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

[deathbxnny]

Woooo, congrats on 1k followers, sure has been a ride, huh?

Now, with requests back open, it's time time for the sequel to my Arle request!

Okay so, like I said in that ask I sent a while ago, this one takes place in the same "continuity" as the angsty af Arle request you did last req period. This one takes place some time after that story, and is less angsty in this case (but there's definitely still some here).

Here, similarily to the last request, the "Mother" of the House is staying in... let's say Fontaine, tending to one of the injured children (could be some rando kid, or maybe it's one of the Fontaine trio) after a mission. Unlike last time though, it's looking as though the child will pull through, that "Mother" won't have to bury another of her kids!

Bad news tho, the people responsible for the child's injuries are coming around to finish what they started. Arle, who's handling business elsewhere, catches wind of this and makes haste to help her wife.

Little did those who came to finish the child realize what danger they're in. Because you see, fem!reader is a former child of the House of Hearth. Not just that, she's the wife of a Harbinger. Normally she doesn't engage in violence, but these people Hage intentions of ending her child's life, and she simply cannot let that slide.

And so, Arle arrives just in time to bare witness to her s/o going absolutely John Wick (does she kill anyone with a pencil? That's up to you 🤭) on the bandits who dared to cross her not once, but twice.

(Part one)

Ohoho.... I absolutely love this, dear Anon, and I'm hoping you'll love my spin on this as well!! Although I have to admit that I gave it a bit of a mellow end, instead of the "John Wick" type of ending, mainly because I found it more fitting with what I was going for... but anyhow, thank you so much for this request, I was definitely looking forward to it, hehe!!<33

Content: Some gore, Near character death, mentions of near fatal injuries/wounds, blood, mentions of grief/child loss, Reader snapping, violence, assassination attempts, Reader is referred to as "Mother", heavy angst, hurt/comfort, kind of a good ending for once?, stitches

Reader uses she/her pronouns here!!

((Not proofread))

The last one standing had crimson palms. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

"I... I wish to..." "Shh... not another word, child... don't you dare say it." Your hands were stained red once more, pressing down on another gashing, deep wound, sweat running down your forehead as everyone around you attempted to stop the bleeding. You didn't want him to see what had become of him, one hand resting over his teary eyes to stop your heart from shattering any further. You wished she was here, your dearest wife, who had to choose this week of all the others to leave the country for a short business trip.

And today was supposed to be a good day. One filled with the laughter of children and the smell of grilled sausages and steaks coming from the garden. You were trying to have a little festival together to celebrate the start of warmer months. But the atmosphere had now become suffocating with the smell of sharp iron and sweat instead, the gentle warmth now scorching hot, exhausting, and grinding you down to the bone. However, you couldn't let go of him now. You couldn't let him die. You refused to give up on him, especially. You refused to let him become another buried angel.

His hand pressed against yours weakly, his breaths deep, pathetic gasps for air, as he tried telling you something important through broken cries. "Mother... Mother, please, you have to listen to me." He coughed out, blood staining his lips, as his other hand reached out blindly to grasp onto the fabric of your once white sundress. You furrowed your brows against the darkness of the room, light only filtering in through the moon outside and the shaky hands of Lynette trying to keep a lantern steady so her twin could keep patching his younger brother up.

"What is it, Freminet?" You indulged him, trying to keep him awake at all costs. His voice was hoarse, raspy, once silky blonde hair now sticking to his forehead as he gulped dryly to collect his thoughts.

"They are coming for us, mother... and you are next."

Lyney gave you a look, one filled with an undefined emotion he only ever had when it came to your protection. If you didn't know better, you would've been terrified at how similar he was becoming to his father. "Those assassins we encountered during our mission, Mother... they weren't ordinary ones, to say the least." He muttered to you, his mind replaying the moment one of them struck his brother, who was just trying to protect them out of pure instinct. He was brave, despite the shyness he often portrayed.

"How so?" You wiped away the sweat on your forehead, nose wrinkling when another member of the house handed you a medkit before they disappeared into the shadows again. "They... knew us by name. Every single one of us. And then-" You waved over Lynette to stand in your place whilst her twin spoke, so you could unpack the needed supplies for the upcoming "operation" you had to conduct on your son. You've become a near professional over the years. Something else you didn't choose to do nor want to be.

"-They uttered your name. We... believe that they are trying to weaken Father. And you are that weakness they are seeking, Mother.-" "-They've come to finish the job. We... we need to evacuate everyone.. we need to hide her.-" Lynette hushed Freminet quickly, as she pressed some cloth into his mouth. With a glance downwards to his wound, she determined that it would definitely hurt horribly to stitch him up... but he'd live. For the first time in weeks, someone would live. She closed her eyes to hide those tears that threatened to spill in relief.

You stared at the three of them for a moment before you simply proceeded with placing the first few stitches into the boy's wound wordlessly. He writhed in pain, his fingernails digging into the mattress below whilst his screams and cries were muffled by the cloth. Lyney and Lynette were trying to hold him down, their bodies wincing involuntarily at every sharp breath or movement from their brother. Your expression was meanwhile unreadable, hands moving automatically until you cut the string and were done with your little procedure. It's as if your mind completely fazed out, only driven by the need to fix and protect, keep everyone alive no matter what.

"Lyney." The young man hesitantly met your gaze, his body shaking when his brother fell limply into the bed again, his breathing heavy and uneven. "Evacuate everyone into the upper floors and then come back to watch over Freminet." You said, quick to wipe your hands with a nearby towel nearly coldly, but Lyney knew that look in your eyes. You were sick of it and would take it all into your own hands if your wife couldn't. "Mother, you can't just-" "-Lynette, use the backdoor and let this bird free." You tapped the golden cage on the nightstand with your fingers, the little sparrow chirping curiously. It was a messenger bird, one specifically designed to catch your wife's attention and bring her home instantly when things got out of control.

But you weren't using it for it's purpose tonight. No, everything was completely under control here... you just needed her to come back home to stop you once you're done.

"Mother-" A sharp look made him quickly reconsider what he was about to say, a hand pressing against his chest whilst he bowed. "... we're on it." Lyney muttered, signaling Lynette to love with him, which she did after grabbing the bird cage. Their paths split at the stairs, the girl practically descending them two steps at a time, which got the attention of their fellow bretheren immideatly. "Everyone! Get into the attic or your rooms at once! Mother's orders, so get moving! Barricade your doors and don't open them up to anyone! This is an absolute emergency!" Everyone jumped when they heard the usually playful magicians voice bark out orders harshly, automatically getting the job done as everyone filed up the stairs to do as he said.

Lyney pushed through the crowd to continue looking for stray children who may not have heard him. His heart was racing against his ribcage, sweat dripping off his forehead he could only barely wipe off with a handkerchief he accidentally dropped when someone bumped into him. But your orders were clear in his mind and kept him steady. He knew that he and most, if not all, other kids of the house could take care of themselves just fine... but this was something beyond their means. Something usually only Father got to handle.

