#dark romance

[traumszenario]

[miss-anaa]

[blergarfvader]

Duality of qimir in context of oshamir

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

[aestheteasteria]

The rotting haven

[librababe99]

Vigilante's Lullaby |Part Four|

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Jason Todd, GN!Reader, Descriptions of violence, physical assault, blood and injury, hurt no comfort Summary: Jason's world is one of violence and darkness, but you’ve always been his light—until a brutal attack leaves you broken, targeted by his enemies. Now, Jason spirals into a storm of rage and guilt. Word count: 3.4K

A/N: Hi loves!! I’m so sorry for the long wait in regard to this series---trust me I was getting antsy about not posting LOL---Also, life's gotten a bit hectic with grad school and to top it off some health concerns arose. Please send positive vibes my way <3 And finally, there will be ONE more part to Vigilante's Lullaby...right now I'm hoping to have that up by this weekend! As always...comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

| (Part one) | (Part Two) | (Part Three) | (Masterlist) |

The night had settled in thick, suffocating the underground clinic with its heavy silence. You had grown accustomed to this darkness, to the underbelly of Gotham, where your makeshift clinic had become a sanctuary for those the world forgot. The hum of fluorescent lights flickered above, casting uneven shadows on the walls as you worked. Your patient tonight was fidgety, eyes darting nervously toward the door every few minutes, as though he expected something terrible to happen.

You noticed the way his hands trembled slightly, how his breath came in quick, shallow bursts. "Hold still," you murmured, pressing a piece of gauze to the wound on his shoulder. He winced, though his gaze never left the door.

Something was wrong.

Your heart began to race, an instinctive warning creeping up your spine. You tried to push the fear down, to focus on your work. But the clinic felt too quiet, the air too thick. The patient glanced at you, guilt etched across his face, as though he knew something you didn’t. And then, before you could speak, the door to the clinic was kicked in with a deafening crash.

Your heart lurched in your chest, adrenaline spiking in an instant as the room filled with harsh voices, boots stomping across the floor like an army storming the gates. Men—big, armed, and menacing—flooded into the room, and at the front of them, a man you had seen only in Jason’s descriptions. One of his worst enemies. His rival.

Panic surged through you, your mind racing to Jason. They weren’t here for you. They were here for him. But Jason wasn’t there, and you were.

The leader of the group, a tall, scarred man with cruel eyes, glanced around the clinic with casual indifference, as though the place was beneath him. His gaze flicked over the supplies, the blood-stained bed where you worked, before finally settling on you. His smile was slow, predatory.

“Look at what we have here,” he drawled, his voice thick with malice. “Jason’s little pet.”

You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your ears. “You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice betraying the tremor of fear.

He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. “Oh, sweetheart. We’re just sending a message. You know how it is. Jason’s been a little... problematic lately. Time for him to learn there are consequences.”

The men closed in around you, their presence suffocating, their intent clear. There was no escape. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself before the first blow landed.

The attack was brutal.

Fists collided with your body, knocking the air from your lungs, the force sending you crashing to the ground. A boot followed, connecting with your ribs with a sickening crack. Pain radiated through you, blinding and intense, but they didn’t stop. They wanted to break you—break you so completely that the message would be clear when Jason found you.

You tried to fight back, tried to crawl away, but they were relentless. One of them grabbed you by the hair, yanking you to your feet only to throw you against the wall. Your head hit the surface with a nauseating thud, your vision swimming as the world tilted dangerously. Blood filled your mouth, the metallic taste flooding your senses as you gasped for breath.

The leader crouched down in front of you, his face a mask of sadistic satisfaction. “Tell him,” he said softly, his voice almost gentle in its cruelty. “Tell Jason that this is only the beginning.”

And then he was gone, leading his men out of the clinic as quickly as they had come. The door slammed behind them, the sound echoing in the now-empty room. You lay there, broken, blood pooling around you, your breaths shallow and labored. The pain was unbearable, your body a mass of throbbing agony. You knew you were fading, consciousness slipping from your grasp like water through your fingers.

But you held on.

You held on for Jason.

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

Jason arrived hours later. He had been gone on a mission, something he hadn’t told you much about, but you knew it was dangerous. He had promised you he’d be back, had kissed you hard before disappearing into the night like he always did.

But as he stepped through the door of the clinic, his heart stopped. The familiar scent of antiseptic and blood hit him first, but there was something more—something wrong. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes swept the room. And then he saw you.

You were crumpled on the floor, barely recognizable beneath the blood and bruises. The sight of you like that—broken, lifeless—was more than his mind could process. His world tilted, his stomach dropping as a scream tore from his throat, raw and primal. He ran to you, dropping to his knees beside your limp body, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch you, afraid you might shatter beneath his fingers.

“No...” His voice cracked, the word barely audible over the sound of his own frantic breathing. “No, no, no—”

He pressed his hands to your face, his fingers slick with your blood. Your eyes fluttered open, weak and barely there, but it was enough. You were alive. Barely, but alive. Jason’s heart twisted in his chest, the sight of your bloodied, broken form like a knife to his soul.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All he could do was hold you, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to fix this, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t fix this.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice desperate and hoarse. “Please, just stay with me. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry—this is my fault. This is all my fault.”

Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t break. Not now. He had to save you. He had to save you.

But you were slipping away. He could see it in your eyes, in the way your breaths grew more shallow, more ragged. And it was killing him.

