoven like an impenetrable tapestry obscured any glimpse of what lay beyond. What mysteries lurked in the depths of the woods, where no child from our village was ever meant to tread? 

The yearning to explore that forbidden forest gnawed at you like an insatiable hunger. Just one opportunity to venture into the forest, to unravel its mysteries, was all you wished for. Yet, you were all too aware of Mama's unwavering resolve. She would never permit such a reckless escapade. You understood that desiring something as audacious as this was a perilous secret to harbour, for if word got out, the entire village would erupt in frenzy.

But what if there was something more to the forest, something beyond the tales of the Boogeyman? The adults, you reasoned, were only trying to protect the kids. Still, the allure of the unknown tugged at my curiosity like a relentless tide. It whispered promises of discovery and adventure, an escape from the mundane routine of our sheltered lives. And so, as you lay there, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the forest beckoned with its tantalising mysteries, a riddle yet to be unravelled.

⛓🥀⛓ Morning arrived, accompanied by the gentle caress of the sun's warm tendrils sneaking through the window's gaps. Your eyes fluttered open, revealing the monotonous wooden confines of my unremarkable bedroom. Stretching one leg to touch the floor while the other dangled over the edge, you yawned and rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes. With a determined sigh, you pushed yourself upright and began the descent down the creaky staircase.

Mama's voice, as predictable as the rising sun, greeted me with a mild scolding. "It's nearly midday, Y/n. When will you learn to rise at a reasonable hour? You're 18 years old, not 80."

You met her reproach with a weary but respectful response. "I'm sorry, Mama," you replied, trudging wearily into the kitchen, where Mama was carefully slicing a fresh loaf of bread. 

Her eyes, softened by maternal concern, met yours. "We're heading to the market today, dear. Please make an effort to look presentable."

You let out a resigned sigh, feeling the weight of her expectations pressing upon my shoulders. With reluctant steps, you retreated to your room, ready to face the day and the mysteries that the forest held, if only in your imagination.

⛓🥀⛓ The clamour of people rushing about engulfed you as you navigated through the bustling town. With your head held low, you stuck close to Mama, blending into her side as though seeking refuge in her presence.

Mama, sensing the need for a change, extended a few coins in your direction, her words laden with expectation ."Go look for some better clothes that actually fit you, or maybe even some fabric," she instructed, then wandered off into the throng, leaving you to fend for yourself.

A sense of unease washed over you. Can't she come with me? The bustling market felt overwhelming, and you yearned for her reassuring presence amid the chaos.

You didn't like the idea of solitude, especially in the midst of this bustling crowd, but Mama's directives were not to be questioned. Suppressing your apprehension, you ventured forth towards the market's clothing section.

As you progressed, you couldn't help but notice the fresh additions to the heart-wrenching collection of missing children posters. They clung to tent posts and any available surface like desperate pleas for help. Your heart ached for those unfortunate souls, caught in the enigmatic grasp of the forest.

Despite the vibrant array of exotic colours adorning various articles of clothing and accessories. Among them, a couple of red skirts caught your eye, but none truly ignited your interest. With a sigh of disappointment, you turned away and continued down the bustling road.

As you wandered, you couldn't help but observe the people around you. Many seemed to adhere to a similar aesthetic – modest attire befitting the lower class, much like your own clothing. The crowd blurred into a sea of similarity, with individuals seamlessly merging into the tapestry of the town's daily life. 

However, amidst this sea of sameness, one figure stood out like an anomaly in the fabric of reality. It was a man, and although it seemed impossible, his presence had an uncanny ability to halt the world in its tracks.

He stood out to you, those grey eyes reminiscent of a universe filled with stars. A wide-brimmed pork pie hat sat atop of his brown hair, and a scruffy beard added an air of rugged refinement. His countenance bore a hardness that could easily be intimidating to those who dared to gaze upon it. In truth, you could endlessly enumerate the myriad qualities that rendered this man devilishly handsome.

Caught in his magnetic presence, you found yourself in a dreamy reverie, utterly reluctant to divert your gaze even for a fleeting moment. The world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the enigmatic stranger at the centre of your attention, a captivating mystery in the midst of the mundane.

As if on cue, his gaze locked onto yours, and you found yourself frozen in place. The sheer shock of the moment left you dumbfounded. However, he remained unruffled, and a sly smirk graced his lips. It was as though he relished the effect he had on you, causing an undeniable rush of heat to surge to your cheeks. In your flustered state, you instinctively averted your eyes to the ground, attempting to make a quick escape. Yet, your retreat was abruptly halted as you were whisked away, pinned against a nearby stall.

Your body stiffened as you looked up, meeting the intense gaze of your captor. Under his compelling presence, you couldn't help but tremble. It was the very same man who had captured your attention moments earlier with his striking charm. Now, he stood before you, effectively trapping you between him and the market stall. With a blend of sweetness and cockiness, he parted his luscious lips to speak.

"I saw you looking at me back there, what's your name?" he inquired, his cockney voice bearing a rich, raspy timbre that sent your heart into a frenzied race.

Swallowing hard, you struggled to steady your trembling nerves. "Come on, little Dove," you flinched as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Drawing even closer, he narrowed the distance between your faces. His warm breath caressed your skin as he pressed, "What's your name?"

"Y-Y/n," you managed to stutter out, your voice betraying your anxiety.

"Such a beautiful name you have," he purred, his name rolling off his tongue like a seductive melody. "Alfie."

His fingers gently caressed your cheek, coaxing your fearful gaze to meet his. "Don't be frightened, little Dove," he reassured, his words a soothing balm to your anxiety. "I won't hurt you."

Alfie continued to stroke his thumb against your flushed cheeks, a gesture that sent a shiver down your spine. Just as he was on the verge of speaking again, the sound of your mama's voice suddenly shattered the moment, putting a halt to his words.

"I hope to see you again," he whispered, his words carrying a weight of longing, before gracefully retreating from your alarmed presence and blending once more into the bustling crowd.

Exhaling deeply, you realised you had been subconsciously holding your breath during this intense encounter. Slowly, you managed to pull yourself together and step back onto the bustling street. With a quivering breath, you looked up and spotted Mama approaching, carrying two bags filled with provisions.

"What's left you so shaken, dear? Did you find anything at all?" Mama inquired with concern, her gaze searching your face for answers.

You shook your head, unable to articulate the unusual encounter you had just experienced. Mama let out a sigh of understanding. "Very well, let's go home now," she said, her tone a mix of curiosity and resignation, leaving the mysteries of the market behind as you both headed for the familiarity and safety of home.

The journey back home was marked by a heavy silence, your thoughts still consumed by the enigmatic man, Alfie. He had both unsettled and fascinated you in equal measure. Despite the intrigue, a part of you fervently hoped to never cross paths with him again, uncertain of how much more you could withstand.

The world outside seemed to blur into insignificance as your mind replayed the encounter with Alfie. His image and that rich, raspy voice lingered in your thoughts. 

Your home lay on the outskirts of the village, necessitating a slightly longer walk. It took at least 10 minutes to reach your dwelling from anyone else in the village. Remarkably, you and Mama had managed to reside on the very edge of the village grounds, avoiding the ominous forest that loomed nearby.

Upon your return home, you couldn't resist the impulse to retreat to your room. You sprawled on your bed, trying to shake off the lingering presence of Alfie's airy voice that seemed to echo in your ears.

"Don't be scared of me, little Dove, I won't hurt you," his soothing words replayed in your mind, causing your heart to pound like a drum.

Your hand involuntarily slapped against your chest, attempting to quell the rapid, erratic rhythm that reverberated beneath your palm. Each thud seemed to resonate with the enigmatic encounter, leaving you in a state of restless disquietude.

What is it about him that makes my heart go crazy?

Without realising it, night had descended much faster than you anticipated, and a steaming dinner awaited your ravenous appetite. Each step you took seemed to drag out, your thoughts ensnared in a web of contemplation from which you couldn't break free. You lowered yourself into a dining chair, your movements slow and deliberate, as if trapped in a dreamlike state. Mama regarded you with a perplexed expression, her muttered comment cutting through the silence.

"Bloody weirdo," she mumbled, her words just audible enough to reach your ears.

You remained silent, the weight of the encounter with the man still lingering heavily in your thoughts. Picking up your fork, you mechanically shovelled food into your mouth, then efficiently tidied up before retreating to your room. Your body felt heavy as you trudged over to your bed, succumbing to the embrace of sleep almost instantly. The mysteries of the day, the enigmatic Alfie, and the forest beyond the village faded into the recesses of your mind as dreams took over.

⛓🥀⛓ Surrounded by a vibrant sea of flowers, you found yourself enchanted by the beauty that encircled you. Each blossom held a unique allure, and you couldn't help but admire each one.

"I knew you'd like them, they're all for you," he murmured, his words sending a warm rush of happiness through your veins.

It was a feeling of being cherished, of finally holding significance in someone's life. A wide, uncontrollable grin crept across your face, illuminated by his presence.

"Is that smile for me?" He inquired with a gentle sweetness, his arms encircling your waist from behind.

His lips brushed from your shoulder to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. 

"Just remember," he whispered softly, "you are only mine and always mine."

The possessiveness in his voice was undeniable, creating an electrifying tension in the air that left you both exhilarated and apprehensive.

⛓🥀⛓ You jolted awake from your slumber, shock coursing through your body as the remnants of the dream lingered in your mind.

It was him!

Struggling to shake off the vivid images from your dream, you hauled yourself out of bed. Each step felt like a deliberate effort as you ascended the stairs.

Near the top, Mama's voice sliced through your thoughts, her tone edged with curiosity and concern. "Are you going to continue acting strange today?" she inquired, her brow arching with a mix of annoyance and worry.

"No, Mama, I'm sorry," you replied softly, feeling a twinge of guilt as you hang your head low. You grabbed a slice of bread, your appetite subdued, and retreated to the solace of your room, leaving behind a lingering sense of intrigue and unease.

Alfie, his presence, and the enigma he embodied dominated your thoughts, stubbornly refusing to yield to anything else. Every attempt to divert your mind led it inexorably back to him. 

Feeling compelled by this man who had entered your life so fleetingly, you found yourself instinctively preparing to venture out. There was no concrete reason, but an unexplainable desire drove you to wander the town for the day. Could it really be because of him? It seemed preposterous, yet undeniable.

Descending the stairs, you mulled over the notion of turning back and retreating to the solitude of your room. But before you could act on your uncertainty, Mama's voice pierced through your contemplations, pulling you back to reality.

"Where are you going?" her voice echoed in your ears, disrupting your thoughts.

"I just feel like taking a walk around town," you offered an excuse that was half-spontaneous, half-true.

"Alright," Mama replied, a hint of caution in her voice. "Make sure you're back before dark." Her concern lingered like a gentle reminder, urging you to tread carefully in this world of uncertainty.

⛓🥀⛓ The sound of leaves crinkling beneath your feet was the only audible presence in your world as your thoughts traversed distant realms. His eyes, his nose, his lips—every detail etched into your memory. You marvelled at the lingering impact he had on your mind. 

As you strolled alone through town, a mix of emotions swirled within you. You couldn't decide if it was the novelty of going to town unaccompanied or the persistent thought of him that left you stunned. His effortless elegance, combined with a dishevelled allure that defied reason, played on a loop in your mind. 

How did he manage to embody such an enigmatic blend of grace and rugged charm? The question lingered like an unsolved riddle, one that you couldn't help but ponder with each step you took through the quiet streets of the town.

What had once been a tranquil dirt road had transformed into cobblestone streets bustling with activity. Even though yesterday had been no different, the sight never ceased to amaze you. In this small village, it seemed almost impossible not to recognize every single person passing by. Yet, there was one face, one presence you desperately yearned to encounter again. 

You couldn't bring yourself to admit it, but you scanned the crowded streets, lifting your head a little higher as if it might make a difference. Deep down, you knew it was a futile endeavour. No one ventured to town twice in such quick succession, and the odds of crossing paths with him again were slim. Nevertheless, a glimmer of hope persisted within you, an ember of desire to see him once more.

Having resigned yourself to the futility of your search, hope drained from your body like water from a sieve. A heavy, defeated sigh escaped your lips, and your shoulders slumped in disappointment.

With every intention of turning around and retracing your steps homeward, you paused for a fleeting moment. It was as if the universe had conspired to hold you in place, a strange sensation that left you momentarily rooted to the spot.

And then, with sudden and unexpected intensity, a large, firm hand snaked around your waist. Its grasp was assertive yet strangely gentle, pulling you back against a solid surface that radiated warmth and strength. The abruptness of the encounter sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself held in a mysterious and electrifying moment, suspended between the anticipation of the unknown and the familiarity of desire.

Your breath hitched, and a chill coursed through your body, freezing you in place.

"Were you that desperate to see me again?" he murmured, his voice deep and tender, sending shivers down your spine. "Glad to see you too, little Dove."

In that moment, your heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. He was here.

His voice drew nearer to your ear, and he inched closer. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" he whispered, his warm breath caressing your skin.

You couldn't help but shy away from his proximity, although it felt practically impossible. His chest pressed against your back, and a low chuckle rumbled within him, sending vibrations coursing through you.

"Care to walk with me?" His voice, as soothing as a gentle breeze, whispered in your ear.

"I mustn't," you initially declined, your apprehension tugging at your better judgement.

"Come on, little Dove," he coaxed, his firm yet gentle grip pulling you closer to his broad, enigmatic figure. The heat rose in your cheeks as you felt the closeness of his presence.

Hesitatingly, you found yourself nodding your head in reluctant agreement. It was a departure from your usual assertiveness, a testament to the irresistible allure he held over you in that fleeting moment.

What is happening to me!?

A playful smile graced his features as he gently took your hand in his, coaxing you along with him. Alfie's touch was magnetic, and you found yourself willingly following his lead.

Alfie led you through the bustling streets, navigating the crowded thoroughfares with ease, until you reached a dirt road that led into the looming forest. A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips, and you instinctively pulled your hand from his grasp.

I can’t go in there.

Alfie turned back to face you, his brow creased in confusion, searching your eyes for answers to the unspoken questions that hung in the air between you.