By the time he finally got back to his brothers room, you had left it behind, nowhere to be found, and yet the injured boy had a simple blanket covering his shivering form now, dressed in clean clothes and resting on perfectly white bedsheets. Lyney waited by the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, as he listened to his sisters familiar steps running towards him. He let her in, eyes glancing around the dim hallway one more time before he tipped his hat down and shut the wooden entrance again.

The only sound heard for a moment after was the chirping of a bird in the dead of night until deafening silence filtered in once more.

---

The house of Hearth was never still and unmoving, not even in the darkest parts of the day. The late hours were the busiest, filled with agents and children alike walking in and out of it's doors under the cover of shadows to complete their given tasks and missions. The iron, bloody scent left behind by their previous endeavors, their hushed words to eachother as they passed by, the movement of paper being hidden under floorboards, some given to you with proud looks for approval, as you stayed up with them until the first rays of the sun danced in your eyes... it was never calm, never quiet. Yet the intruders didn't question it. They didn't even think twice to enter the house, the open birdcage. They mistook the silence and stillness for safety.

The first assasin stepped in through the picked lock of a backdoor entrance, his cautious eyes trying to catch any looming danger that may cause them trouble. Yet with nothing in sight, he waved over the rest of his three little friends right into your humble home. "Okay, you know the plan... kill as many of those little rats as you can." "And what about the Mother?" One of them asked, his hair clumsily hidden under a makeshift hood, a dirty grin on his lips in anticipation.

"Can I get rid of her? It won't be much of a struggle, I'm sure. She's just a measly housewife anyway." "Heard she's a pretty thing, though." A round of chuckles filled the kitchen before the first shrugged. "Do what you want. We just have to be done by dawn... let's split up in two groups, then. Just in case." The men agreed, one group making their way upwards, whilst the other searched the ground floors.

The darkness was inviting, the silence emitting a false sense of safety that made the intruders let their guards down, unaware of your form slinking after them. You were calm and collected, eyes dull, the dim moonlight not catching in them anymore. A mother's rage was a dangerous, unpredictable one. Filled with the need to make those who hurt her children suffer, she'd advance even through the most perilous paths for the sake of glory, revenge.

Unbeknownst to anyone, you had put two and two together a long time ago. These intruders, who belonged to a foreign enemy faction, were the cause of many of your children's deaths. They were the reason as to why you had to hear them cry out that odd wish so often. They had dared to enter your territory tonight to take away the rest of the family you had worked so hard for to have. You worked so hard to be a good mother. You bled, you cried, you slaughtered your way here. You became a "mother" one could be proud of. And on this fateful night, you'd prove your worth and pride to even Celestia above you with their screams that will reach far and wide. Your hand gripped a silver dagger, one originally gifted to you by your wife, as you blew out a lantern in one of the hallways, plunging everyone into further darkness that was far from warm.

It was ice cold.

---

"Wait outside." Arlecchino gave the Fatui agents a sharp, warning look, her clawed fingers tight around the Scythe as she entered the still, quiet building she called home. Her eyes glanced around carefully, noting immideatly that the danger that lurked in the dark was familiar. The bird on her shoulder chirped, reminding her of why she had come here in the first place. The meeting she had was cut short by it flying through the window, the call for help loud and clear. She had simply walked out then, her priority always having been you and the house, although it still made her wonder why exactly everything seemed so... unusually silent. Did Lyney and the other children deal with the threat already? If so... where were you?

Her keen ears picked up movement in the living room nearby, which made her calmly make her way over to it's entrance. With a raise of a brow, she stopped when she stepped into a puddle of blood. It seems like her suspicions were partially correct... althkugh who it was that took care of the intruders certainly came as a surprise.

"... You came." Your voice made the tension in her shoulders cease, eyes flickering to your form seated infront of the fireplace. The orange light cascaded across the dark room, the four mangled bodies laying at the bottom of your favorite lavish loveseat being a testament to your victory, and yet you remained still as a statue, back turned to her to observe the flames instead.

"You called." Arlecchino replied after taking in the situation, the sound of her heeled shoe echoing off the walls, as she approached you carefully. Her clawed hand grabbed onto your shoulder, head tilting to look at the side of your head. Your eyes were cold, not even the scorching warmth of the fire melting them. You were unreadable, hands bloody, and yet still so tightly gripping onto the dagger like your life depended on it. And despite that, you were still breathtaking to the woman.

"Are... you alright, my dove?" She asked, a genuine tone in her voice that was only ever reserved for you. The tears in your eyes burned when you finally looked up at her with a pained expression. You weren't like her. You couldn't just kill and be as proud as you hoped to be. You raised your hands towards her, bloody palms raised towards the gods the way they often were when you pleaded for help and forgiveness for the death of your children. You didn't need to say anything anymore, as she pressed a hand to your cheek with an acknowledging nod.

She wasn't good at comfort, nor did she ever try to be. A father didn't comfort his children in her eyes. No, a father simply led them to glory, and that's it. But that didn't mean that she was a bad wife, too. She sat down next to you, uncaring of the bloody mess that surrounded you, when she pulled you close to press your foreheads together. It was a way to silently show her support. She was there for you and understood you.

"I was scared... they hurt Freminet, and I couldn't fathom losing the rest-" "-I know. Thank you for your bravery, my dove. I'll take it from here." Her words were curt and short, and most would perhaps chalk it up to indifference. But when she held you close like this, gently rubbed your back and promised to take care of you only she knew how to, you found yourself being lulled back into the familiar comfort you were so used to. You knew that despite everything that happened, however, she could still not promise that this would never happen again. Your hands will always be stained crimson for as long as you were a Mother. There was no going back. There was no leaving the house.

But... you both were stuck in it together forever, weren't you?

Alrightttt... this took a while to finish, mainly due to work and me being sick again. But yeah, thank you again for the request, Anon, and I hope you liked this!!<33

[koolades-world]

Hello! Congrats on 2k followers!!! I’ll be honest, with the way you write so beautifully I really assumed you might have had 5k if not more :0! But, I’m sure it’ll happen quickly without any of us noticing! Anyway! I was thinking of Satan x shy fem! MC who actually confesses to him!! I’m thinking that in one of Asmo’s Friday night games Asmo dares MC to kiss someone who she would date. So she bashfully gives Satan a soft cheek kiss and runs off to the planetarium. When she realises Satan’s presence near her, she spills her heart out using prompts 6 and 36! Prompt 6 to explain her initial attraction to him, and prompt 36 after listing out and explaining the things she loves about him (seeking knowledge, gentle nature, observant, considerate, you know it all!! :))! Sorry if it’s too long, you can cut out any details you don’t like or think are too tedious or completely change it to any other plot you like!