Jason felt something inside him snap. The guilt, the fear, the rage—it all surged through him like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. His vision blurred with red as he pressed your body closer to his chest, his teeth gritted in a mixture of pain and fury.

“They’ll pay for this,” he whispered, his voice cold and dark, like the promise of death. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill every last one of them.”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be enough to undo this, to take away the pain they had caused you. The weight of his failure crushed him, his heart breaking in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You had warned him. You had told him this would happen. And now, because of him, because of his darkness, you were paying the price.

Jason rocked you gently in his arms, his grip tightening as if he could keep you with him through sheer force of will. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please don’t leave. I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

But he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t something you could come back from. Even if you survived, even if you made it through the night, the damage was done. And it was all because of him.

Jason’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. The rage inside him burned hotter than ever before, threatening to consume him entirely. He had been so close to losing you, and now all he could think about was revenge. He would find them. He would make them suffer for what they had done to you.

But no matter how much blood he spilled, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had failed to protect you. That his love had been the very thing that had put you in harm’s way.

And as the night stretched on, as you lay in his arms, barely clinging to life, Jason felt himself slipping further into the abyss. The darkness had claimed him long ago, but now, it was pulling him down into something deeper, something darker.

And he didn’t know if he’d ever find his way out.

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

The night had bled into early morning, but for Jason, time had lost its meaning. It was all a blur now—a feverish haze of blood and vengeance. After carrying your battered body to the safest place he knew, ensuring the bare minimum of medical care, he had slipped back into the shadows, leaving you with nothing but the echo of his promise.

And that promise had been simple: he would make them pay.

Now, as he moved through Gotham’s underworld with a grim purpose, the memory of your broken form seared into his mind, fueling his every step. The streets were colder, darker, and crueler than they had ever been before. The city itself felt like it had turned against him, as if it, too, wanted to remind him of his failure.

The faces of those men swam before his vision, their laughter still ringing in his ears, mocking him. He saw the scarred leader’s face in the dark recesses of his mind—the sneer, the satisfaction in his eyes when he’d threatened you. Jason’s rage was a living thing, gnawing at his insides, screaming for release.

They would suffer. They would all suffer.

His first target was easy to find. A low-level thug, one of the cowards who had thrown the first punch, was holed up in a seedy bar on the outskirts of the city. Jason stalked him like a predator in the night, his body moving on instinct, driven by a singular, relentless purpose. When he finally cornered the man in the alley, there were no warnings, no preambles.

Jason moved like a ghost, silent and deadly, his fists connecting with the thug's face before he even had time to register his presence. The crack of bone echoed through the narrow alleyway as Jason’s knuckles met the man's jaw, sending him sprawling into the trash-strewn ground.

“Red Hood—no, no, wait—!”

The man’s plea was cut off as Jason dragged him up by the collar of his jacket, slamming him against the brick wall with enough force to make his skull bounce off the surface. Blood splattered across Jason’s armor, staining the emblem on his chest.

“Where are they?” Jason’s voice was low, deadly calm, but his eyes—his eyes burned with unrestrained fury.

The thug whimpered, clutching at Jason’s wrist with shaking hands. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know anything!”

Jason’s grip tightened, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. His other hand shot forward, slamming into the man’s abdomen, driving the breath from his lungs in a strangled gasp. “Wrong answer.”

He pulled the thug closer, his lips curling into a snarl. “You attacked her. You’re gonna tell me where the others are, or I’ll make sure you never breathe again.”

There was no hesitation in his threat. Jason’s eyes glinted with something cold, something feral. The man was terrified—Jason could see it, feel it in the way the man’s pulse quickened under his fingertips. But there was no mercy left in him. He didn’t care about their fear. All that mattered was making them suffer, making them pay for what they had done to you.

“Okay, okay!” the thug rasped, panic making his words stumble over each other. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk! They’re at the docks—the old warehouse by Pier 47. That’s where they’ve been hiding.”

Jason let him drop, watching with disgust as the man crumpled to the ground, coughing and clutching his ribs. For a brief moment, he considered finishing it—ending the thug’s miserable life right there. But no. The real target was the leader. The one who had smiled at your pain.

Without another word, Jason disappeared into the night, leaving the man gasping for air as his blood stained the alley.

The warehouse was exactly where the thug had said it would be—a decrepit old building at the edge of the docks, the faint sound of waves crashing against the pier, the only noise breaking the silence. Jason approached from the shadows, his every sense heightened, his heart pounding with the promise of vengeance.

Inside, he could hear the low murmur of voices. Laughter. It grated on his nerves, fueling the fire in his chest. His hand clenched around the grip of his gun, the metal cool against his skin. He hadn’t planned to kill all of them—but now that he was here, surrounded by the stench of betrayal, it seemed inevitable.

With a swift motion, he kicked in the door, his guns drawn before the men inside could react. Chaos erupted in an instant. The thugs scattered, reaching for their weapons, but Jason was faster, more precise. He fired off shot after shot, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. Each bullet found its mark, dropping the men one by one before they had a chance to fight back.

But Jason wasn’t there for them. He was there for him.

The leader was in the back, smirking as though he’d expected this. His eyes gleamed with that same cruel satisfaction, as if Jason’s fury was all part of the game. “You came for them huh?” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Too bad. they weren't worth much after we were done."

Jason’s blood turned to ice.