"What's wrong, little Dove?" he inquired, extending his hand toward you, only to have you stumble back, your fear palpable.

"I-I can't go in there," you managed to whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

A ravishing smile graced his lips, a seductive playfulness dancing in his eyes.

"Is my poor darling scared?" he asked, his tone adopting a gentleness one might use when comforting a child.

Before you could respond, he pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your waist, and his voice dropped to a tantalising murmur as he assured you, "Don't worry. You'll be right by my side the whole time." His warm breath caressed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself irresistibly drawn into his enigmatic world.

"Y-you don't understand," you stammered, your voice quivering with unease. "Mama told me I'm not—"

"Well, Mama’s not fucking here right now, is she?" he interjected, his tone taking on an edge that felt more menacing compared to his usual joviality. "You have me, and that's enough, isn't it? Is it not?"

His abrupt shift in demeanour sent shivers down your spine, and you began to tremble under the weight of his intense gaze. The sense of foreboding that hung in the air was suffocating, and you couldn't help but fear the implications of his newfound seriousness.

"Hey, what's wrong, Little Dove?" he inquired, his voice gentler now, as he tenderly cupped your face in his hands. The sudden contact made you flinch, and you instinctively tried to step back. But he held you firmly in place, his touch both comforting and unsettling.

You closed your eyes tightly, a protective reflex kicking in. His soothing words broke through the tension. "I won't hurt you, remember that."

Slowly, you began to open your eyes once again, only to be met with his hurt expression. The realisation that your actions had inadvertently caused him pain washed over you like a wave, and you felt a pang of remorse. You hadn't meant to hurt him.

"Do you not trust me?" he asked, his tone tinged with gravity and concern.

You reached for his hands and held them firmly, your fingers intertwined with his. A rapid shake of your head followed. "No, no, I do trust you!" you reassured him with urgency, your voice filled with sincerity and desperation.

A warm smile gradually graced his features once more, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate.

"Perfect," he affirmed, the word carrying a sense of reassurance and finality, as if sealing an unspoken pact between the two of you.

Alfie tugged at your left hand, guiding you deeper into the heart of the forest. You clung onto his arm, your grip tight, your senses alert to the mysteries lurking behind each tree. His smirk hinted at a shared understanding of your vulnerability, and you found yourself relying on him for both guidance and protection.

As you ventured further into the dense woodland, you felt the enormity of the forest closing in around you. Each step drew you deeper into its mysterious embrace, and the world outside began to blur into obscurity. In this surreal wilderness, your proximity to Alfie was strikingly intimate. He held you so close that his touch on your left thigh became a grounding force, a reassuring reminder that you were not alone in the vastness of the unknown. His firm grip served as a constant, physical connection, anchoring you to the present moment as you navigated deeper into the enigmatic heart of the forest.

The air in the forest was heavy with mist, its density obscuring the path you had been following. Before you could react, it seemed to vanish into a carpet of fallen leaves and small twigs.

Raising your gaze toward the intricate tapestry of tree branches overhead, you marvelled at their intricate dance as they reached out to one another and intertwined. Each step Alfie led you deeper into the forest was like a journey from darkness to light. The once-shadowed path had transformed into a radiant garden, adorned with a kaleidoscope of plants in every imaginable shape and colour, creating an enchanting oasis within the heart of the woods.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you knelt down, gently grazing your hand against the delicate petals. The sensation of their softness against your skin sent a shiver of delight through you. You withdrew your hand, fingers tingling, and rejoined Alfie as you continued to explore the enchanting garden.

He leaned in, his lips brushing tantalisingly close to your ear, sending a thrill down your spine. "I knew you would like them," he murmured, his voice a gentle, soothing hum. "They're all for you." His words hung in the air, a sweet promise that seemed to bloom amid the garden's vibrant beauty.

Why does that sound so familiar?

You pressed your body closer to him, a hidden smile gracing your lips as you sought refuge in his comforting embrace.

"Come on, show me that beautiful fucking smile of yours," he teased, his fingers gently lifting your chin to face him.

You attempted to pull back, but his hold on you remained steadfast. The corner of his lips curved upward into a warm, open-mouthed smile, and he let out a compassionate laugh that washed over you like a gentle wave.

Though you had known Alfie for only two days, the tender affection he showered upon you felt undeniably real. In his presence, every moment felt fresh and vibrant, as if the world had been painted anew. Not for a single second did you wish for him to leave, your heart yearning to savour every precious moment with him.

"See, now if you hadn't come with me," he said brightly, his voice filled with enthusiasm, "you wouldn't have gotten to see all this. And I wouldn't want my little Dove to miss out on all the fun."

His words danced like sunlight through the leaves, infusing the moment with a sense of adventure and joy. You couldn't help but be grateful for the opportunity to explore this enchanting world with him by your side, realising that it had brought you closer to something magical and extraordinary.

You and Alfie continued your journey through the garden, passing by the vibrant flowers and circling around a mighty, ancient tree. As you ventured further, a two-story house came into view, slightly larger than your own. With a sense of wonder, you gently released yourself from Alfie's arm and approached the beautiful house.

The exterior was a tapestry of nature, with flowers and ivy adorning nearly every inch of its walls. The door, a rich dark brown, boasted an elegant golden handle—a luxury not often seen by those who weren't of royal descent.

From behind, you felt Alfie's gradual approach, his hand settling warmly high up on your back. The touch was both reassuring and filled with an unspoken promise of the adventures yet to unfold within the walls of this enchanting place.

"Let's head inside," he whispered softly, his warm breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"This is yours?" you asked, your voice filled with shock and amazement.

With a gentle push, Alfie urged you toward the house, his hand a reassuring presence on your back, guiding you forward. You stepped through the open door, allowing you to enter first. As you crossed the threshold, you were immediately enveloped in a welcoming warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. The interior of the house was even more breathtaking than the exterior, with a cosy, inviting atmosphere that made you feel instantly at home. The flickering light of a fireplace cast a warm glow over a long couch adorned with plush cushions and a beautiful red and gold rug, creating an inviting space that beckoned you to sit and relax. Shelves lined with various items, from books to potted plants, showcased a charming collection that spoke of a well-lived life. A quaint kitchenette, nestled near a staircase that led to the second floor, completed the cosy setting, and you took in the inviting atmosphere that surrounded you.

Alfie followed closely behind you, his eyes never leaving your form as you took in the surroundings. His gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He watched with a faint, satisfied smile as you marvelled at the interior of the house he had brought you to.

The inviting atmosphere seemed to wrap around both of you, creating a sense of intimacy and connection. The flickering firelight painted playful shadows on the walls, casting a warm and inviting ambiance throughout the room. The long couch, adorned with plush cushions, practically begged for you to sink into its comfortable embrace, and the beautiful red and gold rug added a touch of elegance to the space.

Your attention was drawn to the shelves that lined the walls, displaying an eclectic collection of items. Books of all genres stood shoulder to shoulder with potted plants, each item contributing to the overall charm of the room. The quaint kitchenette, complete with its own unique character, nestled near the staircase that led to the second floor, completed the cosy setting.

Alfie's presence beside you felt both reassuring and electrifying, like a promise of something new and exciting on the horizon. The house seemed to echo with the unspoken possibilities of what this moment could mean for both of you, and you couldn't help but wonder where this unexpected journey with him would lead.

"This place is beautiful, Alfie," you said, your voice filled with genuine appreciation as you continued to take in the enchanting surroundings.

Alfie gave you a pleased smile in response to your compliment before guiding you to the next room. As you both approached the wooden staircase that led to the second floor, your gaze was drawn to a compact kitchenette nestled nearby. Its well-organised design fit seamlessly into the room, with charming touches that added to the overall cosiness of the house.

The kitchenette featured polished wooden countertops, adorned with small potted herbs that added a delightful burst of greenery. A quaint sink sat beneath a window that allowed natural light to flood the space, making it feel even more inviting. The shelves were stocked with a variety of dishes and cookware, while a vintage stove stood as the centrepiece, ready to whip up delicious meals.

Alfie stood by your side, watching your reactions with a sense of pride. The house was not only beautiful but also meticulously designed to create an atmosphere of comfort and tranquillity. Every corner seemed to reflect the care and thought that had been put into making it a warm and welcoming place. "Tea?" Alfie asked, his voice carrying a note of warmth and hospitality.

You nodded, the idea of a soothing cup of tea in this enchanting setting sounding like the perfect way to continue your visit. You took a seat at the dining table, which was situated near the kitchenette and surrounded by charming wooden chairs. The table itself was adorned with a delicate lace tablecloth, adding a touch of elegance to the rustic charm of the room.

As you settled into your seat, you watched with curiosity and appreciation as Alfie moved gracefully about the kitchenette. He reached for a teapot, its design matching the overall aesthetic of the house, and carefully filled it with water. The aromatic tea leaves were lovingly measured and added to the pot, creating a fragrant blend that hinted at the promise of a delightful tea time.

The sound of water boiling and the gentle clinking of teacups filled the air as Alfie prepared the tea with practised ease. The cosy atmosphere of the house seemed to enhance the simple pleasure of sharing a cup of tea with someone who had quickly become an intriguing and enigmatic presence in your life.

As he carried the steaming teapot and two cups to the dining table, you couldn't help but feel a sense of connection and curiosity growing between you and Alfie. It was as if the house itself had brought you together, and you were eager to continue exploring both the enchanting surroundings and the enigmatic man who had guided you here.

"Thank you," you said appreciatively, taking one of the cups that Alfie had prepared and bringing it to your lips. The first sip of the fragrant tea was a soothing embrace to your senses, its warmth spreading through your body and providing a moment of calm in the midst of the day's unexpected events.

As you savoured the tea's delicate flavour, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort settle over you. It was as if the house, with its cosy atmosphere and Alfie's gracious hospitality, had become a sanctuary of sorts. The worries and uncertainties that had been plaguing your mind since you first encountered Alfie began to recede, replaced by a newfound sense of tranquillity.

Alfie watched you closely, his gaze unwavering but not intrusive. There was a certain intensity in his eyes, as if he were studying your every reaction and response. It was a reminder that there was still much about him that remained a mystery, a puzzle waiting to be unravelled.

Despite the enigma that surrounded Alfie, you couldn't deny the undeniable connection that seemed to be forming between the two of you. The events of the day had taken an unexpected turn, and you found yourself drawn deeper into a world that was as mysterious as it was alluring.

As you continued to share tea and conversation in the charming dining area, you couldn't help but wonder where this unexpected journey would lead you next and what secrets the enigmatic Alfie held within the walls of his captivating home.

"Such a cute fucking thing, you are," Alfie remarked, a hint of affection in his voice as he regarded you with a fond smile. The endearment sent a warm flutter through your chest, and you couldn't help but return his smile with a shy one of your own.

A rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, and you couldn't deny the blush that had painted your face a shade of crimson. Alfie's words and the intensity of his gaze had an undeniable effect on you, causing your heart to race and your emotions to swirl in a captivating whirlwind.

Your gaze momentarily dropped, unable to maintain eye contact with Alfie's penetrating stare. It was as if his words had unveiled a vulnerability within you, one that you hadn't been fully aware of until now. In his presence, you felt exposed, yet strangely drawn to the enigmatic charm that surrounded him.

As the blush deepened, you found yourself at a loss for words, the unspoken tension between you and Alfie growing stronger with each passing moment. It was a moment of both vulnerability and connection, as if the very air around you crackled with an unspoken promise of what could be.

The words and gestures exchanged between you and Alfie had created a unique bond, one that was both intriguing and captivating. His charm was undeniable, and the allure of his enigmatic presence had drawn you in deeper than you ever expected.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, a thoughtful expression crossing your face as you considered Alfie's question. It was a simple enough request, yet you found yourself hesitating, unsure of where to begin.

"Well," you began slowly, "I've lived in the village for as long as I can remember. My mama owns a home on the outskirts with a little garden and chickens." You paused, a wistful smile touching your lips as you recalled fond memories of your childhood.

"I would enjoy spending time in nature," you continued, your eyes meeting Alfie's. "There's something serene about the forest and the fields that has always drawn me in. But of course I’m not allowed in it. This is the first time I’ve ever stepped foot in the forest and it’s beautiful. I wished my parents weren’t so paranoid."

Alfie listened attentively, his eyes never leaving yours as he absorbed your words. His genuine interest in getting to know you better was evident, and it made you feel a connection that went beyond mere attraction.

As you spoke about your hobbies, your family, and your dreams, you couldn't help but notice how Alfie's presence seemed to put you at ease. The initial fear and uncertainty that had gripped you earlier had given way to a growing sense of comfort in his company. You were beginning to realise that there was much more to Alfie than met the eye, and you were eager to discover the layers beneath his enigmatic exterior as well.

"So...the forest is safe then?" you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice. After all, Alfie lived alone in the forest, and you couldn't help but wonder if the recent disturbance meant any potential danger for the place you had grown to enjoy exploring with him.

"As long as you're with me, you're safe," Alfie answered with a reassuring smile.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you prodded further. "What's out there in the forest, Alfie?"

Alfie's gaze turned thoughtful as he considered your question. “Just fucking wild dogs. Real aggressive buggers, yeah. Why I keep a shotgun at the door, always fucking come around here.”

You couldn't help but shiver at the thought of those aggressive wild dogs roaming the nearby forest.

"But no monsters out there, Dove," Alfie reassured you, his tone lightening the mood. "None that would hurt you, at least." He punctuated his words with a playful wink, causing a small, relieved smile to tug at your lips.

Yet, beneath the surface of this newfound connection, there lingered an unspoken tension—a sense that there was more to Alfie and the world he inhabited than met the eye. It was a mystery you couldn't ignore, even as you basked in the warmth of his hospitality.

⛓🥀⛓ After that day, neither you nor Alfie could get enough of each other. It became a routine for both of you to meet up every day. Alfie would take you on leisurely walks, whether through the charming town or the mysterious depths of the forest. Each day was a new adventure, filled with laughter, shared secrets, and stolen kisses.

You had gone from initially fearing the forest to eagerly wanting to explore it further with Alfie by your side. As time passed, you found yourself falling in love with him, and each day spent together only strengthened your bond. The forest, once a place of dread, became a backdrop for your shared adventures, and you cherished every moment spent with Alfie.