Have a lovely day/night!

thank you!! great to see you again :)) been working on your other request but i'm not sure when i'll have it ready haha

no worries about being too specific and whatnot, it helps me since I don’t actually need to come up with the idea on my own haha. the concept is very cute! you know me, I could rant about all the things I love about satan so actually that part might just be me speaking haha

asmo have friday game nights is SO real I think I may need to expand on that concept later. monopoly is 100% banned in that household, but we can save that fun stuff for later

enjoy <3

prompts 6 and 36 w/ Satan

Despite how busy the household might get during the week, Friday evenings were typically reserved for game nights, hosted and organized by Asmo. It started off as something small with just himself and you because they actually wanted to play games, Mammon because he was simply following you, and Levi because he saw an opportunity to show off. After that, it began to develop and take on a life of its own.

As more people joined, things needed to be more coordinated. Food had to be ordered or turns needed to be taken on who was making what, a schedule of what was going to be played had to be made, and even a seating schedule so nobody would argue over who got to sit next to you.

Tonight, the group would be playing something a little different. In all honesty, it seemed like the perfect game. It didn't require anything but the players themselves, and didn't have a limit to how many could play. Unfortunately, that game was the bane of your existence: truth or dare. You didn't have the heart to tell Asmo of all the horrors that games had brought you when you were younger. But, you'd never missed a game night and it wasn't about to start now. Who know, you might even enjoy it.

So, you took your seat in the circle against your better judgment. Today, you were seated between Satan and Diavolo. Diavolo was always very into the games, but sitting next to Satan made you nervous. Not because of his rage, but because of the effect of being near him had on you. After coming to the realization that you had a crush on him, being around him got so much harder, but you didn't want to disrupt the schedule. It was only one night, you thought you could power through it.

The night was a blur, and the only thing you could focus on was how close you were to Satan. You were squished next to him on the couch, and every time you touched, you felt almost stunned. You could only hoped nobody else noticed your suffering. Unfortunately for you, Asmo never missed that kind of thing and decided he was ready to be your matchmaker, if you'd take the chance.

"Mc! You haven't said anything yet. I'm honestly surprised nobody else has called on you yet. So, truth or dare?" Asmo's words shook you out of your stupor. You sat and thought for a moment about his question. He'd for sure use truth against you in some way, like asking who your favorite brother was. That would start a war. So, instead you opted for dare, hoping he'd just ask to use you as a living mannequin.

"Dare, I guess?" You nervously glanced around. You would have thought at this point you would've grown used to the stares of many eyes at once, but it still never failed to make you nervous.

"I dare you to give a kiss to somebody you would date. Preferably me." He puckered up. Of course you knew your answer, but did you have the courage? The easy way out would be giving Asmo the kiss, but that wouldn't be true to your heart. You could feel the gazes of the others trained on your every move, silently hoping you'll pick them.

"Uhm. Can I back out? Or at least can everybody close their eyes?" You couldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"You heard her. Close your eyes. The quicker you do, the quicker I get my kiss." Reluctantly, everyone in the room shut their eyes, the last being Satan himself. The two of you held inexplicable eye contact, as if he knew about the choice you were about to make before you did. After everyones' eyes were finally shut, you could feel yourself relax a little. But not enough to make it less stressful.

Finally ready to make your move, you got up from your spot and stood in the center of the circle. You stood in front of Satan, studying his features. You could spend hours looking at him. His long eyelashes, his bright blond hair, his full lips. But, you couldn't keep everyone waiting. With all the courage you could muster, you stepped forward, and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. His eyes shot open and for a long moment, you stared at each other.

Suddenly, all the confidence you'd managed to gather vanished. Panicking, you ran out of the circle through a small gap between Levi and Mammon. You fled to the only place that brought you comfort: the planetarium. Once you were there, you sat down on the ground and looked up at the stars. Finding the constellations brought you comfort. Behind you, you heard the door to the planetarium open. You turned to the sound of the approaching footsteps and was greeted by the man you'd kissed under an hour ago.

"Mc. I thought I'd find you here." Satan sat beside you, following your gaze up to the sky. "I never thought you'd date me of all people." You looked at him from your peripheral vision.

"What make you say that?" You questioned him. To you, he was perfect.

"Well, I always just assumed you'd prefer my brothers' personalities. They all have something going for them, and I'm just me. I'm not as special." His expression didn't change.

"You don't sell yourself enough. You're smart, you're thoughtful, and you're a joy to be around, not to mention how handsome you are. You give me butterflies." You absolutely wouldn't stand for him putting himself down like that, even if it meant confessing in the process. You'd already kind of kicked that off to begin with, so the least you could do was follow though. "But, that's not all. You care about the people close to me. You followed me here, didn't you? That's one of the many things I love about you. You always know exactly what I need when I'm feeling down. You're sensible, you're always honest with me, you're witty, and you have a more mischievous side. You pay attention to detail and you're gentle. I have a hard time thinking about what I don't love about you. To me, you're perfect." At the point, Satan was was looking right at you. This time, you weren't afraid to make eye contact and you met his emerald eyes.

"I could list all the things I love about you, but we'd be here all night. If you give me time, I'll make a book for you. If that was a confession, I accept." He softly smiled at you. He was positively glowing with the compliments you gave him, yet he still seemed to doubt the reality of it all. His cheeks were a light pink, and he held his hand out to you. You took it with a newfound conviction.

"I think it was." You found yourself growing a little bashful again, but didn't let go or look away. You enjoyed the feeling of his hand in yours.

"We could go back to game night, or we could go out? I have this 24 hour cafe in mind I've been meaning to try. It could be our first date." He ran his thumb over your knuckles, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your hand that echoed the one you'd given him not too long ago.

"I'd like that." With a smile, you let him pull you to your feet. The way he smiled at you made you realize you wouldn't regret your decision to step out of your comfort zone.

[timegears-moved]

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

[gremlingottoosilly]

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

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

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

[anantaru]

EX HUSBAND NEUVILLETTE

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband neuvillette headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

or did they end?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[starkwlkr]

i wait for you | sebastian vettel

part 1 part 2

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

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

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

INSTAGRAM

liked by sebastianvettel, aussiegrit and 766,388 others

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

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

until next time, take care.

comments on this post have been limited

TIME SKIP TO ABU DHABI 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SEB’S LAST RACE

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

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

“but—”

“go.” he assured you.

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

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

“then do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and suddenly, everything felt right in the world.

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

[mahgyu]

JJK Men: Dreaming about you after your death

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

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

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

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

⸺ㅤGOJO

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

⸺ㅤGETO

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

⸺ㅤNANAMI

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

⸺ㅤCHOSO

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

⸺ㅤTOJI

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

⸺ㅤSUKUNA

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

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it 🩶

ㅤㅤㅤ

[mournings-stars]

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

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

charlie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

alastor

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

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

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

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

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

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

angel dust

he loves the security of your wings

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

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

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

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

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

pentious

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

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

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

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

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

he felt very bad :(

cherri

wings are for parties!

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

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

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

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

but she finds it super hot so…

velvette

she likes to fuck with you

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

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

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

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

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

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

definitely been used for a private moment in the office

she says they’re your best asset

vox

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

in public? absolutely not…

in private? well…. no! totally not!