Before the man could react, Jason was on him. He tackled him to the ground with the force of a hurricane, his fists slamming into the man’s face with brutal, unrelenting precision. Blood splattered across the floor, staining Jason’s gloves, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The rage inside him was too much, too consuming. Each punch felt like a release—a release of the guilt, the helplessness, the anguish that had been eating him alive since he found you.

The man beneath him choked on his own blood, his hands scrambling to defend himself, but it was futile. Jason was a storm of violence, every hit fueled by the image of you lying broken in his arms.

“You think this is a game?” Jason snarled, his voice a low, vicious growl. “You think you can touch them and walk away?”

His fists kept coming, each one landing with sickening force. The man’s face was unrecognizable now, a broken, bleeding mess, but still Jason didn’t stop. Not until the man was nothing more than a pile of blood and shattered bone beneath him.

But even as he stood, panting, blood dripping from his hands, there was no satisfaction. No sense of victory. Only emptiness.

Jason stared down at the corpse, his chest heaving with the weight of his rage. He had killed them. All of them. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You were still lying in that hospital bed, broken because of him.

As he walked away from the carnage, the darkness around him felt deeper, colder. There was no light left to chase. Not without you.

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

Jason stood at the edge of the docks, the wind whipping harshly against his bloodied face, cold and biting like the emptiness gnawing at his soul. The bodies of his enemies lay behind him, nothing more than a grim reminder of what he was capable of, of how deep his darkness ran. The waves crashed violently against the pier, matching the storm in his mind, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

He had avenged you. He had done what he set out to do, torn through Gotham’s underbelly like a hurricane, leaving nothing but blood and broken bones in his wake. But here he stood, staring out at the endless expanse of the night, and all he could feel was the weight of his own failure, his own curse.

This is who you are.

The thought slithered through his mind, dark and insidious, clinging to him like the stench of death that hung in the air. He was a weapon—a blade forged in violence, tempered by vengeance. He’d tried to be more, tried to find something good in this wretched existence. He’d tried to find you.

But Gotham wouldn’t let him have that. His life wouldn’t let him have that. No matter how many times you’d held him, how many times you’d tried to be his salvation, he had always known it would end like this. With blood, with pain, with you hurt because of him. It was inevitable.

He had warned you. He had tried to push you away. But you stayed. You had loved him, and that was your downfall. Now you were paying the price.

And for what? What had he gained? Revenge? Satisfaction? No. All that was left was the bitter taste of regret and the sickening realization that it didn’t change anything. It didn’t heal you. It didn’t fix what was broken inside him. Nothing could.

He stared down at his hands, still trembling with adrenaline, his knuckles raw and split from the beating he'd given that bastard. They were the same hands that had held you, that had clung to you like a lifeline in the darkness. Now they were stained with the blood of men who had hurt you—but it didn’t matter. Their deaths couldn’t undo the damage.

Jason’s breath hitched, his throat tight as the memories of you lying in his arms, barely breathing, surged forward. The way your blood had soaked into his clothes. The way your eyes, usually so full of warmth, flickered with pain and fear. All because of him.

He was cursed.

He could feel it in his bones, in the marrow of who he was. He wasn’t meant to have happiness. Not with you. Not with anyone. The darkness would always come for him, always tear apart anything good that came into his life. It had destroyed him once, and it would do so again—piece by piece.

And now… now he was standing on the precipice of his hardest decision yet.

Jason clenched his jaw, staring out at the water, his mind spinning with the weight of it. He could go back to you, watch over you as you recovered, try to piece together whatever shattered remnants of your life he hadn’t yet destroyed. Or he could let you go. He could walk away. He could vanish into the night, leave you to heal without the poison of his presence lingering in your life. Because this—what had happened to you—would only happen again. It would never stop.

His heart screamed at him to stay, to fight for the slim chance that you could somehow survive his curse. But deep down, he knew the truth. You would never be safe with him. And the worst part was, he didn’t know if he could live with the knowledge that he would destroy you again.

The decision loomed before him, dark and final, like the city itself—a grim reminder that no matter what choice he made, he had already lost.

Jason turned his back to the warehouse, to the blood-soaked night that had claimed his enemies. His eyes burned as he looked toward the horizon, but the emptiness inside him remained. He had never truly escaped the shadows. He never would.

And now, as the cold wind howled around him, he realized this was only the beginning of his end.

The city would continue to take from him. It always had. There was no peace for someone like him. No future where the people he cared for didn’t bleed in his name. No future where he wasn’t haunted by the bodies left in his wake.

But you—you still had a chance.

He would make his choice soon. The hardest one he’d ever made.

But in his gut, Jason knew. He knew that whatever he decided, happiness wasn’t meant for him. The darkness had already claimed his soul, and it wouldn’t rest until there was nothing left.

With one last look at the city, Jason disappeared into the night, his decision lingering on the horizon like a storm waiting to descend.

And when it did, the person Jason Todd used to be would be lost forever.

taglist: @arisa191 @leo-lvr @azrielwingspan

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 13

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on the amazing @discoscoob 's concept & bot!

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven. twelve.

Thirteen.

At the crack of dawn Donaka wakes you with open-mouthed kisses on your neck and his cock stuffing you full. He is careful with you, as careful as he can be, taking you with the steady slowness of breaking waves, and if you didn’t know any better, you almost could have mistaken the way he fucked you for lovemaking. 