Your mother, observant as always, couldn't help but notice the profound change in your daily routine. While she may not have known the specifics of your newfound friendship or the identity of the person who had captured your heart, the fact that you left the house every day, returning only when the sun dipped below the horizon, didn't escape her notice. She watched as a radiance lit up your face, and her motherly instincts told her that something special had taken root in your life, something that seemed to bring you immense happiness and fulfilment. It was a change she welcomed, even if it remained shrouded in a bit of mystery.

On this particular day, as you left the house to spend time with Alfie, your heart danced with anticipation. It had become a familiar routine – Alfie guiding you to his house, a place that now felt like a second home. Each visit held the promise of adventure, the allure of the unknown, and the comfort of his presence. As you made your way through the streets, you couldn't help but smile, knowing that you were about to embark on another unforgettable journey with the enigmatic man who had turned your world upside down.

Alfie, as always, was waiting for you at your designated meeting spot, leaning casually against a lamppost. His eyes, as they locked onto yours, sparkled with a mixture of mischief and warmth.

"You came back to me, my little Dove?" he purred, his tease sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

You nodded eagerly, the air vibrating with a sense of anticipation. “You just make my day much more exciting, how could I stay away?”

With a graceful wave of his hand, Alfie beckoned you to follow, and you fell into step beside him. As you walked through the village streets, the two of you exchanged stories and laughter, your connection deepening with every shared moment.

Alfie's house came into view, and you couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable you'd grown in this once-forbidding place. Inside, the air was imbued with a blend of mysterious scents, a reflection of Alfie's captivating personality. It was a world of hidden corners and secrets, a world you were more than willing to explore.

As the hours passed, you found yourself drawn further into the web of Alfie's charm and charisma. He regaled you with tales of his own past, leaving you hanging on his every word. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the room, and the atmosphere between you grew increasingly charged.

“You’re such a pretty fucking little thing, you know that, Dove?” Alfie murmured, his gaze lingering on you.

Alfie, his voice hushed and hypnotic, shared an old folk tale he'd heard from a distant land, his words wrapping around you like a spell.

His words hung in the air like a forbidden melody, and you felt your heart race as you swallowed hard. Alfie's intense gaze bore into you, and a flush of warmth crept up your cheeks.

"I..." Words seemed to escape you, lost in the whirlwind of emotions that his compliment had stirred. You'd never felt quite like this before, a heady mix of desire and vulnerability. His proximity, the charged atmosphere, it all left you breathless.

Alfie's fingers, calloused from a life of intrigue and danger, gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was electric, sending sparks of sensation through your skin. With infinite tenderness, he cupped your chin, tilting your head upward until your eyes locked onto his.

"Dove," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "I've been waitin' for this moment."

Time seemed to stand still as Alfie leaned in, his lips a breath away from yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, a tantalising promise of what was about to happen. It was a moment of perfect anticipation, the world fading into insignificance as your lips drew closer together, the magnetic pull between you impossible to resist.

You found yourself leaning closer, caught in the captivating cadence of his storytelling. In that moment, as the world outside faded away, it seemed as if time itself had paused, and you were suspended in the enchantment of the narrative. His eyes locked onto yours, and a pause lingered in the air, filled with unspoken words. You could feel the weight of the moment, a subtle tension that neither of you dared to break.

The moment stretched, time standing still as you gazed into each other's eyes. It was a dance of longing, desire, and the unspoken, a dance that had been building since the day you first met Alfie Solomons. And as you leaned closer, the world outside faded away, leaving only the promise of that moment and the anticipation of what was to come.

In that charged moment, Alfie's lips finally met yours. It was a gentle yet fervent kiss, a merging of two souls drawn together by an undeniable magnetism. His lips were soft against yours, coaxing and inviting, as if they had been designed solely to fit yours.

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you responded to his kiss, your fingers trembling slightly as they reached up to tangle in his hair. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Alfie's mouth on yours, a taste of desire and longing that left you breathless.

Alfie deepened the kiss, his passion igniting a fire within you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, until there was not an inch of space between you. It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent declaration of the unspoken desires that had simmered between you since the moment you had first met.

With a soft, lingering sigh, you both slowly pulled away from each other, the warmth of the moment still radiating between you.

Alfie's eyes bore into yours, intense and filled with a mixture of emotions. His thumb gently brushed across your cheek, as if he couldn't resist the urge to touch you even for a moment longer. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing the depth of his feelings.

You, too, found yourself smiling, a blush rising to your cheeks as you looked down for a brief moment. The air between you was charged with unspoken words, with the knowledge that this was a turning point in your relationship.

A timid, hopeful smile played at the corners of your lips as you asked, "you...like me?"

Alfie burst into hearty laughter at your question, the sound filling the room and echoing with amusement. 

"Yeah, I fucking like you, Dove," Alfie replied with a warm smile, his eyes filled with a fondness that made your heart flutter.

As you gazed into Alfie's eyes, a mixture of emotions swirled within you. The connection between you two felt stronger than ever, yet there was an undeniable tension in the air. You couldn't help but feel the weight of the unspoken desires that hung between you like a delicate thread, waiting to be acknowledged.

Alfie's thumb gently brushed against your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes, filled with an intensity that left you breathless, slowly descended to your lips. Time seemed to stand still as he leaned in, his warm breath mingling with yours.

"I got you something," Alfie said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

Your curiosity piqued, you raised an eyebrow. His smile widened as he gracefully rose from his chair, moving to the side of the room. With deliberate care, he retrieved a bundle of rich, dark red cloth and extended it toward you. You accepted the bundle, your fingers tingling with anticipation as you gently unfolded it. Before you lay a breathtaking dark red dress, its fabric shimmering in the dim light, and you couldn't help but gasp at its sheer beauty.

"Alfie, I can't possibly accept this," you said humbly, your eyes fixed on the exquisite dress before you. The fabric alone bespoke a level of luxury you had never encountered before, and it made your heart race with both gratitude and unease.

The dress was far from cheap, that much was clear, and you struggled with the idea of accepting such an opulent gift. "Alfie, this is too much," you insisted, torn between admiration for the dress and the sense of propriety that told you it was beyond your means.

But Alfie's gaze held unwavering determination as he replied, "No, that's yours." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, and his eyes seemed to convey a deeper sentiment you couldn't quite decipher.

You offered a warm smile, genuinely grateful for his gesture, and expressed your gratitude with a heartfelt, "Thank you, Alfie."

As you rose from your seat and approached him, his smirk widened, and his eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. There was an undeniable tension in the air, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to him, leaving both of you acutely aware of the charged atmosphere between you.

Just as your lips were about to meet once more, a distant noise from the bustling village outside broke the spell. The moment was interrupted, and you both pulled away, a sense of longing and frustration in your eyes.

Alfie let out a sigh, his forehead resting against yours. "It seems some wild fucking dog has other plans for us, Dove," he said, a little irritated.

You nodded, your heart heavy with both desire and the harsh reality of the world outside. The two of you shared one last lingering look before reluctantly parting, knowing that this stolen moment was just the beginning of a deeper, more complicated connection between you.

With a swift stride, Alfie grabbed the shotgun waiting by his front door, his determined steps echoing his resolve as he left the house to confront the issue. You couldn't help but shake your head in amusement and let out a soft chuckle.

⛓🥀⛓ Over the past month, you had spent more and more time with Alfie, and you couldn't deny the growing closeness between you. There was a palpable connection, an unspoken understanding that seemed to deepen with each passing day. However, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in the atmosphere whenever you found yourselves in close proximity, as if the air itself crackled with unspoken desires and emotions.

Whenever Alfie playfully teased you, your cheeks would flush with warmth, and you found it increasingly difficult to hide the undeniable attraction that was blossoming between you two. The tension between you felt electric, like a charged wire ready to ignite at any moment. It was a dance of desire that neither of you could completely ignore.

You were engaged in conversation, seated together on his lounge chair. The sun bathed you both in its warm, golden light, casting long shadows that danced across the room.

The gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside, and the distant sounds of the village carried through the air. You found yourself captivated by Alfie's words, the way he spoke with a mixture of confidence and vulnerability. 

As the conversation continued, Alfie's eyes locked onto yours, and you couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull between you. His words grew softer, more intimate, and his fingers brushed against yours. The tension in the air became palpable, and it seemed as though neither of you could resist the inevitable any longer.

Alfie's fingers trailed up and down the sides of your arms, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Warm puffs of his breath teased the nape of your neck, making your skin tingle in response.

"You are so beautiful, my little Dove," he murmured, his lips pressing gently below your ear.

With a swift, almost possessive motion, he spun you around to face him. His eyes, brimming with intense desire, bore into your soul, making your heart race. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck, forcing you to tilt your head back slightly. Soft, lingering kisses traced the base of your neck, slowly ascending along your jawline. Your eyelids fluttered closed as his kisses grew more demanding, your mouth falling open slightly as you released an unsteady breath.

"Just remember, you are only mine and always mine," As Alfie whispered those possessive words, they echoed through your mind, weaving a spell that bound you to him completely. Each word carried a weight of dominance, his declaration demanding your unwavering obedience.

With a nod, you acknowledged your place as his, a mix of desire and devotion swirling within you. A gentle smile graced his lips, and he guided you towards the plush furs and blankets spread invitingly in front of the dancing flames of the fireplace, an intimate sanctuary where deeper passions and pleasures awaited.

Sinking onto his lap, you found yourself straddling him, your bodies perfectly aligned in a passionate embrace. Alfie's strong hands claimed your hips, his touch grounding you and igniting a primal connection. As you leaned in, your fingertips trailed gently along his face, tracing the contours with adoration, feeling the roughness of his stubble against your delicate touch. The warmth of the fire bathed you both in an intimate glow, casting flickering shadows that danced upon your entwined forms, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between you, you leaned forward, capturing Alfie's lips in a fervent and passionate kiss. The world around you faded into a blur as the fervour of your connection intensified. Your bodies pressed together, fueling the fire of desire that blazed within you both. Time seemed to stand still as the heat of the moment enveloped you, an intoxicating blend of desire, need, and surrender.

Lost in the depths of your intense kiss, you felt Alfie's hands skillfully navigate the intricate strings of your dress, pulling them gently but deliberately. The tension released as the fabric of your dress gave way, caressing your skin as it slid down your body, revealing the curves and contours that had captured his desire. The cool air heightened your senses, contrasting with the scorching heat that enveloped you both, as the anticipation of what lay ahead hung in the air like an electrifying promise.

As Alfie's hands glided along the sides of your body, a delicious shiver coursed through you, making your skin come alive under his touch. The contrast of his rough hands against the softness of your skin heightened the sensation, igniting a hunger for more. His touch, both possessive yet tender, explored every curve and contour, unravelling the layers of desire that bound you together, until you were both consumed by an electric connection that could not be denied.

You reciprocated his actions by pushing off his vest, the fabric gliding smoothly over his shoulders and pooling on the floor. Your hands trembled with anticipation as you deftly undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing the sculpted contours of his chest. Each button released heightened your desire, revealing more of the tantalising sight that lay beneath. The shared act of undressing became a sensual dance, fueling the flames of anticipation and escalating the intensity of the moment.

Feeling an overwhelming desire to explore every inch of Alfie's impressive physique, you compelled your hands to ascend his chest, tracing the contours and definition of each sculpted muscle. The strength and power beneath your fingertips stirred a primal longing within you, as you marvelled at the testament of masculinity before you. With every touch, you revelled in the intoxicating mix of vulnerability and strength that radiated from him, forging an unbreakable bond between your souls.

With a slow and deliberate movement, Alfie pressed you gently onto the inviting surface of the floor beneath you, a luxurious furs that cradled your bodies. Hovering over you, his eyes burning with desire, he claimed your lips once more in a ravenous kiss that sent sparks cascading through your veins. As his lips explored yours and his hands caressed your skin, he maintained an intoxicating rhythm of undressing, shedding his pants in a tantalising display of intimacy that left you yearning for even closer connection. The world around you faded away as you surrendered completely to the fiery passions that spiralled between you, lost in the ethereal cocoon of pleasure and desire. 

"Will you make love to me, Alfie?" you asked, your voice filled with hope and longing.

Alfie smiled and kissed you, his voice low and filled with desire, "You fucking know it."

With a gleam in his eyes, Alfie drew you closer, his touch sending shivers down your spine, before he whispered, "I'll show you just how much I fucking want you."

Alfie's nimble fingers danced across your skin, igniting trails of electric sensation that made your every nerve tingle with overwhelming pleasure. As his lips continued their fervent exploration, leaving a trail of fiery kisses on your neck, the air was thick with the intoxicating scent of desire and anticipation. Without a moment's hesitation, Alfie skillfully removed both his underwear and yours, the two of you standing there, vulnerable and exposed, consumed by an insatiable hunger for each other.

As Alfie's lips ventured further south, a wicked combination of anticipation and need coursed through your veins, rendering your body a pulsing canvas of desire. With each gentle, tantalising kiss, he moved closer to your most sensitive spot, his hot breath a delicious torment that made your hips instinctively arch towards him, desperately seeking the contact your body craved. The world ceased to exist in that moment, leaving only the electrifying connection between you and Alfie, as you surrendered completely to the intoxicating rhythm of pleasure.

Alfie's kisses trailed along the soft expanse of your thighs, his beard creating an exquisite friction against your skin that added an unexpected element of sensation. The anticipation in the air grew thicker as his hands gently but firmly pushed your legs apart, affording him unrestricted access to your most intimate parts. Your breath hitched in a mixture of anticipation and excitement, your body humming with a hunger that only he could satisfy. As he drew closer to your nether regions, a wave of yearning washed over you, making every nerve ending hyperaware and eager for his touch.

“You ready, sweetie?” Alfie asked, looking up at you. With a nod of consent, every fibre of your being alive with an intoxicating mix of anticipation and desire, Alfie wasted no time in indulging in the delicious feast that lay before him. As his skilled lips enclosed around your sensitive clit, a breathtaking surge of ecstasy rippled through you, leaving you gasping and trembling with pleasure. Every flick of his tongue and every gentle suck ignited a wildfire within, consuming your senses and heightening every sensation to a point of exquisite bliss.