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

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

he’s not slick

like at all

not even in public

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

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

niffty

girl is crazy

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

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

but she would love petting them and thats why shes here

[meyobe]

Pretty privilege… no MC privilege.

Lucifer

MC can boss him around however they wish or desire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mammon

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

As MC first man he will never be too busy.

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

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

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

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

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

Leviathan

MC can depend on him no Matter what.

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

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

He’s your one and true friend remember?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 3 is up!!!!!!

[flickering-chandelier]

I Heard Your Voice in a Dream

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader’s village in the Spring Court is destroyed by Hybern (F U Tampon), and she is on her own until Azriel finds her. She feels instantly connected to him, but is not sure why, until one morning when he tells her everything.

(Also my first attempt at duel POV)

Warnings: a smutty ending

Word Count: 6.4k

You were running for your life when Azriel found you. 

After the High Lord of the Spring Court made a deal with the devil to bring back his love that fled from him, life looked much different for you. 

Hybern had attacked your village, destroyed your home and everything you had ever known. Your High Lord was nowhere to be found. Most of the people you knew didn’t make it out. Somehow, you had, but you couldn’t help but wonder… at what cost?

You spent your time wandering the endless green spring, not sure what to do. You had missed the evacuation. Nobody knew you were injured or where you were. By the time you were well enough to walk, you were alone. 

The panic was made worse by the fact that you knew what was in these lands -- monsters that you had no hope of beating should they target you. 

And eventually, they did target you. 

You weren’t sure what kind of creature it was -- just knew that those teeth could rip you to shreds and you wouldn’t be able to outrun it for long. 

But you did run, because what other choice did you have? You ran and ran, not daring to look back. You could hear it gaining on you with every step, until you felt, more than heard, the ground shaking beneath you. 

Suddenly, it was silent, the terrible feet of the monster no longer sounding behind you. You risked a glance back, and saw who must have been a warrior, with enormous black wings spread behind him, wiping off his bloody blade on the grass next to the carcass of the beast.

You stopped running, turning around slowly, studying him as he looked up at you. He was the most beautiful male you had ever seen, with dark black hair and a completely stoic face, giving away absolutely nothing about what he was thinking. The hard lines of that face terrified you as much as they intrigued you. You realized you were shaking as he walked toward you slowly, as if approaching an injured animal. He was wearing some kind of armor -- all black, with gleaming, glowing circles attached to several points of his body. There were dark tendrils of what looked like smoke circling his arms, his hands. He sheathed his gleaming black blade as he approached you. 

He held his hands out, severely scarred, you noticed, palms facing you as he got closer. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” His deep, commanding voice seemed to echo through the now quiet woods.

You couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t bring your voice to speak.

“What’s your name?” he said softly when he stopped a few feet from you.

You told him, your voice barely above a whisper.

The warrior repeated your name quietly, his hazel eyes softening, then said “I’m Azriel. Are you hurt?”

“I-- I don’t think so.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes scanning your body, as if to confirm it. “What are you doing out here alone?”

You couldn’t help but think that the soft, gentle voice he was now using with you was such a juxtaposition to the fierceness of his armor, his no doubt rock solid body, his massive wings. “I have nowhere to go,” you finally choked out.

His brow furrowed, his eyes swimming with emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Your family?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The expression on your face seemed to say enough. His jaw tightened as he swallowed.

“Your home?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Destroyed,” you whispered.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, his expression softening as he studied your face. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head, but you couldn’t imagine what he was contemplating. 

“Thank you,” you croaked out eventually. “For saving my life.”

You turned to go, not wanting to inconvenience him further, but his hand grasped your wrist. As you turned around, you noticed his demeanor had completely changed. He staggered back a step, still holding onto you, pulling you forward a bit. Where before he was confident and calming, his eyes were now wide, his mouth open in what could only be shock.

“What is it?” you asked.

Azriel shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear it. “Come with me.”

You didn’t try to hide your surprise. “You don’t have to do that, I’ll manage.”

He moved his grip from your wrist to your hand, holding it carefully in his, as he gazed at your face, his eyes pleading. “You won’t survive out here. My home -- it’s safe. You’ll be safe.”

Contemplating this, you tried to weigh your options. You knew he was right, that you wouldn’t make it for much longer alone out here. You could try to make it to another court, but how long would that take? And what would happen to you if you got there? But, his home, the one he claimed was safe… you had never seen anyone like him before. Never seen anyone as intimidating. Finally, you asked. “Who… are you?”

His cheeks dusted red as he seemed to grapple for the right words. “I work for the High Lord of the Night Court,” he said carefully.

Unconsciously, you took a step back, pulling your hand from his grasp.

Azriel’s eyes flared. If you didn’t know better you would think it was panic. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice steady despite his body language.

“The Night Court?” you felt your heart beating faster. Why did your savior have to be from there, of all places? The only thing worse than these woods would be the Court of Nightmares, where not just the High Lord, but the people were brutal and malicious.

“If you just saw it, you would understand,” he said, taking a careful step towards you again. “I will keep you safe, I swear it.” His eyes remained pleading in a way that you couldn’t comprehend.

“Why?” you asked, trying to make sense of this warrior before you. “Why do you care so much?”

He hesitated, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he said with all the sincerity in the world, “I couldn’t live with myself if I just left you here.”

You sighed, trying to think. As if reading your thoughts he said, “You either trust me or be eaten by something out here.”

He was right. You knew he was. Still, you couldn’t stop the fear that lodged in your throat as you turned back to him and said resignedly, “Okay. Take me with you.”

---

Azriel tried to keep his breathing steady as the two of you made it to the townhouse in Velaris. He knew he would have a lot of explaining to do. 

He watched your eyes widen as you took in the sight around you. Children laughing, people walking and talking, seemingly without a care in the world. A bustling city nestled between the mountains of the Night Court. 

“Where… are we?” you asked. Your voice had not yet risen to a normal volume in the short time that he had known you.

Azriel didn’t know how much to tell you. He would likely already be in hot water just for bringing you here. “The Night Court,” he said, trying to keep his voice bland. “Sort of.”

You gaped at him. 

Azriel winced as you neared the front door. “I hate to do this. But, I need you to wait out here.”

Your eyes only widened. “You’re going to leave me?” 

His heart cracked a bit at your words. “It should only be a few minutes. I told you, it’s safe here.”

You scowled, crossing your arms, but finally said, “Okay.”

Azriel nodded once, took a deep breath, and walked inside. Cassian, Feyre, and Rhysand were all in the living room. Rhys was laughing at something Feyre said. All eyes looked to you as you stepped into the threshold. 

“You’re back early,” Rhys said.

“I need to talk to you,” Azriel said to Rhysand, his voice sounding off, even to his own ears. “Alone.”

The others looked between the two of you curiously. Rhysand rose, masking his surprise, and gestured to his study.

When they were alone, Azriel didn’t know what to say, how to start. Finally, Rhysand had to say “What’s going on, Az?”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “When I got to the Spring Court, there was a woman. Running through the woods, from a bogge.”