“My pretty girl,” he whispers in your hair. “Had to have your sweet little pussy again.” Despite the languid pace its not long before he fills you with hot streams of his cum. 

Afterwards, he smacks you on the ass, telling you, “You’re going to be late for work.” 

You are shocked, but at the same time, grateful for the opportunity to get away from him. You cannot think in his company. He gives you no peace. You frown at him, but slip into the shower without a word. As you leave he calls after you, “This is where you sleep now, y/n. Don’t forget it.” 

He relishes the glare you shoot him across the room, smirking at the challenge in your eyes. “Go on, defy me, bunny. See what happens.”

A tiny growl escapes your throat, your voice refusing to cooperate in forming actual words. 

“What was that?”

“Fine,” you grind out between your teeth, before slipping out the door.

When you join the ranks to receive your tasks for the day, Mrs. Yeung, the chief housekeeper, does not give you a second look. Perhaps she knows where her bread is buttered, and passing judgment on Mr. Mark’s new plaything will not serve her. Mei, however, is shooting you playful looks, and you know you will be interrogated later when she gets you alone. 

What the fuck are you going to say? 

You find yourself contemplating the height of the garden walls, wondering how far you might get should you just scale one and make your way down the road, hop a bus, go to the Embassy on the other side of the island. However, you’re sure Donaka is watching through his cameras. The dark little eyes tucked up in the corners of the rooms and outside never seemed so sinister before as they do now. You never really thought about how completely he can surveil his domain from the comfort of his office chair. 

You never cared before, because you were never up to something. 

That is when it dawns on you. You cannot stop yourself from taking a detour back into your room, and you check every corner, nook, and cranny. You find it tucked within an affixed wall decoration. A tiny camera, pointed right at your bed. 

The things he surely watched you do, long before you had any inkling…

It makes you simultaneously hot all over with rage–and you hate to admit, titillation. He really does like to watch.

You would have to remember that. It might prove his only weakness.

You are so fucked. 

Feeling completely overwhelmed, all you want to do is curl up on your bed and have a good, ugly, soul-expunging cry. However, there’s the possibility he’s watching you, and so you put on a brave face, shoving it all down and flipping off the little black eye in the wall before going back to work. 

***

You think you feel a little better, when you’re in the media room later, carefully dusting the screens and cables. All that goes up in smoke when Donaka slips through the door silently, pausing to look upon you like a predator at the treeline evaluating the quickest path to its prey. 

You straighten, meeting his gaze with your heart in your throat. What is he up to now?

With a little smirk he pads on bare feet to the couch, seating himself like a pasha in the center with his arms up on the back. He is…still so beautiful it hurts, and you find you are grinding your teeth as you stand there silently, waiting.

When the silence between you draws on, it’s no surprise that you are the one to break first. 

“Am I in your way?” you ask, glancing back at the wall full of screens. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and he’s here just to watch TV. 

“Not at all,” he answers smugly, still staring you down. 

Ah. Then he’s here for you. Great. 

You sigh, and decide to go back to what you were doing, rather than quiver like a mouse trapped in a cage with a snake. “Don’t you have a company to run or something?” you grouse at him. 

“The key to good management is proper delegation.”

“Wow, that’s a fancy way of saying ‘I have underlings to do my dirty work.’” It’s possible you lace your words with a bit of mockery, and maybe you shouldn’t bait this man…but then again, there is a part of you that wants to bait him. You want him to do something so truly awful, so unforgivable that the confusion in your heart will solidify to stone, and you will no longer be conflicted about this man, and what you want from him. 

However, he simply chuckles at your insouciance, sounding 300 percent the villain that he is. “I doubt you even really know what my company truly does.” 

You blink at that. He runs a security firm. You realize…that really could be a blanket term for so many things. “I guess I just assume you keep an eye on things for rich clients,” you say, waving at all the monitors. “You clearly like to watch.” 

You insinuate that you know he had a camera in your room. You wonder if he watched you nearly break down. You wonder if he cares. 

You can’t help but notice his pale, elegant bare feet–his long toes curl as he smirks at you. Is he enjoying this little bout of verbal sparring? 

“That I do, y/n.” He tilts his head, his gaze sweeping you up and down. “It’s not all we do though at Security System Alliance. Sometimes a situation with our clients requires a physical touch.”

So he has commando operatives at his beck and call as well. Not a huge surprise, considering. You can’t tell if he’s threatening you, or simply making conversation. 

“Interesting. What kind of situations? I hear kidnapping is a big problem with the uber rich these days.” 

His smile widens, and you decide that yes, he is enjoying this game of double-speak. “So it is. Obviously I can’t disclose details, but we did secure the safe return of a billionaire’s son not so long ago.”

“Was there a ransom?”

“They wanted 20 million dollars.”

“Did they get it?” 

“Some of it.” 

You take a step closer, your hands on your hips. 

“Did you orchestrate the kidnapping in the first place?”

Now his smile is like a baring of teeth for you. “Oh, that would be dastardly.”

It’s not a yes…but it’s not a no. 

“You just seem to have experience in such things.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment. You seemed satisfied with the results earlier.” 

You grip your dusting rag, a fine trembling running down your arms, and you narrowly resist the temptation to throw it at his head. The feminine urge to break things and scream.  “Is this something you’ve done to other women?” you ask quietly. You don’t really expect him to answer you truthfully–but suddenly you need to know.     

“No,” he answers, his tone equally hushed. “My relationships with women are usually more transactional.”