As Alfie continued to work his magic with fervent dedication, his tongue expertly tracing patterns of pleasure over your throbbing, sensitive bud, your body began to dance to a symphony of pleasure. Waves of sensation crashed through you, each one more intense than the last, unravelling the very fabric of your self-control. Your fingers clawed at the fur, seeking anchor in the sea of bliss that threatened to engulf you completely. Every breath you took was a symphony of moans and gasps, an unspoken language of desire and surrender that reverberated through the room. Alfie, keenly attuned to your every reaction, accelerated his ministrations, pushing you towards the precipice of pleasure. And at the apex, as the world stood still, time suspended, you succumbed to the overwhelming ecstasy that washed over you, your body convulsing with a release that echoed with the raw intensity of passion.

A surge of newfound boldness coursed through your veins as you shakily gathered the strength to yank Alfie's head up from his expert ministrations. His lips and beard glistened with the evidence of your need, a tantalising sight that fueled your hunger for more. With a breathless command, a raspy plea that dripped with need, you revealed your deepest desire to him.

"I want to finish on your cock," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire, as you locked eyes with him, a silent invitation to fulfil the craving that pulsed between you.

Alfie's sharp intake of breath, a symphony of desire, resonated through the room, kindling the fire that burned between you. Climbing back on top of you, he devotedly claimed your lips, his own still moist with the essence of your shared pleasure. The taste of intimacy lingered in the kiss, an intoxicating reminder of the depths you had explored together. As his tongue danced with yours, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in a whirlwind of passion.

“Anything for my little Dove.”

Alfie, his eyes smouldering with a mix of tenderness and sheer desire, tenderly stroked himself, relishing the sight of his throbbing length gliding along your slickness. As you tighten your grip on his broad shoulders, anticipation crackles in the air, mingling with the intoxicating scent of arousal. With deliberate slowness, he pressed himself inside you, inch by glorious inch, eliciting a shuddering gasp as the exquisite fullness consumed your senses. The raw pleasure of being filled by him, the connection that surged through your intertwined bodies, was unlike anything you had experienced before. Desperation tinged Alfie's kiss, a plea for reciprocity and mutual surrender, as he began to move, a rhythm that danced between ecstasy and longing, igniting a scorching symphony of pleasure between the two of you.

“Fucking hell, Dove.” Alfie said, breathlessly.

With every deliberate thrust, Alfie stirred a tempest of pleasure within you, causing your breath to tremble and your body to respond in kind. As the initial intensity subsided, you melted into the exquisite union, drowning in waves of pleasure that consumed your very being. In a sublime symphony, your moans transformed into whimpered pleas, a symphony only Alfie could conduct. Sensing your growing comfort, Alfie shifted his attention to the sensitive side of your neck, trailing hot, passionate kisses that sent electrifying shivers down your spine, intensifying the symphony of pleasure that enveloped you both.

As the intensity of the moment cascaded over you like a tidal wave, your eyes closed, surrendering completely to the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through every fibre of your being. Sensing Alfie's own struggle to maintain control, you watched as his restraint crumbled, giving way to an unrelenting desire that fueled his increasingly frenzied thrusts. The pace quickened, a rhythm that matched the wild tempo of your racing hearts, while his lips continued their assault on the sensitive expanse of your neck, igniting a symphony of moans that harmonised with the symphony of pleasure that washed over you. With every gasping breath and the crescendo of your moans, the intensity escalated, pushing you both to the precipice of ecstasy.

“I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard, you hear me Dove?” As Alfie's voice, a potent mix of devotion and aggressive desire, seared into your senses, you felt a surge of primal energy surge through you.

His embrace, a possessive grip that anchored you to the moment, tightened around your body, keeping you locked in a passionate embrace. With each powerful thrust, he relentlessly drove you closer to the edge of ecstasy, your climax rising within you like a crescendo in a symphony of pleasure. The anticipation hung in the air, a taut wire stretched to its limit, ready to snap and release an explosion of rapture. A sheen of sticky sweat glistened on your entwined bodies, merging the heat and intensity of your connection.

“You’re close, aren’t you Dove? Yeah? I can feel you fucking throbbing around me.” Alfie's words, a sultry rasp in your ear, ignited an inferno of desire within you, the intensity of his presence amplifying every pulsating throb of pleasure that rippled through your core.

As the relentless rhythm of his twitching cock sent spasms of ecstasy coursing through you, your world shattered into an explosion of pleasure that consumed you wholly, surrendering all control to the intoxicating climax that washed over you like a tidal wave.

As the electric waves of your orgasm crashed over you, the sensation of your convulsing walls enveloping him sent Alfie hurtling into his own release. With a raw, guttural groan, he unleashed his hot seed deep within you, each pulse of his ecstasy an intimate testament to the depth of your connection. Time stood still in that moment, as you both surrendered to the overwhelming bliss that wrapped around you, their bodies entwined in the aftermath of a sinfully euphoric union.

As the final echoes of pleasure subsided, Alfie pressed his lips against yours in a tender, loving kiss, a gesture that embodied the lingering connection between you. With a contented sigh, he gently melted onto the plush fur blanket beside you, his embrace drawing you closer, cocooning you in a comforting warmth. Holding you tightly, his lips brushed against the top of your head, leaving a feather-light imprint of affection. In the tranquillity of the room, the only audible sounds were the synchrony of your catching breaths and the soft crackling of the fire, a backdrop to the blissful aftermath of your shared pleasure.

"That was incredible, Alfie. Seriously, wow," you said, letting out a joyous laugh and snuggling into his side.

He kissed your forehead, his voice soft and filled with admiration, "Yeah, it was. You were amazing, Dove."

You chuckled, feeling content in his arms. "I barely did anything."

He grinned and squeezed you closer. "And yet, you were fucking amazing."

Despite the sticky sweat clinging to both of you, you felt an overwhelming sense of contentment in his arms. It was as if the world outside didn't matter, and you had no desire to leave this warm, intimate embrace.

Alfie's warm breath tickled your ear as he whispered softly, "Just sleep, Dove."

You sighed, feeling both comforted and conflicted. "I can't stay the night, you know that, Alfie," you replied, your voice heavy with weariness.

His arms tightened around you slightly, pulling you closer. "I know, Dove. Just rest for now," he admitted, his voice tinged with longing.

The two of you lay there in silence for a while, the only sounds the soft rhythm of your breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves outside. The bond between you and Alfie had deepened over time, but there were still boundaries that couldn't be crossed, and you both understood that all too well.

⛓🥀⛓ As you stepped into the house, the scent of your mother's cooking enveloped you, and you found her in the kitchen, deftly chopping up a chicken. Her words drifted towards you, carrying curiosity and warmth.

"You've been going out a lot lately, dear. Have you met someone?" your mama inquired, her voice filled with maternal concern.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing to find the right words. "Uh, yeah. A friend," you finally replied, trying to sound casual.

A playful glint appeared in her eyes as she continued to work with the chicken. "Just a friend?" she teased, her tone teasingly insistent.

Your cheeks reddened slightly, and you cursed yourself for stuttering. "Y-yeah," you managed to say.

A thoughtful expression crossed your mother's face as she paused in her cooking. "Will I ever get to meet him?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

You paused for a moment, weighing the idea in your mind. Alfie was undeniably much older and more intimidating than you had initially let on. The prospect of introducing him to your mom felt daunting, and you weren't sure if you were ready to take that step.

"I don't know," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

⛓🥀⛓ "Why don't we play a little game, yeah?" Alfie suggested with a sly grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Alfie and you were sitting side by side on his bed, your legs stretched out comfortably across his own. The deep crimson dress clung to your every curve, the fabric soft against your skin. You couldn't help but smile as you remembered the day Alfie had given it to you. It was a symbol of his affection, a tangible reminder of the connection that had grown between you. x

"What kind of game?" You inquired, your curiosity piqued, though a hint of apprehension crept into your voice.

"Have you ever play tag?" Alfie asked, his gaze intent, locking onto yours.

You nodded slowly, recalling the childhood game and wondering where this was leading.

"Something like that... a little game where you run and hide, and I come hunt you," Alfie explained, his eyes taking on a more ominous hue, like a predator assessing its prey.

"Hunt?" You questioned, your surprise and growing unease evident in your voice.

"Yeah," Alfie replied, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "You've gotta try not to get caught." 

The dark undertone in his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of danger.

"Well, how do I win, then? I can't just keep running forever," you chuckled nervously, attempting to ease the tension that had settled between you.

Alfie's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. "You've gotta make sure I don't catch you within an hour. If you manage that, you win."

A playful grin tugged at your lips as you teased, "And what's my prize if I win?"

Alfie's gaze deepened as he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a husky murmur, "Anything you want, Dove."

Your heart raced at his enticing offer, and you couldn't resist pushing further, "And if you manage to catch me?"

Alfie's smirk grew more seductive, and he whispered with an alluring charm, "Then, my dear, I get to have my way with you until the hour's up."

A shiver ran up your spine at his suggestive words. You couldn't deny the allure of his proposal, tinged with danger and excitement. Despite the unease that still lingered in the back of your mind, you found yourself drawn to the challenge, to the thrill of the chase.

Alfie stepped back, giving you a bit of space as he added, "But don't worry, love, I'll give you a head start. You'll have five minutes to run and hide before I come after you."

Your heart raced with a mix of anticipation and trepidation as you nodded in agreement. The game had been set, and you were determined to give him a run for his money.

"Where are we playing this?" you asked, your eagerness apparent in your voice.

"In the woods," Alfie replied with a sly grin.

The woods. His territory. Your stomach flipped, knowing that the game was about to unfold in a place where Alfie held the advantage. Still, the thrill of the chase and the chance to outsmart him drove you forward. 

You remained at Alfie's house, perched on the edge of anticipation and curiosity. The prospect of the upcoming game had your heart racing. As you glanced around the cosy interior, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The woods loomed just beyond the walls, a constant reminder of where the game would take place.

Alfie stood up, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His earlier proposition, filled with suggestive promise, hung in the air between you like an unspoken challenge. You had accepted, partly driven by a desire to win but also intrigued by the enigmatic man before you.

With a subtle nod, Alfie led you toward the door that opened up to the thick woods surrounding his house. As you stepped outside, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The air felt cooler, and the sounds of nature enveloped you. The forest seemed to come alive with rustling leaves and distant chirping birds.

Alfie leaned casually against the door frame, the confident tilt of his head making him seem all the more enigmatic. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a gleaming pocket watch. With a slow, deliberate movement, he handed it over to you. The polished surface of the watch reflected the muted light filtering through the trees, and you couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship before flipping it open.

The intricate watch face displayed the time: 3:58. Your heart quickened as you observed the minutes ticking away. Alfie's voice brought you back to the present, his words dripping with both anticipation and amusement.

"When that clock hits 4, my little Dove," he whispered, his voice a seductive murmur, "you have an hour to run."

With those final words, Alfie pushed away from the door frame, his eyes locked onto yours. The gravity of the challenge settled over you like a cloak, and you knew that the next hour would be a test of both your wits and your ability to evade the captivating and elusive man who had lured you into this game.

Alfie closed the door behind him, leaving you alone to contemplate the impending challenge. The quietude of the room seemed to amplify the ticking of the pocket watch in your hand. Each second that passed felt like an eternity, and you could feel the weight of the forthcoming game pressing down on you.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself for what lay ahead. The allure of the hunt, the thrill of the chase, and the enigmatic Alfie waiting beyond the door all combined to create a heady mixture of excitement and trepidation. As the watch's second hand inched ever closer to the hour mark, your heart raced, and you prepared to embark on a game that would test the boundaries of your fear and desire.

Looking down at your bare feet, you briefly contemplated the idea of grabbing your shoes, only to remember that you had worn your nice ones. The elegant footwear might be fitting for a stroll in the garden but would be wholly unsuitable for the game you were about to play. You decided that going barefoot would be the better option, even if it meant navigating the forest's uneven terrain without the protection of shoes.

3:59.

Looking down at your wine-red dress, you couldn't help but curse yourself for your choice of attire. It was a beautiful garment, but utterly impractical for blending into the woods. You'd stick out like a sore thumb, and that realisation left you with no other option – running was your best bet. A tingling sensation of anticipation coursed through your body as the seconds ticked away, each moment edging closer to the start of the game.

30 seconds. 

As you stood there, the seconds on the pocket watch ticking away, your heart raced in anticipation. The last few seconds felt like an eternity. Every passing moment heightened your sense of excitement and trepidation. You could hear the faint rustling of leaves outside, a soft breeze whispering through the trees, as if nature itself were conspiring with Alfie in this exhilarating game.

With each tick of the watch, your breathing quickened, and your thoughts raced. The reality of what was about to happen washed over you. You were about to embark on a thrilling chase through the woods, pursued by the enigmatic and seductive Alfie. It was a dangerous game, but the exhilaration was undeniable.

At last, the final moments arrived. The watch's minute hand reached 12, marking the hour, and the second hand swept past 60. With a deep breath and a racing heart, you pushed yourself off the door and stepped out into the woods, ready to begin this electrifying game of cat and mouse with Alfie.

The forest seemed to close in around you as you sprinted without hesitation. Your footsteps were swift and purposeful, and although fear coursed through your veins, you couldn't deny the exhilaration that came with the adrenaline pumping through your body. Each stride you took was filled with determination, propelling you deeper into the woods.

The tangled underbrush and uneven terrain made each step a challenge, but you pushed forward, your instincts guiding you to choose the best path. The sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet echoed in the quiet forest, and your breaths came in rapid bursts, mingling with the crisp air.

Every now and then, you cast a fleeting glance over your shoulder, half expecting to see Alfie already hot on your heels. The thought of him chasing you through the woods added an extra layer of excitement to your sprint, and it was as if you were living out a thrilling fantasy.

The minutes ticked by, but you kept running, pushing your limits, determined not to be caught before the hour was up. 

As you navigated the hilly terrain, the constant ups and downs made it impossible to catch a glimpse of the house. It had disappeared from your view entirely, hidden behind the thick foliage and undulating landscape. The forest around you was a labyrinth of trees and shadows, and you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of isolation.