“Okay,” Rhys drawled.

“I saved her, obviously. But, Rhys, you should have seen her. She was terrified and alone. I think she’s from the village that Hybern attacked.” 

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Azriel held his gaze. “She’s my mate, Rhys.”

The High Lord swore. “You brought her here, didn’t you?”

“What was I supposed to do? She would’ve died out there.”

Rhysand nodded, processing the information. “It was a risk, bringing her here.”

“I know it was,” Azriel said, unwilling to apologize, not for saving his mate’s life.

Despite the danger Azriel had put them in, Rhysand smiled at his brother. “You found your mate.”

Azriel nodded. He hadn’t really processed the information yet.

“Does she know?” Rhys asked.

“No. She’s going through enough right now.”

Rhysand nodded again. “Just be careful. You know how it went when Feyre found out before I told her.”

“I know.” 

“So,” Rhys said, leaning against his desk. “I guess we let her stay in the House of Wind. She can find her own place later, if she wants.”

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Really.” 

---

True to his word, Azriel was back a few minutes later. You were still shocked, trying to make sense of the day. How could this place be a part of the Night Court?

“I can take you to your room now, if you’re ready,” he said by way of greeting. 

“My room?” What, in his house? 

“Unless you want a tour of the city first? I figured you’d be tired,” he said naturally, as if he were speaking about the weather. 

You couldn’t help but gawk at him. “I get a room?”

“Yes,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Okay,” you said cautiously. “Sure, let’s go to… my room.”

He cleared his throat, taking a tentative step toward you. “We’ll have to fly.”

You just blinked at him. Surely, he didn’t mean…?

He motioned toward you. “May I?”

Resolved, you said, “At this point, why not?” 

The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips before carefully, he swept you up in his arms, glancing at your face before flapping his mighty wings, taking the two of you up over the city, toward a large mountain.

You clung to him, your stomach twisting in knots, until he landed gently on a balcony on the top of the mountain.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he set you on the ground.

You nodded, looking past him into the formal dining room inside. “Where are we?”

“This is one of the High Lord’s residences in the city. He doesn’t really stay here with us,” he said, opening the door and leading you inside. 

“Us?”

“Me and a few others that you’ll meet. His inner circle.”

Again, you felt that fear spike through your body. The High Lord of the Night Court. His inner circle. What had you gotten yourself into?

As if sensing your fear, he stopped and faced you, looking at you intently. “The stories you’ve heard… they’re not real. At least, not in the context that you think.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to form a response. But, surprisingly, you wanted to trust him, this man who saved your life. 

When he realized that you weren’t going to say anything, he cocked his head, motioning for you to follow him through the house. You silently obeyed, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty hallways. 

Finally, he stopped before a room, shouldering the door open and gesturing for you to step inside first. It was more lavish than any room you’d seen in your village in the Spring Court. The four poster bed was huge in the center of the room. To the right was a sitting area with two chairs and a couch, cozy looking rugs, and through an open door you could see a washroom. It was more inviting than you had expected. 

“Will this be alright?” Azriel asked as you surveyed the room.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, this should be just fine.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m just a few doors down, if you need anything.”

“You’re leaving?” you asked, for the second time that day.

Hesitating by the door, he said, “I thought you’d like some time to unwind. I imagine it’s been quite a day for you.”

You nodded, but couldn’t help the pang you felt at being left alone again. Azriel was starting to feel like all you had in the world. 

After studying you for a beat, he said, “I can come back in an hour? Give you some time to settle in?”

You couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Okay.”

---

An hour later, Azriel was knocking on your door, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. This morning, he was leaving for the Spring Court to check on how Tamlin had been handling things, and now his mate was staying a few doors down, with no idea where she was or anything about him. 

The breath was knocked right out of him as you opened the door. You had changed into leggings and a sweater, the shape of your legs on full display, your hair, slightly damp, was falling loose in ringlets over your shoulders. 

An angel, he thought. You looked like an angel. 

“I’m glad you gave me that hour,” you admitted, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. Azriel felt faint. “I haven’t had a real bath in ages.”

Clarity struck his brain again at the reminder of what you had been through, how you had been living since the attack on your home. His heart ached for you. He wanted to rip Hybern apart with his bare hands.

“Do you want the tour?” he asked, dumbly, trying to stomp down his emotions,

You agreed, and he led you through the halls, the tug in his chest dazing him. He ached to reach for your hand, to bring your body into his. How had Rhys endured all that time with Feyre, feeling like this?

As you walked through the house, you started asking questions, and Azriel answered to the best of his ability. He told you about Velaris, how secret it was, why it had been kept a secret. The Court of Nightmares, the lies they had to spin. He explained that he was the Night Court’s spymaster, explained his shadows, his shadowsinger abilities, his wings. He didn’t give a ton of details, not wanting to overwhelm you, but not wanting to lie either.

You told him of your past, too. Of your life with your family before Hybern, your cottage, your friends. None of them had survived the attack. Azriel clenched his fists as you spoke, marveling at how kind and reserved you were, despite the horrors that you had been through.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the direction of the dining room and he winced. He would have to bring you to dinner, to face the entire group. Azriel knew that Rhys had relayed the information by now about his… guest. That was why they had all insisted on coming to dinner, to scope you out.

He felt guilty about keeping you out of the loop, that everyone would know that you were his mate. But you knew how much pressure could be put on females to give into their mates. He would never do that to you, he wanted you to have a choice. 

He would just have to wait until you were settled, until you knew that you were safe with him. 

You looked at him questioningly, and he simply said, “Are you hungry? It’s almost time for dinner.” 

“Dinner…” you trailed off, a question in your eyes.

“With everyone. Yeah.”

Your eyes widened and he couldn’t help himself. He took your hand in his like he did in the woods, what had made the bond snap into place. “It’ll be okay. They’re good people.”

You looked skeptical, but nodded, moving a bit closer to him. He swore he felt his heart miss a beat. 

Azriel led you to the dining room, still holding your hand. At the threshold of the room, you dropped his hand and stood behind him, peaking around his shoulder at the loud group. He could tell you were frightened, and wanted desperately to hold you, to take the fear away.

He cleared his throat, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He looked at his friends sternly, willing them to behave, at least for tonight, before he introduced you to them. 

You remained behind him, creeping out the littlest bit, placing your hand gently on his bicep. He looked back at you, trying to calm you down like he had in the woods. 

“Come on,” he murmured, lightly placing his hand on your arm and guiding you to your seat. You followed, your body taut. 

Azriel introduced you to Cassian, Mor, Elain, Nesta, and Amren. You stayed silent, wide eyed, no doubt realizing the power in the people around you. Finally, he gestured to Rhys and Feyre. “And this is the High Lord and Lady.”

Your eyes widened further then, taking in Feyre. “High Lady,” you murmured, in awe. 