You frown at that. Does he mean prostitutes? Or mistresses who expect to be paid in housing and gifts and an allowance…? You suppose he sort of tried that with you, with the bracelet. It didn’t exactly work in his favor, so he had to resort to other tactics.

You wonder if you’d just given in back then, if he’d already be bored with you now? Is that the key to your freedom? That tremble has made its way to your core now. You feel cold all over, and a little sick.

He sees this change in you, and the smile on his face fades. “Come here,” he orders, holding out his hand. 

“No.” 

“Don’t make me ask twice.” 

You’d thought you were feeling better, but you realize you just managed to push it all down to function. The pain and the fear and the anger wells up inside you with a vengeance, and you do throw the rag at him–then you run, even though deep down you know there isn’t a hope in hell for you to actually escape him. You round the couch and he utterly surprises you when he vaults over the back of it, lithe as a panther. 

When he grabs you up with those long arms you snarl and squirm like a wild little animal and none of it does you a damn bit of good. He crushes you against him, and you can’t help it. You start to cry again against his chest, pushing at him at first, and then simply gripping fistfulls of his nice shirt while you stain it with your tears and snot and probably saliva too.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough of that.” He doesn’t yell at you, sounding more bored than anything. You realize that this is not the fun part of the game for him. Bastard. He picks you up and carries you back to the couch, sitting with you cradled in his lap. 

“I realize this development will take a period of adjustment for you, but I suggest you calm down.”

He says it so clinically, and that wildness rises in you again. A feral need to struggle and fight no matter the cost, your sense of self-preservation flown completely out of the window. “I suggest you eat a bag of dicks,” you snarl, starting to thrash in his arms again. He adjusts his hold on you with his arm pinning you across the chest, and that’s when you really fuck up. 

You bite him, and you get him good, clamping your teeth down on the meaty part of his forearm. He actually cries out, which is satisfying for about 2 seconds before he has you flipped and thrown down on the couch across his lap, pinning your face into the cushions with that big hand spanning the whole back of your head. 

“That hurt,” he snarls, and you wonder what he has in store for you now. Good. You hope it’s something terrible, so you can get on with the business of hating him. This hovering in limbo shit is too much agony. 

“I hope it gets infected.” 

You expect him to yell at you. Curse you. Hurt you. 

You do not expect him to throw back his head and laugh. 

“Oh, my sweet little bunny. You stupid girl.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You need to learn the art of self-restraint. I’ll be more than happy to teach it to you.” 

You open your mouth to scream, but he pushes you down into the couch cushions, muffling your cries, nearly suffocating you. “You can be quiet, or I can gag you.” 

You go deathly still at that, ceasing to even breathe, the thought is so abhorrent to you. 

“Ah, there’s my good girl.” He strokes the backs of your legs, from the curve of your calf up the soft flesh of your thigh, then higher beneath your skirt, toying with the seam of your panties. It feels horribly wonderful and far too intimate and you can’t sit still in his lap while he touches you like this right after you were just fighting for your life. “Be still,” he warns you. “Or I’ll tie you.” 

There it is again. The threat from before, and you really believe he’d do it now. You force yourself to go still in his lap, the only motion the fine trembling you cannot seem to stop that still plagues your limbs. 

“That’s much better,” he purrs, hooking his finger into the waistband of your panties, slowly drawing them down to your knees. When his questing hand slides up your skirt again, palming the curve of your ass he gives an appreciative groan. “I should bite you,” he muses, pinching you alarmingly close to the juncture of your thighs. “Right here, see how you like it.”

Maybe he expects you to squeal or whine, but you just sigh like you’re already tired of this shit, and you wish he’d get it over with. A fresh stream of tears has started falling from your eyes, beading on the leather upholstery. You’ll probably get into trouble for that too. 

“Oh, am I boring you?” he asks, half amused, half annoyed. 

“Yes,” you answer, and that’s when he pushes your skirt up to your waist and spanks your right buttcheek, the perfect snap loud as a crack of lightning in the room. You can’t help but scream then, and he chuckles as he finally gets the reaction he wants. 

“If you’re going to behave like a naughty child, I suppose I’ll discipline you like one.”  

“Gross.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Do I?” 

Smack! 

This time you don’t scream, but you do jump, squirming in his lap. 

“Fuck!” 

Smack! This time on the left cheek, and you bite the inside of your lip hard enough to make yourself bleed, though you stay silent. 

He lets you stew in the burning pain that spreads across your skin, before soothing your flesh with a featherlight touch afterwards that incredibly—inexplicably–makes you throb between your legs. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

“I came in here to offer you a treat for good behavior,” he muses almost absently. “But I’m afraid that’s gone completely out the window.”  You can’t help but think he’s trying to make your relationship transactional, like he’d said before. Spread the blame, and the temptation, out between you, rather than rest it completely on his shoulders. 

“I don’t want it,” you grumble into the leather beneath you. 

“Oh, I think you do. You think you’re above the temptations of wealth? No one is. It’s just a matter of finding the things you want, and I’m certain this would have hit the target.” 

A long silence draws out between you. You hate it, that you want to know what he concocted, what he thinks he knows about you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Yet here you are, bent over his lap with your bare ass in the air–what dignity is left to you? At last you take the bait. 

“What is it?”

“I would rephrase that, if I were you.” 