With each step you took, the distance between you and Alfie increased, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were truly alone in this vast, mysterious forest. The sense of freedom and exhilaration mingled with a creeping unease, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were the hunter or the hunted in this dangerous game.

Your breaths came out in heavy puffs as you gradually slowed down to a brisk walk, stealing a glance at the pocket watch clutched tightly in your hand.

4:03.

A rush of excitement coursed through your veins. In just two minutes, Alfie would be released, ready to hunt you down. With a touch of luck, you hoped he would head in the opposite direction from where you had run, giving you a precious head start in this heart-pounding game of survival. 

As you continued your brisk walk, the forest around you seemed to close in, the tangled trees forming a canopy that obscured the sky. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs made your heart race, imagining Alfie lurking behind every shadowy tree. The woods were dense, filled with hidden paths, and you hoped to lose him in the labyrinthine tangle of nature.

4:05. 

Glancing at the time on the pocket watch, you felt your heart leap into your throat. You finally stopped and crouched behind a large, gnarled oak tree, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Silence surrounded you, broken only by the sounds of your own rapid breathing. Your eyes darted to the pocket watch. Two minutes had passed, and Alfie was now unleashed.

Your ears strained for any sign of movement, any clue to Alfie's whereabouts. The anticipation was excruciating as you braced yourself for the chase that was about to begin. Time was your ally and your enemy, and you knew that the stakes were high in this game of hide and seek.

The tension in the air was palpable as you crouched behind the tree, your breaths coming in shallow, hushed gasps. Hiding had not been your initial strategy, but the weight of the game had settled on your shoulders, and you couldn't help but feel as though every tree, every rustling leaf, had eyes fixed upon you.

A sense of urgency compelled you to move, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and Alfie, but your limbs felt strangely uncooperative. Fear and excitement intermingled within you, creating a heady cocktail of emotions that made your body feel both heavy and electrified. You knew that the next hour would test not only your physical endurance but also your mental fortitude as you tried to outwit the enigmatic man who pursued you through the labyrinthine forest.

As you finally picked yourself up from the forest floor, a sense of cautious relief washed over you. The tree that had concealed you moments ago now lay behind, and a sweeping glance of your surroundings revealed no immediate sign of Alfie. You let out an unsteady breath, the cool air filling your lungs as you ventured deeper into the forest.

Each step you took was measured, your senses heightened to every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs. The woods, a place of serenity just moments before, now harboured an atmosphere of tension. With each cautious step, you crept further into the heart of the forest, your eyes scanning for any hint of movement or sound that might betray Alfie's presence. The thrill of the game coursed through your veins, mingling with your sense of unease. The forest had transformed into an enigmatic labyrinth, and you were determined to navigate its challenges, no matter what lay ahead.

4:16.

Your cautious exploration of the forest continued, each footfall echoing with your apprehension. The minutes stretched on, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Alfie could appear at any moment. Despite your determination to stay alert, your legs began to grow weary, their protest a reminder of the physical toll your fear was taking on you. 

You couldn't help but wonder why your stamina seemed to be dwindling faster than you expected. Perhaps it was the relentless anxiety that had been building since the start of this game, or the constant adrenaline coursing through your veins. Regardless, you couldn't afford to let exhaustion overtake you now. With a deep breath, you steeled yourself to push forward, determined to outlast Alfie and claim victory in this twisted game of cat and mouse.

Your gaze swept upward to the towering trees that surrounded you. The thought crossed your mind: would climbing a tree be considered cheating? It was a tempting idea, a way to gain an advantage in this high-stakes game of pursuit and evasion. But the rules of this perilous game were unclear, and you had no guarantee that Alfie wouldn't do the same. The woods were his domain, and you were merely a player in his twisted game.

As you stood at the base of the towering tree, your gaze wandered up its formidable trunk, tracing the intricate network of roots that snaked across the forest floor like nature's own artwork. The bark, rough and textured beneath your fingertips, provided an unexpected comfort as you began your climb. The tree's ancient branches, strong and gnarled, offered a labyrinthine path upwards, guiding you like an old friend leading you through a secret world.

The initial ascent was a thrilling challenge, the sensation of your hands gripping bark and your feet finding purchase on the uneven surface exhilarating. Your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as you ascended further into the forest canopy. Each foothold and handhold seemed to have been crafted by nature herself, and your nimble movements belied your initial hesitation.

Eventually, you reached a stable branch that cradled you like a natural throne. A dense canopy of leaves arched above, forming a verdant umbrella that concealed you from prying eyes below. It was here, perched amid the rustling leaves and filtered sunlight, that you felt a surge of triumphant relief. The forest stretched out beneath you like an unexplored realm, and for now, you were its hidden observer. A sense of victory washed over you as you caught your breath, but the game's suspense still lingered, a subtle undercurrent to your newfound sanctuary.

As you perched in your leafy hideout, the vibrant emerald foliage surrounded you, creating a natural fortress. The tree's rough bark pressed against your skin, grounding you in this newfound sanctuary. The forest below sprawled out like an endless tapestry of greens and browns, with sunlight filtering through the dense canopy, dappling the ground in shifting patterns of light and shadow.

From your lofty position, you could see the intricate dance of leaves, swaying gently in the breeze, and hear the distant murmurs of the forest's inhabitants. The woods seemed like a world of its own, a secret realm where you had temporarily taken refuge.

4:32.

Minutes passed like a languid river, each second stretching out into an eternity. The mischievous giggle that had escaped your lips earlier now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the solemn realisation that this game was far more intense than you had initially imagined. Despite the temporary respite, the thrill of the chase continued to course through your veins, and the sense of impending discovery hung heavy in the air.

You remained perched among the leaves, your breaths coming slow and measured, every rustle and creak of the forest making you jump with anticipation. The minutes dragged on, and doubt began to creep into your mind. What if I can’t get down? What if Aflie has already given up looking? Despite the uncertainty, you couldn't bring yourself to climb down just yet. The adrenaline, the fear, and the excitement had woven themselves into a complex tapestry that you couldn't easily unravel.

A bored sigh escaped your lips as you leaned your head against the tree. You couldn't help but admit that your own choices had contributed to your growing boredom. Instead of actively exploring the forest and keeping up the pace, you had opted for a more passive strategy, perched up a tree like a lazy observer. 

Frustration welled up inside you as you berated yourself for not being more proactive. This game was your chance to outsmart Alfie, to prove that you could evade his pursuit, and yet here you were, feeling like you were squandering your advantage. With a renewed sense of determination, you pushed away from the tree, resolved to rejoin the hunt and claim the upper hand once more.

Your fleeting moment of bravery quickly gave way to uncertainty as you looked down from your treetop refuge. Questions flooded your mind: What if Alfie walks past while I’m climbing down? You couldn't help but curse your own hesitation and perceived cowardice.

Glancing at the nearby trees, you began to wonder about the possibilities. How close was that tree over there? The idea of moving from tree to tree might seem foolish, but in your anxious state, it also felt like a potential advantage. The forest's canopy appeared interconnected, offering the chance for you to remain hidden while on the move. With a mix of apprehension and determination, you decided to cautiously explore this daring idea, hoping it would pay off and give you an edge in the game.

Balancing on the sturdy branch, you gripped another limb for stability. With careful steps, you inched your way along the branch, approaching the intertwining branches of nearby trees.

As you moved, the leaves rustled softly beneath your feet, and a slight breeze tousled your hair. The forest around you seemed to come alive with the sounds of birds singing and leaves whispering secrets to one another. The sensation of being suspended among the trees filled you with a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation. 

Reaching the second tree, you let out a sigh of relief, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. The pocket watch Alfie had entrusted you with felt like a comforting weight in your hand. You flipped it open to check the time, the delicate ticking of its mechanism filling your ears as you saw the numbers.

4:37.

As you checked the pocket watch again, you noted with a sense of relief that not much time had passed since your last glance. The tiny, delicate hands of the watch revealed that there were only 23 more minutes left. A surge of determination coursed through you as you continued to strategize your next moves, determined to stay one step ahead of Alfie.

Your momentary celebration was cut short by a distant sound, faint yet unmistakable – footsteps. Panic surged through you, causing your breath to hitch. Clutching the tree trunk tightly, you tilted your head to the side to peer past it. There, in the dim distance, a moving silhouette came into focus – it was Alfie.

Fear coursing through your veins, you wasted no time. Quickly, you darted behind the tree for cover, your heart pounding in your chest as you hoped against hope that Alfie hadn't spotted you.

Panic surged through your mind, your thoughts racing at a frantic pace. Desperately, you clung to the tree, hugging its rough bark as if it were your only lifeline. Your silent prayer was for the leaves to be your saviours, concealing you from Alfie's searching gaze. You cursed your choice of attire, realising that your dress was making this whole ordeal much more challenging.

The deliberate and predatory sound of Alfie's footsteps grew louder with each passing moment, sending shivers of fear coursing through your body. His approaching presence felt suffocating, and the thought of him drawing closer to the very tree you were hiding in couldn't be worse luck. Your heart raced, and you pressed yourself tighter against the tree, desperately hoping that the leaves and branches would continue to shield you from his view.

With trembling hands, you quickly tucked the flowing fabric of your dress between your legs, holding it in place to prevent it from billowing out and giving away your position. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant sound of his footsteps filled the air as Alfie drew nearer, and you knew that remaining still and hidden was your only chance of evading his pursuit.

As you moved stealthily around the tree, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His predatory aura seemed to grow stronger, sending a shiver down your spine. Every step he took was calculated and deliberate, and the intensity of his presence felt suffocating. You pressed yourself tightly against the rough bark, your breath shallow and your heart pounding in your chest.

The seconds felt like hours as you watched him, hoping against hope that he would move on. The fear inside you churned, and you prayed that your hiding spot among the leaves and branches would keep you concealed. The tension in the air was palpable, and the forest seemed to hold its breath, as if aware that something pivotal was about to happen.

Your breath caught in your throat, and with legs trembling like leaves in the wind, you cautiously and silently shuffled around the thick trunk to the opposite side, all the while keeping your fearful gaze locked on him.

Your eyes remained fixated on Alfie, watching his every move with rapt attention. His actions became more intriguing by the moment. He seemed lost in deep contemplation, slowly turning in place as if searching for something. A sense of unease washed over you as you noticed his deep, deliberate breaths, drawn in through his nose. It was as though he were sniffing the air, his senses acutely attuned to the surroundings.

Dread crept over you like a shadow, and you dared not make a sound. What was he searching for? Has he caught a trace of your presence? The forest seemed to hold its breath along with you, and the suspense was almost unbearable. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you waited in fearful anticipation of his next move.

Your rational mind tried to reassure you that it was impossible for him to detect your scent from your elevated perch. Even with a hint of perfume, you were far too high above the ground, and the brisk wind that rustled the leaves masked any fragrance that might have given you away. But despite your logical reasoning, a gnawing sense of uncertainty persisted, like a seed of doubt taking root in your mind. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was a stark reminder that, in this thrilling and perilous game, anything could happen.

His frustration was palpable, etching lines of irritation onto his face. A low growl rumbled from his throat, a guttural sound that carried through the forest. The sight and sound of his growing exasperation sent a shiver down your spine, intensifying the heart-pounding fear that coursed through your veins. In that moment, you realised just how determined he was to catch you, and the danger of this deadly game became all too real.

With a simmering anger that seemed to radiate from his very being, you could see Alfie stomp off into the distance, his movements filled with frustration and pent-up aggression. It felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from your shoulders as he moved farther away, leaving you with a sense of profound relief. You silently thanked the heavens for his failure to look up, realising that you had narrowly escaped his clutches for the time being.

4:41.

After a considerable pause, you carefully decided that the best course of action was to climb down from the tree and run off in the opposite direction Alife had just gone. The rough bark scraped against your hands as you carefully manoeuvred down, your muscles tense with the anticipation of every creak and rustle of leaves underfoot. The forest seemed to hold its breath as you lowered yourself to the ground, your mind racing with thoughts of how to outwit the relentless predator who was still in the vicinity. The earth felt cool beneath your bare feet as you finally touched down, and you took a moment to survey your surroundings, keenly aware that every second counted.

4:46

As your feet touched the ground, you couldn't help but release a sigh of relief, feeling the solidity of the earth beneath your bare soles. Your steps became increasingly careless, almost triumphant, as you ventured away from the tree. In that moment, you tasted the sweet flavour of victory, knowing there were less than 15 minutes remaining before the game concluded. The thought that Alfie was likely wandering somewhere deep within the forest heightened your sense of triumph, and you walked with newfound confidence.

Oh, but how wrong you were.

"Was my little Dove hiding in the trees?" he taunted, his gaze filled with a predatory gleam that made your stomach churn with dread.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of Alfie's voice, the very voice that had once been a source of comfort and charm, now laced with a sinister edge. His sudden appearance sent a shiver down your spine as you turned to face him, your momentary triumph fading into the chilling realisation that he had found you.

Your head whipped around, and there, standing behind a tree not far from you, was Alfie. He had never left; he had been lurking in the shadows the entire time. A cocky smile played on his lips as he watched your startled reaction, revelling in the thrill of the hunt.

With a quick turn, you bolted in the opposite direction, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your veins. It was just a game, but the thrill of being chased was undeniably exhilarating. Alfie was undoubtedly a big man and didn't hesitate to use it to his advantage. His hearty laugh echoed through the woods as he gave chase, his powerful strides closing the gap between you. The forest around you blurred as you ran, the world reduced to the sound of your rapid breaths and the pounding of your heart. 

The pounding of your heart seemed to reverberate in your ears as you sprinted through the dense woods, knowing that Alfie was hot on your tail. The fear that coursed through you was almost paralysing, and you dared not look back to see how close he was. The branches and underbrush seemed to claw at your clothes and skin as you pushed yourself to run faster, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The thrill of the chase mixed with the dread of being caught, creating a maelstrom of emotions that left you both terrified and exhilarated.

In an instant, Alfie's strong and relentless grip closed around you, and you let out a piercing scream as he tackled you to the ground. The impact was sudden and jarring, and the forest floor pressed against your back, stealing the breath from your lungs. The fear that had been simmering just below the surface now erupted in a torrent of panic, and you struggled against his hold, desperately trying to break free.