Right. The High Lady. Feyre was the one who had tore the Spring Court apart from the inside out. Azriel hadn’t even thought of that, and watched your reaction. 

Feyre smiled at you kindly and Rhys looked extremely proud. “Honestly, that… that’s amazing. A High Lady,” you repeated. Azriel let out the breath he was holding.

“We sure think so,” Rhys smirked, his eyes sliding warmly to Feyre.

Azriel could feel some of the tension leave your body, and he nearly slumped with relief. 

Your reaction seemed to please his friends, too. Azriel couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. 

Throughout the course of dinner, you had remained silent, your doe eyes taking in everything before you. Azriel was hyper aware of you beside him, trying to sense your every reaction. 

After dinner, Azriel walked you back to your room, pausing at the door. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “It’s not what I expected.”

Azriel nodded. “In a good way?”

You smiled lightly up at him. He nearly fell over. “Everyone seems… normal. Like a family.”

Azriel smiled faintly. “They are. We are a family.”

Studying his face, you stayed silent for a moment. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He squeezed your shoulder gently, feeling his heart constrict at your vulnerability. “Sleep well. Come get me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, still smiling slightly as you went inside and gently closed the door behind you.

---

Despite your exhaustion, you lay awake, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, your mind spinning. A family. That’s what this was, all of these powerful fae in one room, the mightiest warriors, the most fearsome High Lord… talking and teasing and laughing at dinner. 

You had felt Azriel’s eyes on you, gauging your reactions. 

Azriel. He was what was truly keeping you up, you thought. The most beautiful man with the scarred hands and the siphons, you had learned, that helped him harness his unbelievable power, the apparently legendary blade at his side. And yet, the way he watched you, the way his voice changed when he spoke to you…

You couldn’t help but trust him, feeling safe next to him. He had saved your life, after all. It was that thought that was wisping through your mind as you finally drifted off to sleep. 

---

The first night in your new bed, you had slept through the night once you were finally able to sleep, too exhausted from the events of the day to be chased by monsters in your dreams. 

The second night was a different story. 

You didn’t even realize you had been screaming until scarred hands were shaking you awake, hazel eyes so close to yours, full of worry and protectiveness, saying your name over and over until your eyes cleared. 

Azriel’s fingers were rubbing soothing circles on your shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a dream,” he said softly, cupping your cheek in his rough hand when you had stopped trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, tears springing to your eyes. 

He gently wiped the tears away with his thumb, not taking his eyes off you for a second. “For what?” his voice was husky from sleep.

“Waking you,” you whispered, captivated by his hands on you, his eyes swimming with emotion. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said gently, his thumb still absently stroking your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice to be audible enough for him to hear.

“Do you want -- I can stay. If you want. Until you fall back to sleep,” he said hesitantly. You hadn’t known him long, but you imagined it was rare for him to stumble over his words like this.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quietly, though you felt your heart swell at the offer. “I appreciate it, but… I’m sure the spymaster needs sleep.”

The corner of his mouth turned up into a faint smile as he pulled back from you, settling in the armchair against the wall. “I’m used to staying up because I’m the spymaster,” he said, humor lining his voice.

“You’ve already done so much for me--”

His voice was still soft, but added a commanding edge as he cut you off. “Sleep, my lady. I don’t mind.”

You considered protesting again, but knew it wouldn’t get you anywhere. And honestly… it did make you feel better to have his comforting presence in the room, chasing away all of your invisible demons.

---

It didn’t take long for your breathing to go steady, lost in a deep sleep. Azriel couldn’t bring himself to leave you yet, though. 

The sound of your terrified shrieks ran over and over in his mind. He had been protective of people before, of course, but this. The terror he could feel radiating off of you, the tears streaming down your face, the look in your eyes before you realized where you were… his hands gripped the armrests so tightly that he worried you might not have a chair in your room tomorrow. 

He focused on you now: your peaceful face, your hair draped across the pillow, your breathing even. It calmed him down slightly, but not enough.

Azriel wanted to stay. Just to be sure that you were alright, to ensure that he would be able to stop the nightmares before they escalated this time, but he did not want to invade your privacy. He knew that you probably wouldn’t be happy to find him still sitting there in the morning. 

So, after you had been sleeping peacefully for quite some time, he dragged himself out of the chair and silently went to his own room, where he could not sleep at all, those screams rattling around in his mind.

---

Azriel stayed by your side for weeks after you arrived in the Night Court, only leaving, seemingly, when he absolutely had to. The two of you would relax in the library, raid the kitchen, wander around the streets in Velaris that seemed endless to you, in the best way. Despite everything that you had heard of the Night Court and its inhabitants, you were starting to feel at home there. Though you still were extremely intimidated by everyone except Azriel, and couldn’t imagine spending time with any one of them if he wasn’t present. 

Though you were starting to adjust to your new life, you continued to wake Azriel so consistently with your nightmares that you wondered if you should just offer to let him sleep next to you. Of course, you knew you couldn’t possibly do that. Your cheeks flushed at just the thought. Guilt gnawed at you though, for being the reason for his lack of sleep, so much so that you offered to switch rooms, somewhere further from him, but he would hear none of it. Nearly every night he came into your room, shaking you awake, then soothing you back to sleep. You couldn’t imagine how he was functioning on so little rest.

One night was particularly bad. You dreamt of the attack on your village, the bloodshed you saw, the terror you felt. You knew Azriel could sense that it was worse than usual, as he wouldn’t take his soothing hands from your arms until you had stopped trembling, which took significantly longer than it normally did. His eyes were filled with more worry than you had seen before, and when he pulled away from you, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and gently grabbing his wrist. 

His eyes widened a bit in surprise as he turned back to face you, but he said nothing. 

“Can you come here?” Your quiet voice cracked on the last word and his jaw ticked at the sound. 

He approached you slowly, like he didn’t want to do the wrong thing. “What can I do?” he murmured. 

“Can you -- I mean, would it be too weird…” you flushed, unable to get the words out.

Comprehension flooded his expression and you were so embarrassed that you wanted to take it all back, but then his eyes softened with so much warmth that you wanted to cry. “You want me to lay with you for a bit?”

You bit your lip. “Would you?”

The ghost of a smile. Your heart melted.

You scooched over to the far side of the bed before he settled into next to you, agonizingly slowly. He faced you, propping his cheek on his fist. “Is this okay?”

You could only nod, concealing half your face with your sheets in an attempt to hide how red your cheeks had no doubt become. The heat radiated off his body, his shadows nowhere to be found in the dim light. 

He smiled faintly as you looked at him. He murmured, “you have to close your eyes to sleep, you know.”

More heat rose to your cheeks. “You could sleep too. You don’t have to stay up and guard me.”

His smile grew. “Isn’t that literally what I’m here for?”

“You’re here for…” you contemplated how much you should tell him. “Your comforting presence,” you finally said. 

“You find my presence comforting?” he said, his voice losing that teasing note he had been using moments before.

“Of course I do,” you said, slightly mesmerized by those hazel eyes that rarely left yours.