You sigh, consider telling him to fuck off, and decide you don’t have the fortitude today to stand up to whatever he would do to you after. Another battle, lost to this man. 

“What carefully considered bribery did I miss out on in my headstrong resistance to your charms, Sir?” 

This makes him laugh like the villain he is. “Oh that was good. I liked that.” He continues to draw light circles upon your buttocks and the backs of your thighs, driving you mad with his gentle touch. Despite the fact that he has–not to put too fine a point on it–already murdered your pussy, your center throbs and weeps in response to his hands upon you like this. He is carefully avoiding touching you there, teasing you mercilessly with his fingertips, but if he did dip in a finger he would find you soaked. 

“Maybe I could be convinced to tell you, if you make it up to me. You’ve been a very bad girl.” 

You know you are a depraved thing, when your treacherous clit throbs in answer to this suggestion. Thinking you know what he wants, because you can feel the bulge of his hard cock pressing against your side, you make to get up. 

Immediately he pins you back down, his fingers fisting in your hair. It sends a thrill down your spine, and you shift your hips in response, pressing your thighs in hope of some relief. “Did I say you could get up?” 

Oh. 

God fucking dammit. 

“How can I make it up to you, Sir?” 

Even the sound of his dark chuckle strums at your clit, turning you into an angry, needy little mess in his lap. 

“Get on your knees, bunny.” He guides you to the floor between his legs, slow but exacting, his fingers still tangled in your hair. Looking up at him like this from beneath your lashes wreaks unspeakable mayhem upon your sense of reason, and all you can think is that you’re fucked. Well and totally fucked, because you still can’t make your mind up about this man. 

“Take it out.” 

You shouldn’t enjoy running your palms up the lean length of his thighs encased in fine fabric, the way that you do. Your hands should shake more, as you undo his designer belt and the clasp of his trousers, carefully pulling the zipper down. The impressive length of his manhood strains against his briefs, and you shouldn’t feel this thrill of excitement as his cock springs free as you pull the last barrier down. 

You dare to look up at him again, gauging his mood. The truth is that you enjoy giving head, when you’re in love and you feel safe and you’re having a good time. One of those is completely off the table–the other two, you’re still on the fence about. 

“If I feel the slightest hint of teeth you will regret it.” 

“I’m not going to bite off my favorite part of you,” you fire back, and you get lucky when this seems to delight him, winning a huff of laughter.

“Good. Give it a kiss then.” 

You do as you’re told, and do him one better, taking his head between your lips and swirling your tongue around that nerve-rich flesh. You feel him relax beneath you, a low moan your reward as you take him further into your mouth, almost to the hilt. He lets you do what you want with him, seeming to enjoy your freestyling lips and tongue upon his hard shaft. You forget yourself, teasing the throbbing vein ever so lightly with your bottom teeth. It earns you a growl of warning–you shouldn’t laugh, muffled as it is with your mouthful–but you do. 

You know it’s your punishment, when his hold tightens in your hair at the back of your head, guiding you down down down onto his erection. He is too big to fit completely into your mouth. You try, and fail to suppress your gag reflex. But he holds you, not letting you up. 

“Relax,” he orders with new steel in his tone. “You can do it.” 

With tears in your eyes you fight to ease him into the back of your throat, taking him a little further. “That’s my good girl.” Now he guides you his with his hand on your head, merciless as he fucks your face with his huge cock. “Swallow it all, bunny.” It’s the only warning you get before a flood of spend fills your throat and your mouth, his iron-grip in your hair preventing you from moving anywhere but down upon him. You struggle to swallow, trying not to make a mess all over his expensive dress pants. When at last he lets you go, you gulp and gasp for air, wiping at the corner of your mouth.

He smirks down at you, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction but still shining black as a shark’s. It takes every iota of your self control not to say what you’re thinking: asshole. 

Maybe you can be taught.  

“Not bad. We’ll work on that.” You fall back on your butt on the floor when he releases you, and you watch as he puts himself away and stands, leaving you a crumpled mess on the floor at his feet. You can tell he enjoys this vantage, towering over you. Who says you have no self-control? Because you are so tempted to punch him in the balls, even if you know he would end you for it. 

“See you tonight, honey.” 

You can hardly believe he’s leaving after that–leaving you in a haggard little unsatisfied pile. Only with his hand on the door does he turn back to you, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t you dare touch yourself. I’ll know.”

You acknowledge this directive with a frustrated little growl, banging your head on the cushioned edge of the couch. He takes this as close enough to acknowledgement, sweeping out of the room with a wicked chuckle. You stay on the floor for a good half hour, trying to process this latest indignity, and begging your body to calm the fuck down. Remember, that you hurt everywhere? Your libido is not so convinced. 

Neither go well for you, so in the end you just give up, get up, and go back to what you were doing with the taste of Donaka Mark still sharp and astringent on your tongue.

Bastard. Maybe escape won’t be enough. The longer this goes on…the more you want revenge.