"Now, Dove... I won. That means..." Alfie paused, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the pocket watch once more. He flipped it open and peered at the time. "I have 12 minutes to have my fun with you." His voice held a sinister edge, and a cold chill settled in the pit of your stomach as you realised the consequences of losing the game.

Your body ignited with a mixture of emotions as Alfie's words sank in. Without hesitation, he closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, pulling you into a fiery embrace that left you breathless and overwhelmed. As Alfie continued to kiss you passionately, his hands roamed over your body. Your initial fear and resistance began to wane, giving way to a heady mix of desire and surrender.

His lips left yours to trail a path of heated kisses along your jawline and down your neck, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You couldn't help but gasp in response to his skilled touch.

Alfie's voice, rough and seductive, whispered into your ear, "You belong to me, little Dove. Always have..”

Alfies predatory presence gave you an overwhelming sensation of fear and desire. Your heart raced, and your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as Alfie continued his passionate assault.

His hands, firm yet gentle, explored every curve of your body, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation in their wake. It was as though he knew every secret, every hidden desire, and he was determined to awaken them all.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and you surrendered to the intoxication of the moment. As Alfie's lips sought yours once more, your world narrowed down to the sensations he elicited, and the minutes slipped away, taking you deeper into the enticing darkness of his touch.

Alfie felt the urgency mounting as he realised that time was slipping away, and there was so much he wanted to do in this brief window. The minutes were ticking by, each one more precious than the last.

Alfie yanked up your dress, dragging the fabric past your hips, exposing your cotton underwear and bare thighs to his piercing gaze. A mix of excitement and anticipation coursed through you as you surrendered to Alfie's desires, knowing that he had only a few precious minutes left to claim you in every way he desired.

Your breath hitched as Alfie's hands roved over your exposed skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Every touch, every brush of his lips against your neck, sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. With each passing second, the urgency between the two of you escalated, driving you both to the edge of ecstasy.

You sensed the battle within Alfie, as he struggled to contain his primal desires. The intensity in his gaze grew more fervent, and you could see his self-control slowly slipping away like sand through his fingers. 

“Come on, Alfie..10 minutes.” You spoke with a whispered tease, you encouraged him to give in to his deepest cravings, to let go of restraint and unleash the passion that had been building between you.

At that moment, Alfie's restaurant shattered like fragile glass. His movements became more urgent, his grasp on your body tighter. The air crackled with anticipation as he surrendered to the raw hunger that consumed him. With a primal growl, he claimed you completely, losing himself in the intoxicating dance of pleasure and desire.

Alfie's kisses became frantic, his lips hungrily exploring every inch of your exposed skin. His hands roamed feverishly, gripping your body possessively as if he couldn't get enough. Each touch, each kiss was sloppy yet intoxicating, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. In his fervour, Alfie lost himself in the depths of raw desire, consumed by the need to indulge in the forbidden pleasure that consumed the both of you.

Senses heightened, time seemed to freeze as Alfie pressed his throbbing length against your clothed entrance. The friction ignited a blaze of desire, fueling the intensity of the moment. Your bodies moved in sync, locked in a passionate rhythm that defied all reason. The world around you faded as you surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure, consumed by the electric connection that pulsed between you.

Lost in a haze of unfathomable pleasure, the world around you blurred into obscurity. You let your head fall back on the damp leaves, busking in the pleasure Alfie was bringing you. All that mattered was the maddening sensation of Alfie's lips on your neck, sending tendrils of electric bliss coursing through your veins. As his hips moved with a desperate urgency, each motion amplified the intensity of pleasure, forging an unbreakable connection that fueled the ecstasy between you.

“My pretty little Dove likes when I play with her on the filthy ground, yeah?."

Eyes filled with an adoring passion, Alfie whispered praises against your skin, each word a testament to the power of your connection. In between gasps and moans, he exalted your beauty, your alluring presence that had mesmerised him from the very beginning. His fervent admiration fueled the fire within, intensifying the pleasure that engulfed you both, as you became lost in a world where only the two of you existed.

As the heat of desire consumed you, your legs instinctively wrapped around Alfie's hips, locking you in an intimate embrace. With each movement, clothed areas rubbed against each other, igniting waves of pleasure that surged through your bodies. The friction intensified, amplifying the sensations that coursed through every fibre of your being. In this euphoric dance, you and Alfie surrendered to the primal urges, losing yourselves in a symphony of pleasure and desire.

“You’re mine, pretty..you’re mine and I’m never gonna let you go.” he gently bit your earlobe.

Surging with an overwhelming hunger, Alfie's lips trailed down from your ear, leaving a blazing path of fiery kisses. His teeth grazed your delicate skin, marking you with his possessive desire. The sensation of his lips and tongue against your neck ignited a wildfire within, consuming your senses and leaving you yearning for more of his intoxicating touch.

As Alfie rutted into your sensitive core with a primal intensity, the ache of desire built to an unbearable peak. Every thrust brought you closer to the edge, the intensity mounting with each passing moment. Your body tensed, on the precipice of release, as a symphony of pleasure reverberated through every inch of your being, ready to explode in a crescendo of ecstasy.

“A-Alfie, Alfie! I’m so fucking close,” your voice trembled with need.

The blissful torment of ecstasy radiated through your veins, intensifying with each passing second. Uncontrollable moans escaped your parted lips, mingling with the rhythm of your bodies, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you.

4:58.

Unable to resist the intoxicating sound of your voice, Alfie quickened his pace, his movements becoming more fervent as he relentlessly chased your climax. The air crackled with a palpable energy as your bodies moved in sync, a symphony of desire and pleasure.

“Come on, sweetie.” Alfie encouraged you. “You can do it. Let go.”

With a voice dripping in encouragement, Alfie's words propelled you further towards the edge of euphoria. Every syllable he uttered was laced with a magnetic force that urged you to surrender to the waves of pleasure crashing through your body. The weight of his words pushed you past your limits, releasing all inhibitions as you succumbed to the overwhelming ecstasy building within.

In a breathless moment of pure ecstasy, you shattered, your whole being consumed by an overwhelming release that left you gasping for air and utterly spent, lost in the blissful aftershocks of pleasure.

As the echoes of your climax still reverberated through your body, Alfie's relentless grinding fueled the flames of desire within you. His determination to reach his own release only intensified the raw passion between you, the friction electrifying the air. With each grinding motion, you felt the tension building, his pursuit of pleasure mirroring your own, until finally, with a guttural moan, he found his release, the intensity of his orgasm echoing the powerful connection you shared.

As the echoes of pleasure subsided, you were left throbbing with heightened sensitivity, your body pulsating with every heartbeat. Waves of pleasure coursed through your clit as it throbbed, yearning for more stimulation, while your empty hole ached, a reminder of the intense pleasure that had consumed you. The lingering sensation kept you suspended in a state of euphoria, aching for the next touch, the next moment of bliss.

Breathless and consumed by the aftermath of your passionate encounter, Alfie showered gentle kisses on your shoulders, his lips a tender caress against your heated skin. The soft touch of his affectionate gestures contrasted beautifully with the fiery intensity that had consumed you moments ago. Then, with a loving gaze, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that spoke of his adoration and desire, imprinting the moment in your memory as a testament to the deep connection you shared.

"That was certainly...different," you replied with a chuckle, still trying to catch your breath.

Alfie rose from the ground and extended a hand to help you up. He gently brushed down your skirt, getting rid of any dirt and leaves that clung to it. 

"A fucking good game, that's what I'd call it," Alfie quipped with a smirk, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Are you feeling alright?" Alfie inquired with a hint of concern. You nodded and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he led you back towards his house. The journey back was a comfortable one, filled with the shared excitement of the day's adventure and the unspoken connection that seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

⛓🥀⛓ "Fuck, I'm knackered," you exclaimed, collapsing onto Alfie's bed.

He chuckled, joining you and settling down beside you.

Alfie looked at you, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, it's been quite a day, hasn't it, little Dove?"

You couldn't help but smile in response, the events of the day still fresh in your mind. "It certainly has, Alfie."

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "You know, I can't help but think we make a good fucking couple, you and I."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you found yourself drawn to him, the magnetic pull between you undeniable. "Yes, Alfie, we do."

Alfie leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. His touch sends shivers down your spine, and you find yourself yearning for more, but practicality still holds sway.

"Just sleep, okay.”

"I can't, Alfie," you whispered, your breath slightly uneven. "My mama will be waiting for me at home."

His brows furrowed at the mention of your mother, but you chose to disregard it for the moment. "Then I'll wake you in 30 minutes," he replied softly, his fingers tracing light patterns on your cheek.

You let out a small sigh, giving in to his persistence. "Alright," you said, a playful glint in your eye. "But you better make sure to wake me up."

Alfie's lips curved into a satisfied smile as you relented, and he leaned in closer, brushing a soft kiss across your forehead. "Don't you worry, Dove," he murmured. "I'll make sure you get up on time." With that, he settled beside you, and you felt a sense of warmth and security enveloping you as you drifted off to sleep in his arms.

⛓🥀⛓ You were standing alone in a dense, eerily silent forest. The towering trees loomed overhead, their branches entwined like skeletal fingers reaching out to you. The moon cast an eerie pallor on the surroundings, rendering everything in shades of grey. A cold, misty fog slithered between the trees, obscuring your vision.

As you began to walk cautiously through the forest, a feeling of foreboding settled in your chest. The ground beneath your feet felt soft and unstable, as if it could give way at any moment. You tried to call out, but your voice was muffled by the oppressive silence.

In the distance, you could hear faint, chilling whispers that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. These whispers carried fragments of your own fears and anxieties, like a twisted chorus of your inner demons.

As you pressed on, you noticed a figure in the distance. It was obscured by the fog, but you could sense its presence, an unsettling aura that seemed to draw you closer against your will. With every step, the whispers grew louder, the forest darker, and the figure more menacing.

Finally, you reached the figure, and as the mist began to dissipate, you saw its face—distorted, shifting, and finally revealing itself as a grotesque amalgamation of all the fears and uncertainties that had been plaguing you.

⛓🥀⛓ As you stirred from your restless sleep at Alfie's house, the first glimmers of dawn painted the room in a soft, pale light. Panic gripped your heart as you realised you had slept through the night, far longer than you had ever intended. Your mother, you thought with growing anxiety, must have been frantic with worry for your safety. Guilt weighed heavy on your chest as you imagined the hours she had spent, imagining the worst. 

The room was silent, devoid of any clues about Alfie's whereabouts. You called out his name, your voice quivering with a mix of anxiety and confusion, but received no response. With every passing moment, the sense of unease deepened, leaving you with an eerie feeling that something had changed in the blink of an eye. Still, the pressing need to reassure your worried mother eclipsed any other concerns. Gathering your belongings hastily, you made your way to the door, your heart pounding as you prepared to confront whatever awaited you at home, unaware of the chilling truth that would soon shatter your world.

As you descended the creaking wooden staircase, your voice echoed through the once-familiar hallways, but there was no response, not even the faintest rustle to indicate Alfie's presence. The eerie silence seemed to have seeped into every corner of your home, casting an unsettling feeling over the place. You couldn't help but worry about your mother's reaction to your unexpected absence, especially given her concern for your safety.

"Alfie?" you called again, a touch of desperation creeping into your voice. The idea of venturing into the forest alone at night was daunting, and the thought gnawed at the edges of your resolve, making you hesitate at the threshold of the open door. The inky darkness outside seemed more menacing than ever, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

The heavy, ominous sounds from outside froze you in your tracks, anxiety clawing at your chest. Your initial fear that it might be a wild dog or some other menacing presence lingered like a shadow, preventing you from daring to venture out into the unknown. However, when the shrill, piercing scream of a little boy pierced the air, your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach, and panic gripped you like a vice. Your thoughts raced, torn between fear and a growing sense of responsibility, leaving you paralyzed with uncertainty, not knowing how to react to the distressing cries echoing through the night.

The scream pierced through the night, chilling you to the bone. It was unmistakably the cry of a child, filled with terror and desperation. Panic gripped your heart as you tried to make sense of the horrifying sound. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, torn between your fear of the unknown outside and the instinctual urge to help someone in distress.

You hesitated for only a moment before a surge of courage propelled you forward. Carefully, you inched closer to the window, peering outside into the inky blackness. Moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy of trees, casting eerie shadows that danced like spectres in the night. The forest appeared more ominous than ever, but the cries of the child pushed you to take action.

With trembling hands, you grabbed a lantern from a nearby table, lighting it with a match. The soft glow illuminated your determined face as you steeled yourself for what lay ahead. 

The heart-wrenching screams outside were impossible to ignore, tugging at your very soul. Yet, along with your concern for the helpless child, a profound sense of foreboding gripped you. The chilling possibility loomed that this horrifying ordeal might be linked to the elusive and dreaded figure the townsfolk whispered about—the so-called "boogeyman." Balancing the fear for your own safety with the moral obligation to help, you felt trapped in a nightmarish dilemma, caught between the unknown and the undeniable cries for help echoing through the forest.

Grabbing the shotgun at the front door and tightly gripping it in your trembling hands, you burst out of the house and sprinted towards the source of the child's screams. The horrifying sounds continued to reverberate in your ears until, abruptly, they ceased, plunging the night into an eerie silence. Tears brimmed your eyes. Your heart raced, and you slowed your pace, straining your senses to pick up any telltale signs. What met your ears was the gruesome, gut-wrenching sound of crunching, a sound that could only be attributed to something unspeakably dreadful happening to the poor boy. Fear and determination mingled within you as you pressed forward, ready to confront the unimaginable.

With the lantern casting flickering shadows around you, you clutched the shotgun with both hands, your fingers trembling uncontrollably. Each step you took towards the back of the house felt like an eternity, your heart pounding louder with every passing second. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, and you hesitated, torn between the compulsion to face the unknown and the instinct to flee. But you couldn't turn away; you had to know. Taking a deep breath, you inched around the corner, your body tense and ready to react.