His expression was unreadable as he studied you for another moment before laying down and murmuring, “Go to sleep.”

So, you did.

---

Azriel could not sleep.

His mate. His mate, who flooded his thoughts day in and day out, whose tug on him drove him mad every waking moment, was in bed with him. And she had no idea what she was. Or what he desperately wanted to do to her.

Your comforting presence. 

The words drifted around his mind ceaselessly. He was willing to bet that his mate was one of the only people who would ever feel that way. Most people feared him, or were at least wary of the near-silent shadowsinger.

But, his mate… 

Azriel’s eyes whipped to you as your breathing changed, ready to wake you up again if need be. He watched the rise and fall of your chest carefully, before it evened out again and he relaxed back against the mattress. 

He would have to tell you. Soon. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this, without having any idea how you felt about him. 

He thought of you, as he always did lately, when he finally drifted off to sleep. 

---

Strong arms were holding you when you awoke. Before you were fully conscious, you snuggled further into the warmth. Mother only knew how long it had been since you had felt that safe. 

It wasn’t until you heard the grumble of a sleepy male behind you that your eyes sprung open and you realized where you were. You were in your bed, faint sunlight shining through the curtains. And the shadowsinger was behind you, his arms wrapped around your middle, your bodies flush together, his breath tickling your neck. 

You were spooning. Azriel was spooning you. 

And he wasn’t awake yet.

Mother above and Cauldron save me.

Should you pull away? You didn’t exactly want to. And it had been so long since he had gotten a good night’s rest, thanks to you. 

Selfishly, you couldn’t bear to leave those arms. So, you did what any rational person would do. You pretended you were still asleep and savored the feeling of the strong warrior’s body pressed against yours.

It was a little while later when he shifted and stiffened. He was awake. 

Carefully, he untangled himself from you, backing up to where he had started the night. After a moment, you turned around, to face him, feigning grogginess. 

He was gazing at you, his expression more open than you had ever seen it. His eyes swimmed with something that looked like longing. Or maybe that’s just what you hoped it was.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice gravelly from sleep. It made your toes curl beneath the sheets.

“I slept really well, actually,” you said, honestly. “Did you get to sleep?”

He nodded, his expression smoothing back to that unreadable blankness. 

“Thank you for staying,” you said softly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I don’t know what I would do without you, either.”

You sat up a bit, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Me? What do you mean?”

He furrowed his brow, as if he were contemplating whether to tell you something or not. 

“Is something wrong?” you asked. 

He swallowed, his jaw clenched slightly. “There’s something I should tell you.”

You just waited, gazing at that beautiful face.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes not wavering from yours, he said, “That day, when I touched you in the woods, I realized that you’re my mate.”

If you weren’t in your bed, you’re sure you would have fallen over. Your heart started pounding and you sat up fully, now very aware of the thin night clothes you were wearing. 

Azriel sat up too, studying, trying to gauge your reaction. 

“That’s why you were so adamant about bringing me with you,” you said quietly, your mind reeling. 

He nodded. “To be fair, I might have done that anyway, but… yes. I couldn’t leave you there.”

You watched his hazel eyes looking back at you. You had been right before, you could see that now. He wanted you. Longed to be close to you. 

“That’s why I feel so connected to you,” you whispered, noting that tug in your chest that is always leading you to him. “Why you always make me feel so safe.”

His expression flooded with emotion. “You really feel that way around me?”

“Of course I do. Since the very beginning,” you said, inching closer to him, so your legs were almost touching. You couldn’t quite believe it. 

Azriel was your mate. The sweet, mysterious, strong spymaster from the Night Court who saved your life. Who had given you a home.

He was your home, you realized with a start. 

“Are you…happy?” Azriel asked, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. 

He had been worried, you realized. Worried that you would be upset, or wouldn’t return his feelings. 

Without a word, you leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands, and kissed him.

You felt the relief rush through his body as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to him. You settled on his lap, straddling him, deepening the kiss. 

He moaned quietly into your mouth as he slipped his tongue inside and you tightened your grip on him, raking your nails down his back. You felt his hardness pressing against your leg, and flushed at that feeling of being wanted.

His rough hands trailed up your bare thighs, toying with the hem of your nightdress. He stopped kissing you long enough to pull back, a silent question in his eyes. You nodded, smiling, and kissed him fiercely before he slowly pulled the dress up and over your head, his eyes raking your body, now completely bare save for your underwear.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes twinkling, before he kissed sensually down your neck. Then lower and lower…

You gasped as he took your nipple in his mouth, biting gently before soothing over the peak with his tongue. 

“Azriel,” you moaned, and he growled in response, tightening an arm around your waist and flipping you onto your back, pressing your body into the mattress with his.

“You never answered my question,” he said, his voice husky, desperate. He toyed with one of your breasts while he devoured your neck, biting and licking and kissing.

“What… what was the question?” you panted, your mind spinning. 

He laughed into your skin, low and sensual, making your back arch. “Are you happy?”

You took your face in his hands, guiding him to look at you. His fingers stopped, his eyes open and yearning. “I’m home, Az. You’re my home. I’ve never been happier.”

His smile lit up his entire face, and he kissed you sweetly. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he murmured. 

He continued kissing you slowly and lovingly before the two of you got heated again. You tugged at his shirt and he helped you peel it off. He leaned against you, and you reveled in the feeling of his skin against yours, the feel of his muscled back under your fingers.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as he kissed down your body while sliding your panties down your legs, eventually settling his face in between your legs, his mouth hovering an inch from where you needed him. 

“Az,” you groaned, twining your fingers in his hair. 

You could’ve sworn you heard a soft grunt before his mouth connected with your center and you had to bite your lip to keep from screaming. 

“We’re the only ones here, you know,” he said, eyeing you mischievously, sliding a finger into you while his mouth was occupied.

“Meaning?” you panted.

He smirked, sliding another finger into you. You gasped, your back arching off the mattress. “You don’t have to be quiet,” he said, his voice velvet. 

Before you could react, he ducked his head back down, sucking hard on your clit, while pumping his fingers in and out of you. 

You couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from you, tugging at his hair, pulling him further into you.

Laughing into your skin, he splayed his free hand over your stomach to stop your squirming and continued devouring you.

Eventually, you needed more. “Azriel?” 

“Hmm?” he hummed against you, his mouth still working.

“If you don’t take your pants off right now, I might die,” you said, your voice breathy.

He finally took his mouth off you, leaning his head back and laughing louder than you’d ever seen from him. The sound was deep, filling the room. It made your heart swell.

Sliding off the bed, his eyes laser focused on you, he said “I suppose I can’t allow that, can I?” 

He held your gaze as he slowly slid his pants off. When he was naked before you, he stalked towards you, his eyes predatory. 

You gulped, trying not to show how surprised you were at the size of him.

Azriel was smirking, more smug than you’d ever seen him. He placed his elbows on either side of your head, hovering over you. “Was there something you wanted?” he teased as you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge.