[im-lastgirlonearth]

𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐈'𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞

[volkovgirl]

[traumszenario]

[darkmxgician]

Promises Break- Part 3

pairing: fem!reader x noah. tags: drinking, trauma/PTSD, smut, choking, praise kink

word count: 1.9k

story song: what do you want from me? 

taglist: @sorrowsofsilence @angelsdevils @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @montgomery-929496

18+ below the cut

~ Reader ~

Noah closes the distance between us, he grabs me and roughly pulls me into his embrace. His hand on my throat, pushing my head up, he looks at me like he’s waiting for something. I feel frozen, I can’t fathom why I’m not pushing him away, my traitorous brain not reacting when it should. That’s when he kisses me, and I lose every ounce of my being, his mouth moulds into mine, teeth grazing my lips, the force of it knocks the breath out of me. I get lost in it, a moan slips from me, the sound foreign. I loose my grip on my dress and grab him, needing to pull him closer, needing more. I’ve been wasting away lately, the memories from my past threatening to pull me under. It was wave of grief and sadness for the child I never got to be, so strong I was doing anything and everything to keep my grip on my current self, on the present, on reality. I opened my mouth fully, letting him sweep his tongue inside, losing myself in the moment, in him. Something snaps in him at that, the kiss turns into something savage, his grip on my throat tightening, I can feel his erection pushing into my stomach. I’ve never done this before, I’ve never even kissed anyone before, and yet I don’t feel nervous, I don’t try to back away. Further proof of how lost I am, how fucked the inside of my head is. I’m letting someone I normally can’t stand touch me in a way I’ve never allowed anyone else before. The worst part is that I’m enjoying every second. 

Noah seems to need this as much as I do, he pushes me back, my knees hitting the bed and I grab onto him to stop myself from falling. His mouth leaves mine and starts trailing down my neck as he grips my ass with both hands, pulling me up and letting me wrap my legs around his waist. I moan at the feeling of him against me, circling my arms around his neck and grabbing his short hair. He climbs onto the bed and pushes me into the mattress with his body, I’m completely trapped, and I’ve never been this turned on in my life. His attack on my throat gets more aggressive, he’s biting and sucking the skin so much I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow. Small moans escape as he ravages my bare skin, his groans of pleasure sending me over the edge. His mouth starts to trail down again, his tongue flicking over my nipple bar, his hands all over me, like he can’t get enough. I gasp at the sensation, he looks up through his hair, his eyes totally black, his mouth still around my breast. I nearly climax at the sight, I’ve always found him good looking, but I hated him enough that it negated any attraction I felt. Noah always sees right through me, through every wall I’ve built to protect my sanity, my sense of self, and those around me from knowing how much I’m crumbling. He sees past every defence and relishes in letting me know that, and nothing pisses me off more. After years of hating him for seeing how fucked up I am, he’s now on top of me, his mouth trailing further town, toward the waistband of my shorts. Any comfort I felt during his assault on my mouth, my neck and my breasts washes away. “Noah” I rasp, my voice hoarse. “Yeah little one?”, usually that nickname pisses me off, but the way his voice has dropped, the way he’s focussed so entirely on my body, it triggers something in me. It’s not like I’m a complete prude, I read a lot, romance books in particular, I just haven’t found someone who makes me feel comfortable, enough to explore my sexuality. I realise, as he’s paused above my stomach, looking up at me, that I don’t actually want him to stop. “I-I’ve never..” I trail off, stuttering. How the fuck am I supposed to tell him I’m a virgin, he’ll probably laugh in my face. He moves back up my body, his hands roaming over my bare skin as he does. Until he’s leaning over me, one hand above my head pushing him up, the other tracing lines on my throat, like he’s feeling my pulse. His eyes meet mine and I could get lost in them. “Are you a virgin y/n?”, his voice was guttural. I nod, slowly. He grips my throat and kisses me so aggressively I lose the ability to breathe, to think. “Do you want me to stop?”, his eyes stay locked on mine, assessing as our breath mingles. “Please don't” I whisper, not sure why I felt so confident all of a sudden. That was his undoing, he sits up and pulls my shorts and underwear off in one quick movement, I gasp as the air hits me, every inch of my skin feeling sensitive. He pulls me by my legs so I’m half dangling off the bed, and hooks them over his broad shoulders. Before I can even adjust to the new position he unleashes himself on me, his tongue feasting on me, his teeth biting at my swollen clit. I lose myself in the pleasure. My only experience is with a tiny vibrator, and I now realise that I’ve been missing out on a lot. My moans turn into loud groans, my hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer to me as I lose all control of my limbs. My body shakes like I’m having a seizure as the pressure begins to build, stronger than I’ve ever felt it before. His grip on my hips tightens and when he pushes one of his long fingers inside me, I shatter completely.

~ Noah ~

I cannot get enough of her, she tastes better than I could have ever imagined, and her whimpering, her moans, are threatening to undo me. She was soaked before I even started. I knew she’d not dated since I met her, and could tell she was inexperienced when I kissed her. But finding out she’s a virgin, it did something to me. Completely innocent, untouched. I almost came at the first taste of her, so fucking wet. And when I put one finger inside her, I felt her entire body let go, her scream as she came undone completely only fuelled by own sadistic tendencies, made me grip her so hard I knew it would mark her. I continued to feast on her as she came down from her high. Her body shaking so much I had to keep hold of her. Slowly her breathing returned to a slow pant, she let go of my hair and tried to move. Did she think we were done? I look up at her, my mouth around her clit, her eyes are hazy with pleasure, her mouth open slightly, a shocked but sated expression on her face. I add a second finger and she groans, her back arching and head falling back into the mattress. “Good girl” I mutter against her, and I feel her clench around my fingers. Does the little virgin have a praise kink? “Such a good girl, so wet for me, you taste like my new favourite meal”, she moans, hands flying back to my hair. I smile as I continue to eat her out, my fingers moving slowly, stretching out her tight cunt. It’s like she was made for me, so fucking perfect. 