The sight that greeted you was nothing short of nightmarish. In the dim glow of the lantern, you saw a large, grotesque creature, its form so twisted and inhuman that words failed to describe it adequately. Yet, one detail stood out starkly— it was feeding. Your blood ran cold as you witnessed the horror unfolding before you, the creature indulging in an unspeakable act that sent chills down your spine. Your grip on the shotgun tightened, your trembling hands steadying as you faced the unimaginable.

As you stood there, frozen in disbelief and fear, the impossible happened before your eyes. The grotesque creature you had confronted began to contort and shift, its body creaking and cracking as it transformed. Slowly, it shrank and twisted until it took on a more recognizable human form. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched in awe and terror, unable to comprehend the unnatural metamorphosis.

But as the figure became clearer in the dim light of the lantern around the side of the house, your breath caught in your throat. It was a person—a man. A shiver ran down your spine as you recognized the face, the eyes, and the unmistakable presence. His eyes, once warm and familiar, now bore an unsettling emptiness that sent a chill down your spine. Alfie's dishevelled appearance was a stark contrast to the man you had grown close to, and the realisation that he had been living a double life filled you with a mixture of dread and betrayal. The terror of the forest, the creature inhumanity, it had all been an act, a facade expertly maintained to conceal his true identity.

The gruesome sight before you, the blood-smeared face of Alfie, and the remnants of the innocent child left you frozen in shock. You couldn't fathom the horrors that had unfolded right in front of you, and the weight of the situation bore down on your shoulders.

"Alfie, what have you done?" Your voice quivered as you finally found the courage to speak, a mixture of fear, confusion, and anger coursing through your veins.

Alfie's expression shifted from one of cold indifference to a genuine surprise as he locked eyes with you. His blood-stained lips parted slightly, as if he was struggling to find words. For the first time since you'd met him, you had managed to catch him off guard, and the realisation that you had seen him in this monstrous form left him visibly shaken.

You could feel the tension in the air, your heart pounding as you stood there, gun trembling in your hands. Everything you thought you knew about Alfie had been shattered in an instant, and you were left with a chilling sense of dread and uncertainty.

"Dove?" Alfie's voice wavered, and he raised his hands in a mock display of innocence.

As you watched him take slow, deliberate steps towards you, fear surged through your veins. Without thinking, you turned on your heels and began to sprint. The shotgun slipped from your grasp as you bolted through the dense forest, your heart pounding with terror.

"Now, hang on just a second, Y/n," Alfie's voice quivered with desperation, each word laden with urgency, as he reached out toward your retreating form.

"Get away from me!" 

Your scream pierced through the forest, a shrill note of sheer terror that echoed among the trees. Your heart raced uncontrollably, hammering against your chest like a caged bird desperately seeking freedom. You struggled to escape Alfie's grasp, your movements fueled by a primal fear that threatened to consume you.

Blood continued to drip from Alfie's mouth, staining his lips a gruesome, unsettling crimson. His face contorted with anguish and despair, and he held his trembling hand up in a feeble attempt to appear innocent. But it was a futile gesture; you had seen the monstrous truth of what he had become.

As you darted further into the dense forest, your breath came in ragged gasps, and your surroundings seemed to blur into a frenzied collage of trees and shadows. Alfie's anguished calls reverberated through the woods, each word dripping with desperation and pleading. However, the image of his dark transformation had been etched indelibly into your mind, a horrifying revelation that she couldn't easily erase or forgive. You knew that the monstrous secret you had witnessed would forever haunt you.

Your heart raced as you stumbled through the thick underbrush of the forest, your breaths ragged and your mind a chaotic whirlwind of fear and confusion. Your eyes darted frantically from one shadowy tree to the next, searching for any sign of safety or escape.

"Y/n, you're not understanding," Alfie's voice echoed through the trees, but this time, there was a sinister edge to it, a veiled threat that sent shivers down your spine.

You refused to stop, refused to listen. Your legs carried her deeper into the forest, away from the looming figure that haunted your nightmares.

But just as you thought you might escape, a sudden burst of movement from behind made you stumble forward. Strong arms encircled your waist, and you were yanked back against a solid, unyielding chest.

Alfie's grip was like iron, his fingers digging into your skin. His voice, once soothing and charming, now dripped with malevolence as he whispered into your ear, "You can't run from me, little Dove. You belong to me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you struggled against his grasp, your terror giving you newfound strength. "Let me go!" you cried out, your voice quivering but resolute.

Alfie's laughter was a chilling sound that echoed through the forest. "You think you can escape the Boogeyman? You think you can escape me?"

Desperation fueled your fight as you continued to struggle, your mind racing for a way out of this nightmare. You knew you had to find help, someone who could protect you from the monster that had once seemed so charming and inviting. But escaping the clutches of the Boogeyman was no simple task, this was the monster that haunted the entire village.

"Please, let me go," you sobbed, your voice quivering with fear and desperation.

Tears cascaded down your face, their saltiness mingling with the perspiration that had gathered on your forehead. Alfie's unrelenting hold encircled you, his formidable arms enveloping your trembling form. A chilling shiver ran down your spine as his lips pressed forcefully against your temple, leaving a nauseating reminder of the blood that now smeared your face. His touch, once tender and affectionate, had taken on an eerie possessiveness that sent unsettling tremors through your being, a stark contradiction to the gentle demeanour he had shown mere moments before.

“You ate a child!” you cried out, your voice quivering with a mixture of shock and sorrow.

The weight of your accusation hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, a tense silence engulfed the room. Alfie's eyes, once warm and inviting, now bore into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. The flickering firelight cast eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the depths of his enigmatic nature.

"I did what I had to do," Alfie finally spoke, his voice devoid of remorse, his gaze unyielding. "Survival in this world isn't fucking for the faint of heart, Y/n. You must understand that."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you grappled with the horrifying revelation. The man you had grown to care for was not just a mere stranger, but something far more sinister—a creature driven by a primal hunger and ruthless instincts. The conflict within you raged on, torn between the affection you had felt and the undeniable truth of his monstrous actions.

As the realisation settled in, a haunting question lingered in the air: How could you ever find your way back from the darkness that had ensnared you, and was there any hope for escape from the clutches of the Boogeyman?

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/n…never.” Alfie whispered in your ear. 

“B-bullshit!” you sobbed.

"Why do you think those wild fucking animals haven't laid a finger on you, eh? You reckon they're just giving you a pass? I'm the reason you're safe, Y/n, the only one who can keep you safe," Alfie hissed with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

You couldn't help but feel a chill run down your spine at Alfie's words. The warmth and safety you had associated with him moments ago now felt like an illusion, shattered by his sudden intensity. His grip on your hand tightened, and you found yourself looking at him with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"But why?" you asked, still bewildered by this revelation.

"Because they can smell me on you," Alfie explained, his voice filled with an eerie calmness. "They won't go anywhere near you." It was as if he had marked you like an animal, leaving you with a chilling sense of vulnerability and an unsettling truth about the darkness that lurked within him.

"You’re the monster in these woods..why would I ever trust you!" you cried, your voice trembling slightly. The man before you, who had been both your protector and your confidant, now seemed like an entirely different person, and you couldn't fathom the reasons behind his abrupt change in demeanour.

Alfie's eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of regret pass through his gaze. He took a step closer, his expression softening slightly, but the tension in the air remained palpable.

"Dove, you've got it all wrong," Alfie began, his voice carrying a mixture of desperation and frustration. "I may not be a fucking saint, and I've done things I'm not proud of, but I've always kept you safe. Those creatures in the woods, they'd tear you apart without a second thought. I've protected you from them, and I'd do anything to keep you safe."

"That's not the point! You kill and eat children! You're a monster!" you cried, your voice quivering with a mix of terror and anger as you attempted to pull away from him.

Your words struck Alfie deep in his heart, like a dagger of truth cutting through his carefully constructed facade. He winced as the weight of his dark deeds bore down upon him, realising how he must appear in your eyes.

"I love you... I mean, I really fucking love you!" Alfie's voice quivered with desperation as he shook you aggressively, trying to break through to you. His words were laced with a fervent intensity, but the darkness in his actions left you torn between fear and the conflicted emotions you had for the man who had once been your protector and confidant.

"You're not fucking leaving me!" Alfie's voice grew even lower and darker, a haunting edge in his tone. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your arms, conveying both his desperation and possessiveness. The intensity of his emotions overwhelmed you, making it difficult to think clearly in the midst of this tumultuous revelation.

"No, no, no!" you cried, terror coursing through you as you struggled to break free, but Alfie's grip was unyielding. You felt utterly helpless in the hands of this monster you had grown to trust.

Alfie's face remained hard and devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the man you had known. "You need to fucking shut your mouth," he snarled, his words laced with a venomous edge you had never heard before. "I can take away your protection just like that. You're coming with me, or you're gonna fucking die." The chilling threat hung heavy in the air, leaving you with an impossible choice, torn between your love for him and the horrifying reality of what he had become.

Alfie's grip remained unyielding on your arm as he forcefully pulled you back toward his home. Your desperate squirming and resistance only seemed to fuel his determination. But after a while, he seemed to grow tired of your futile attempts to break free. With a swift and unexpected motion, he hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, leaving you no choice but to dangle helplessly as he continued his march back to his home.

As Alfie carried you, slung over his shoulder like a captured prey, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. Fear, anger, and betrayal all fought for dominance in your racing mind. You had trusted this man, grown close to him, and now, he appeared to be a different person entirely.

The dread continued to consume you as Alfie approached his house, a place that had once felt like a refuge but now seemed like a prison. Your mind raced with questions, and fear gnawed at your insides. What did Alfie have planned for you? The uncertainty of your situation weighed heavily on you, making each step toward the ominous building feel like a step into the unknown.

You couldn't help but replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of how everything had unravelled so quickly. The man who had once been your protector had become your captor, and you were left with a sinking feeling that escaping his clutches would be far from easy.

Fear and despair coursed through your veins as Alfie forcefully threw you onto his bed. Desperation gripped you, and you tried to crawl away when he turned his back, but he swiftly pushed you back down. The room seemed to close in around you, and you were paralyzed by your terror, unable to muster the strength to move.

Your sobs wracked your body, making it hard to catch your breath, as Alfie moved to a corner of the room. Dread washed over you when you saw him pull out a heavy chain, and your heart raced with panic. As he approached, you couldn't control your hysteria, and your cries grew louder, echoing through the room.

"Shush!" Alfie's voice was strained as he tried to calm you, but his actions only intensified your fear.

You fought against him, attempting to kick and scream, but his strength prevailed. With a roughness that sent shockwaves of pain through you, he forcefully attached a cuff to your ankle, rendering you powerless and captive in his grasp.

With the cold, unyielding chain now securing one of your ankles, you lay on Alfie's bed, trembling and sobbing uncontrollably. Panic gnawed at your senses as you tried to make sense of this nightmarish turn of events.

Alfie, his face a mixture of frustration and determination, took a step back, seemingly assessing the situation. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of remorse deep within his gaze. It was as if the man you once knew was battling the monstrous part of him that had emerged.

He let out a long sigh, his features softening slightly. "Dove," he began, his voice far gentler than before, "I didn't want it to come to this, but you left me no choice."

Fear still gripped you, but his change in demeanour gave you a glimmer of hope. "What do you want from me?" you choked out, your voice quivering.

"I want to keep you safe, just as I always have," he replied, his tone tinged with sadness. "But you need to understand, there are things out there that would harm you."

Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but you couldn't ignore the sincerity in his words. As much as you wanted to escape, a part of you still clung to the bond you shared with Alfie, a bond that had once made you feel secure and cherished.

Alfie moved closer, his gaze searching your eyes for any sign of understanding. "Dove, please try to see that I'm doing this to protect you. If you cooperate, I promise you'll be safe."

The room seemed to close in on you as your options dwindled. Home, your sanctuary, was now nothing but a distant memory. In the depths of despair, you understood that there was no escape from Alfie's grasp. The man who had once been your confidant had become your captor, and the realisation weighed heavily on your trembling shoulders.

A sickening realisation dawned upon you as Alfie's words hung in the air like a heavy shroud. The truth was undeniable, and it chilled you to your core: you were trapped, bound not just by physical chains but by the possessive and obsessive grip Alfie had on you.

Tears continued to stream down your face, mixing with the sobs that wracked your body. You couldn't fathom how the man you had once admired and trusted had become a terrifying stranger. The thought of never seeing your home or your loved ones again gnawed at your soul.

Alfie watched you, his expression a tumultuous mix of concern and torment. His grip on the chain tightened, and you flinched at the ominous sound of metal against metal.

"Dove," he said softly, his voice laden with sorrow, "I wish it didn't have to be this way. But you're mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

In that moment, it became painfully clear that there was no escaping Alfie's possessive grasp. The forest that had once seemed full of mysteries and adventure had transformed into a prison of nightmares, and you were its unwilling captive.

As you lay there, chained and broken, the harsh reality of your fate washed over you like a suffocating wave. In the depths of the forest that had once held allure and promise, you had become a prisoner, trapped by the very man you had grown to care for. The outside world, with its warmth and freedom, felt like a distant memory, fading further with each passing moment. The forest had swallowed you whole, and in its depths, your cries for help were destined to remain unheard, forever lost to the shadows of the trees. ⛓🥀⛓ A/N: I really hoped you enjoyed this oneshot, I know I haven't posted in AGES but I've just been through a lot of stress when I last posted and ever since, I just haven't been in the mood to write anything so I'm really grateful for everyone who has supported me.

[calmcoldevening]

You had a bad day [Michael Myers x reader]

You had a bad day, a really bad day. It was cloudy outside, just like you're feeling at the moment. You had a headache after your boss's hour-long screams about how you did the job wrong; you got soaked in the cold rain; besides, your phone was dead.

Finally, you cross the threshold of your house, sighing in amazement. Dirty shoes remain at the doorstep while you slowly walk towards your room, simultaneously pulling off clothes stuck to your body. You climb onto the bed, burrowing into the blanket, and quietly sob. It was disgusting in my heart. It didn't help that you wanted comfort so damn much, but you were alone in the house. You didn't know where Michael was or how he was. He just wasn't there. He had been home quite rarely lately, after all, Halloween had passed not so long ago and Michael was still continuing his 'work'. But you missed him now. You wanted his clumsy, rough, but so warm hugs.