I manage to pull two more orgasms from her with mouth and my fingers. I move back onto the bed to kiss her, to show her how good she tastes. Her face is red, tears staining her cheeks, her make up running down her face. Marks are starting to form from my previous assault on her throat. I pull her mouth open with the fingers that were just inside her, she goes pliant, letting me do what I please, so fucking perfect. I spit her release into her mouth, and kiss her greedily, hungry for more. She groans and fists her hands in the fabric of my t-shirt, pulling me closer. My cock starts straining against my trousers. I pull them down, positioning myself between her legs and driving inside of her, losing control completely. I feel her hymen break, she screams and the sound is like kindling to my arousal. I pull out completely and ram back inside her, a throaty groan comes from her, the noises she’s making are as animalistic as I feel. I know I should be gentle, but she’s so soft and wet and tight. I fuck her mercilessly, my hand around her throat, my tongue in her mouth, owning her completely. I stop only to take off my clothes. The sight of her laid bare for me, legs spread, chest heaving, eyes wide with lust and fear, it sends me into a frenzy. I grab her legs and flip her so she’s on her stomach, the movement pushes all the air from her lungs and she gasps. I pull her hips up and bury myself inside her, over and over, until her screams turn hoarse and I feel her climax building. I pull her up by her hair and wrap my hand around her throat again, “are you gonna come for me y/n?”, I keep thrusting inside her at a devastating pace, “that’s it, you’re taking me so well, like you were made for me”, she comes apart at that, “good girl” I growl in her ear. I can feel her muscles contracting and it sends me over the edge, my own release coming faster than usual. We stay there for a while, her tight cunt still squeezing my cock, both of us panting as we come down.

She hisses as I pull out, gasping at the soreness between her legs. She’s pliant in my arms and I gently lie her down on her back, her eyes are swimming with curiosity and pain, she’s fighting to stay conscious. All her shields are down, I crumbled every wall and defence she’s built around herself and I relish in the sight. She reaches out and traces lines across my face, until sleep finally takes hold and her arm drops to the mattress. I pull my underwear and joggers back on and head to the bathroom in search of a towel. After cleaning myself up I return to my girl, spreading her legs again to clean her. My erection grows again at the sight of my cum mixed with her blood, the red bite marks covering the inside of her thighs. I quickly clean her up before I decide to break her entirely, and wrap her in a blanket so she can sleep. What is wrong with me? I have a severe need to both shatter and fix her. I need to claim her, own her, I need to understand her, to uncover the darkness that takes over. The only thing I know for sure is that she’s mine, whether she likes it or not.

[miss-anaa]

[crimsondinnerparty]

“Primavera” In this episode, Will sees Hannibal’s horrifying tribute to him — the heart-shaped "Valentine" made of a man's body. Hannibal doesn’t do casual gifts; he’s like the nightmare version of that friend who overdoes it with grand romantic gestures. “You’re telling me you made a giant heart sculpture out of someone’s ribs? You really shouldn’t have.” Will’s reaction is this mixture of horror and resignation, like he’s half-expecting this by now. But Hannibal’s twisted gesture isn’t just creepy — it’s his way of saying, “I missed you.” Because in Hannibal’s world, nothing says affection like personalized murder art.

[lighthousepigeons]

[Damien babysitting]

Jeremy: *Hits his head while playing basketball* Ow! My head!

Damien: Oh fuck! Are you okay?

Jeremy: No.

Damien: Alright! Alright! Don't panic.

Jeremy: I'm not panicking.

Damien, checking his head: Ah, you're gonna be fine. We just gotta stop the bleeding.

Jeremy, panicking: I'm bleeding?

Damien: Just, a little trickle. I'll grab my car keys and we'll head to the hospital.

Jeremy: A hospital? I don't wanna go to a hospital.

Damien: Did I say hospital? I meant Disneyland.

[apollogeticx]

ULTRAVIOLENCE SNIPPET

The simplicity of his rejection didn't soften its impact; it was a clear, resolute denial of the possibility you had allowed yourself to dream of. His words were kind, but they carved a hollow space within you. "You’re my student, and I’m your teacher. It wouldn't be right. I'm flattered, really, but—"

Gojo stepped closer, and for the first time, you noticed that his usual carefree expression was gone. He looked... angry. Not at you, but at something else, something deeper. "You think starving yourself is going to make this better?" he asked, his voice hardening. "Do you really believe you deserve this?"

His words hit you like a physical blow, and you flinched, the tears you had been holding back slipping down your cheeks.

"What do you care?" you snapped, your voice cracking. "You haven't noticed anything. You didn't even care when I-"

"When you what?" Gojo interrupted, his voice cold now. "When you tried to confess to me on Valentine's Day? You think I didn't care about that? You think I haven't noticed you spiraling since then?"

You froze, your heart racing. He had noticed?

"I rejected you because it was the right thing to do," Gojo continued, his voice quieter now, his anger fading into something more vulnerable. "But I never wanted to hurt you like this. I thought you'd bounce back, that you'd move on. "

notes: so, I've been cooking this for a while, I'll start posting sometime next week (not sure how many chapters yet). It's on the dark side so tags might include YANDERE GOJO and alert to SEPLOPHOBIA (mention of decay and consuming rotten food, briefly). Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[mystic-noir]