Michael wasn't the best guy. He was always silent, only occasionally nodding or shaking his head in denial, but he never spoke. Michael was never the first to make contact, but only stood in the doorway, looking at you through the black holes of his mask in mute expectation. He always did that when he was hungry.

And yet now you wanted to be the one who was looked after, cared for and loved. You sobbed softly, burying your nose in the cool fabric of the blanket. I wanted to disappear so that it would all be over.

After a good half hour, when you were already on the verge between sleeping and waking, you felt a pair of rough hands on your waist, squeezing your tender flesh. You instinctively flinched at someone else's touch. Your mind was wandering in terror. Exactly until you heard the familiar heavy breathing on the other side of the latex. Michael. It was your Michael. A stone fell from your soul when you breathed a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to relax. All this happened in a split second, when you finally realized that the guy initiated the touch himself. He was hugging you.

"Michael?" You ask quietly. Your tired voice breaks the tense silence like a knife. The man frowns, pulling you closer to him. He doesn't like your voice, the mood you're talking to right now. You were usually gentle and said his name with such love and care that his dead heart melted and seemed to start beating again. In those moments, he wasn't a Boogeyman, he was Michael. Your Michael. But now your voice was quiet, as if you were speaking with some kind of pain. Michael didn't like it. His broad palm began to stroke your stomach with amazing tenderness, while the nose of his mask gently rubbed against your bare neck. Like a kitten.

Transparent droplets of tears appear in your eyes, slowly flowing down your pale cheeks. It seemed that the whole weight of the last few years fell on your shoulders in an instant. You're shaking. The pain in your temples and aching heart make you cry like a little child. Michael tenses up. In an instant, you are turned over and you find yourself with your face pressed against Myers' chest, his chin on top of your head. His hands are holding you to him with a bit of desperation, stroking your back. You grab the fabric of his jumpsuit, so rough and old, like a lifebuoy, burrowing into his body in search of peace and relief. Your eyes are burning with tears, and your chest can't take a full breath of air.

"..it's not my fault.. However," you whisper softly, trying to keep the remnants of your composure, "It wasn't my job.. but the director thought otherwise. He.. He yelled at me. Strongly.. he was so angry, although my colleague is to blame.."

Michael's measured movements gradually slow down until his big hand leaves your back, leaving this place to be torn apart by the cold of the room. But then the loud breathing stops, and after it you feel Michael leaning back, putting something on the bedside table. The next moment, a pair of cracked, dry lips touches your forehead, leaving a rough but so familiar kiss on your skin. You don't dare to look up, but your sobs gradually slow down, turning into muffled sobs. Now the man's hand finds your place on your cheek, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. He is surprisingly gentle, as if you are a real crystal figurine made of pure glass.

You are his heart. Michael had never known what love or caring was before. His childhood and youth in a psychiatric hospital were filled with pain and alienation, from which he learned to hide from the rest of the world behind a solid mask of indifference, behind the mask of a monster. And yet, with you, he wanted to be real. It was difficult, and Michael didn't always know how to behave. But now, seeing you crying, something inside Michael tightened painfully, making him frown and clench his teeth. He didn't know why he was angry and didn't know why he felt that way. The only thing Michael was sure of was that he wanted to punch the face of the one who made you cry.

Finally, you calm down, letting out a nervous sigh from your lungs. Michael tenses up for a moment, but his heart skips a beat when he sees you visibly relax in his arms.. Are you happy? His stroking resumes when he wordlessly tries to persuade you to sleep. You obey, snuggling into his chest and closing your eyes. The man's gaze softens, his lips seem to twitch in a slight hint of a smile.

This will be one of those rare occasions when Michael stays with you all night. But he definitely thinks he should visit your boss the next night.

I just needed a little comfort from my boy. Have a good day ♡⁠

[k-atsukibakugou]

it's all in your head, i'm inside your head and you're never gonna get me out

pairing: hitoshi shinso x f!reader w/c: 2.1k warning/s: DUBCON/NONCON, brainwashing, female!reader, prohero!mindjack, just a lot of staring lmao, please lmk if i missed anything notes: based on this thirst inspo/acknowledgements: MY LOVER @definitelynotsaint FOR ALL UR HELP I WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU MARRY ME PLEASE <3 + earworm by cottontail

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

"you seriously think you could beat him?!"

"you act like he's huge, kami, i have more chance with brainwashing than electrification. if i stay quiet, what's he going to do?"

"have you ever fought the guy?"

the argument had been going on for about… twenty minutes now, most of your other friends already filtering out of your place, but you'd trapped the blond, and subsequently shinso with your argument over the hypothetical: would you rather fight kaminari or shinso?

this was by far the most passionate you'd been so far, answering earlier versions of the question effortlessly: would you rather wear kirishima or mina's costume to a wedding (mina's), have an uncontrollable quirk with raw power or a perfected, slightly below average quirk (master of one). the moment sero proposed the final question, your eyes landed on his, your eyes glowing with smugness when they met his bored amethyst iris's, a spark of interest when you parted your lips to argue your point.

shinso remained reserved throughout your argument with the blond, studying a chip in the deep purple paint on his thumb idly, breathing slowly, evenly, apathetically despite his ears burning any time you'd say his name (his heart rate spiking every time, even with each word out of your mouth being a teasing jab of his lack of sheer power in comparison to you).

"why don't you test it sometime?" his voice is gravelly, nearly cracking after sitting in silence for so long, quietly nursing the last few mouthfuls of his drink while he peered at you; the animated way you spoke, the sparkle in your eyes every time you'd tease him, the curve of your neck when you'd toss your head back at something someone said. swallowing the final drops of the amber liquor, your attention is drawn back to him, proud smirk and all.

"what? you don't think i could fight you?"

shinso quirks an eyebrow at you, an uncontrollable, self-assured grin lazily gracing his lips, "i don't think you could keep quiet."

your mouth drops open to defend yourself, your glare growing more and more fiery as you spin to face him. he could prove it right now, brainwash you the moment the first syllable leaves your mouth, command you to remain completely still while he binds you, leave you wrapped neatly in the binding cloth to wake up in, leave you stuck while he revels in his victory. he could do it right now, annul your challenge before it could become anything, before your ego could swell even bigger.

"is that a challenge, mind jack?"

no, it's no fun to melt your wings before they're built, not until you're halfway in the air, dangling precariously over the raging sea, completely ignorant to the dangers below, complete trust in your makeshift wings.

offering you his hand, he ignores the apprehension in kaminari's golden eyes, "you wanna make it official?"

patience is a virtue, something hitoshi has to remind himself of frequently; patience, hitoshi echoing in his mind when you patrol by his side, promising to protect him from any villains, pulling him behind you if even a mouse came across your path. patience, hitoshi when you mock kaminari for fearing the muscular mans brainwashing, asking if he feared the boogeyman, too. PATIENCE, HITOSHI, it's like a mantra when you smirk up at him, your unspoken promise of beating him hanging in the air between you before you'd even part your lips to greet him.

a virtue, a true miracle he was blessed with such patience.

so, he waits, biding his time until the perfect moment, the absolute perfect time. it was spring now, weeks after your proposal, the scent of pear blossoms beginning to float through the sky. along with the sweet scent in the air, humidity made it grow thicker and thicker, as his patience grew thinner and thinner with every step closer to you.

"hitoshi!" you answer cheerfully, like you normally do, a bright smile on your curved lips, unfaltering even as your friend stares at you with burning eyes, costume awry and his dark hair mussed, pushed back from his forehead, "you look like shit."

the tension inside his body was ready to snap, a rubber band stretched far beyond what he could handle; hearing one too many jabs from you, (today, a text of your merch, a little plush of yourself that you offered, free of charge, to protect him on patrols when his brainwashing fails).

"you should see the other guy."

"oh, i'm sure you really showed him."

"you going to invite me in or just insult me?"

"aren't you going to make me? or not ready to accept the truth? i know it's hard."

he snorts, relaxing against the door frame, deciding today was the perfect day to claim his victory. to pop your ballooned ego.

"let me in," his voice is smooth, your eyes drawn to his lips at his low timbre, lips parting slightly. you feign stepping aside, dropping your head into an overly dramatic bow, only meeting his eyes again after a long moment, the smug sparkle still shining brightly in your pupils.

"huh, sorry, i don't think it worked," you stand straight once more, fixating on your limbs as if searching for a reason why his quirk hadn't worked, stretching each finger as if just to confirm your autonomy, to confirm his lack of reach, even into the weakest parts of yourself.

your wax wings spread wide, curling over shoulder blades, strapped around biceps, wrists and fingers, nothing but clear blue skies ahead of you, bright eyes zeroing in on the searing sun. you've forgotten all about the deep sea below, no concern for the waves crashing over the jagged rocks at the cliffs edge, of the current dragging helpless creatures further into the depths. what did you have to worry about the peril below when you could take to the sky? you wings will carry you far from the danger lurking in the murkiness.

"let me in."

like a baby bird, struggling to leave its nest for the first time, your wings fail you, cracking, burning, melting, sending you careening carelessly into the frigid depths below.

unlike your act, you can't feign when his voice, his quirk seeps beneath your skin, settling in your veins, in each wrinkle and valley of your brain, invading your nerves. your eyes go blank, inky pupils dilating minutely. no more burning hubris reflecting back at him, there's only the endless darkness he can watch himself in, the heat in his own eyes. the hunger. you obey (of course you do), your hand falling limply from the door frame as you finally step aside, welcoming him inside.

"aw, where'd all that talk go?" he grins, tilting his head condescendingly, arrogance oozing from him in waves as you stare at him, defenceless in his clutches, his hold the only thing keeping you from slipping into the depths, further from the sky you greedily sought. you're silent (of course you are, hitoshi hasn't commanded you to speak), a ditsy, dumb, blank look on your face as he steps over the threshold onto the genkan.

"close the door." you do, your arm falling back to your side as soon as the latch clicked.

"kneel." you do, heavy limbs bending and bowing until you were seated at his feet.

"take my boots off." you do, you make quick work of the hefty boots, shimmying them down his calves and over his ankles, his half-lidded stare trained on you, admiring your casual shorts riding higher and higher on your plush thigh when you leaned forward to place his boots at the edge of the step up into your home, the pair sat neatly, side by side.

"you're so good, so obedient," his voice is low, his tone would have you addicted, itching to hear his faux praise again and again if you could remember it. leering down at you, hitoshi is certain you'd snarl at him if you could, bear your fangs, bite and threaten him. rather, you're pacified staring up at him, doe-eyed like this he can imagine how you'd keen instead, how you'd lean into his touch when he pats your head, how your eyes would blur when he calls you pretty, dizzy and dumb nuzzling into his hand.

it was cute, laughable, he has to admit, studying your vacant stare with deep amethyst eyes, the way you really thought you could overpower his quirk, that you could win against him.

"such a good girl, aren't you? yeah?" shinso's thick gloves tangle your hair in tiny knots at the top of your head every time he pets you like a well-loved house dog, "how about you get me a drink, too?"

god, he wants to record you, to rub your nose in how well you behaved for him, blindly following every instruction and he didn't need to spend a single yen on training clickers or treats. shinso mulls over the decision for a second, just long enough for your chest to rise once more, your eyelids to drop in a blink; the expression on your lips when he would show you how pathetic you look is nothing in comparison to you rebuilding your wax wings every time you break out of his brainwashing, not remembering a thing; your attitude and teasing returning again and again, week after week when he knows exactly how pretty you look when your mind was a blank slate for him to carve any thought into.

by the time he's mulled over the decision, you've led him further into your home, back towards your the kitchen where the bet was born, where you began building the wings that would betray you.

opening the cupboard that housed the glasses, the tips of your fingers just bump the vessel with a light tink when his pink lips part to command you once more, "stop."

you pause, waiting oh so pretty for your next instruction.

"i could tell you to do anything right now, you know that?"

you stand like a marble statue, only blinking when your eyes burn.

"i could tell you to bark like a dog, and you would," you're silent, eyes staring forward even as he disrupts the air around you, tracing a gloved finger over the bare skin of the back of your thigh, just to watch the goosebumps unconsciously form in his wake, just to do it without your burning glare. "tell you to sit pretty, to shake, to roll over. would you like that, baby?"

shinso runs his bare pointer finger up your spine, tracing the nape of your neck until he buries his hand in your hair, tugging your head back and forth to nod along with him, "i knew it, you're just a pathetic, obedient little thing."

again, he manoeuvres your head to nod (he knows he can command it, but sometimes he likes getting his hands dirty).

"bend over," hitoshi tugs his gloves off, placing the pair carefully beside you on the counter, admiring the arch of your back as your tits squash against the stony counter. you were a fucking sight, something he'd never forget until the day he died; the image of you bent, dumb, drooling burnt into his retinas.

obsidian eyes follow every rise and fall of your chest, roaming over the expanse of your body, every sliver of bare skin catching his attention, taking his time to admire while you can't argue with his perversions. wide hands are drawn to your ass like a moth to the flame, the curve of your plush skin hardly covered by the fabric, even more so when he kneads the fat of your ass, squeezing and spreading anywhere he can reach.

"should i take these off? hm?" he toys with the waistband of your shorts, as if waiting for you to reach around and shove him away from you, to call him every name under the sun, to threaten his life if he even moves an inch closer, lays one more finger on your skin.

you don't.

"yeah, i bet you'd like that." shinso chuckles to himself, hooking his fingers under the elastic and tugging them easily down your hips, leaving them to pool around your ankles, left only in your shirt and the cutest cotton panties, marred by an ever-growing dark patch at the centre of your cunt.

"filthy little thing," his smile widens, a predatory stare locking onto the wet patch, tracing the shape of your pussy over your panties just to watch it widen, "you're so fucking perverted, huh? bet you've been waiting for me to try something like this."

his cock is aching in the tight constriction of his suit, he's acutely aware of how uncomfortable it would be to go home with cum staining his boxers, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when that would mean taking his eyes off of your clothed, drooling cunt.

"you wanna know something?" he hears the gentle buzz of a streetlamp igniting outside your window, hears your gentle breaths, you don't answer.

"i can't brainwash you into getting wet, baby, this is all you."

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.