You scowled at him and he grinned. “You know what I want,” you groaned.

He cocked his head, feigning ignorance. 

“You were so much nicer before,” you mumbled, still trying and failing to pull his muscled body on top of yours. 

Leaning his lips down so they were hovering just over yours, he whispered, “I want you to say it.”

Your mouth fell open. “I can’t,” you squeaked.

He smirked. “I’m your mate. You can tell me anything.”

Sighing, you looked to the ceiling, unable to look him in the eyes. “I want you.”

“You already have me,” he said, lightly nipping at your throat. “What do you want me to do?”

“Azriel.”

He laughed lightly. “Okay, fine. I’ll just have to take a guess then.” 

Before you could respond, he slid into you, groaning as he did so. 

He leaned his forehead against yours, forcing you to look up at him. He gave you a moment to adjust to him, saying “Did I guess correctly?”

Biting your lip, you nodded and he grinned. 

“Ready for more?”

You groaned in response, unable to speak.

Slowly, he started moving in and out of you. The two of you moaned in unison.

He groaned, “You feel --”

“So good,” you finished, and he let out a breathy laugh, moving his hips faster. 

Azriel was gazing at you with so much love and affection as he was moving in and out of you, you could barely breathe. You placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. He smiled against your mouth, his breathing ragged. 

You couldn’t believe you had eternity to do this with your mate. 

---

Azriel did not leave your bedroom that day. Frankly, he never wanted to leave it again.

He knew he probably could’ve kept going long into the night, but he could tell that you needed a break, so the two of you had settled against the pillows. You were now asleep, your head on his chest, your fingers lightly gripping his waist. 

His heart swelled as he lightly ran his fingers through your hair, savoring the feeling of being in love and having you close to him. 

He never wanted to let go.

[iamasaddie]

tired

paring: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: explicit warnings: explicit sexual content, unspecified age gap, reader has hair that you can run your fingers through, no use of Y/N, UNEDITED a/n: fully inspired by this post @bonezone44 dared to put out so i thank them for basically punching me out of the no-writing period of my life <3 and also thank you to people who've been tagging me in multiple wip challenges and fic games, especially @milla-frenchy and @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog <3 you reminded me that i was indeed an author a million years ago word count: 2.6k masterlist

Joel was tired. His back was hurting from helping Tommy fix up his roof, his knees were aching from climbing up and down that goddamn ladder that he could swore was ready to break at any second. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a night where he could just relax. Throw his body somewhere in his house and have someone take care of it. 

Now that Ellie was building her adult life with Dina, their place - his place - now felt like just a roof over his head, all the homeyness gone with the girl that almost single-handedly owned his sharp and rusty heart.  

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, dry fingertips running over the lids. He did not want to go home and fall asleep on the couch, cursing everything the world stands on the next morning when he needs to fight the tears of pain with every back spasm he gets. No, he needed someone to take care of him, to give him something good, god knows he’s given these people more than enough over these past years. But, Joel sighed to himself, scrunching his nose as his eyes fell on the dirty knees of his jeans, he was not in shape of wining and dining women tonight. 

That’s what you need casual connections for, old idiot, he chuckled to himself, remembering a few times he had to spell it out for some ladies that he wasn’t interested.

You practically jumped on a stool next to him while he was still considering his options.

“Hey, Joel, long night?” 

Of course you’d be the first to ask about his day. Little miss sunshine. Well, at least that’s what he thought at first, before seeing you mercilessly killing a couple of infected villagers that weren’t careful enough on the patrol. Still, you were as syrupy sweet as honey on a fresh batch of pancakes when it came to him. The only one who didn’t cringe when he said his firm “no, thanks”. The only one who didn’t actually take his no for an answer.

You never actually threw yourself at him, but Joel learned what desire looks like and you were too young to learn how to mask it properly. 

“Hey, kid.” He nodded, he knew how much you hated the nickname because it put even a bigger barrier between the two of you.

“Told you not to call me that, I’m only—“

“Twenty something years younger than me? Yeah.”

He saw your lips hiding in a thin line, your unbreakable spirit was too fragile when it came to him. Joel must’ve gone soft, or insane, because he nudged your shoulder with his, making you lift your head up and look him in the eyes.

“Tommy’s roof’s been a pain in the ass to fix. It’d be easier to burn that place down and build a new one, but my brother is as stubborn as them mules he’s been dreaming to have.”

You huffed a laugh, palm squeezing the slippery glass that was now empty a little too hard. “You know,” you started, shyness verging with hope that you tried to sheath with a nonchalant tone. Joel knew. And for the first time in years he actually contemplated, nodding to you to continue. “I could help you relax, I sometimes give massages in the hospital. It can really help with back pain.”

He purposefully kept silent, looking you in the eyes and trying to make you go back on your proposal. But as he knew already, you were no less stubborn than his little brother. It was karma or something that the only people that were semi-constant in his life were the ones who’d rather kiss an infected than give up. 

Joel wasn’t exactly tortured with his conscience, he didn’t seduce you, and most of the old world morals have died already, so the age gap the size of an adult child didn’t bother him either. He was almost glad you tried again, he just needs to make sure you know it’s not something it isn’t. 

“Yeah, my back’s been hurtin’ pretty bad today.” He finished his drink not tearing his eyes off you, and then he slowly let them trace your lips, the naked expanse of your neck that you showed off by unbuttoning a couple of buttons on your shirt. He looked lower, noticing your breasts rise and fall faster under his unmasked gaze. 

“Wanna go now?” Your voice was breathless like you’d just ran a marathon. He wondered how you’d sound later tonight. 

“Sure, darlin’. Lead the way.”

You never said anything when Joel strode past the hospital shack, not even slowing his pace. He was saying something about the roof again but it was hard to understand through the blood pumping jungle beats in your ears. 

You kept nodding and humming in agreement, though you couldn’t quite process the words. As you followed him, the anticipation gnawed at you, every step closer tightening the knot in your stomach. You knew he was taking you home, well, he was taking you to his house, and you went too slow for the amount of times that you dreamed to step over his doorstep. Joel's house was small and dimly lit, for some reason it was exactly how you imagined it: homey in spite of the circumstances. Joel took off his jacket silently, the faint smell of cedar and something musky filled the air, mingling with his earthy scent. He turned to face you, those piercing eyes locking onto yours.

“You gonna give me a massage wearing this?” He pointed at the warm coat you put on in a hurry as you were leaving the bar. Your fingers stumbled over each other as you tried to open the buttons of the damn thing. You felt a flush of warmth rise to your cheeks under his scrutiny.

Your fingers touched as you gave him your coat, but there was no electricity, his fingers were rough and scratched your skin, your palm became sweaty and you hurried to wipe it on your jeans when he didn’t look.

“Let’s go, bedroom’s upstairs,” his voice was low and calm, somehow its vibrations helped you settle, grounded you. You gave him a quick smile and followed his broad figure. Every stair squeaked under his heavy footsteps, you looked like a mouse that was chasing a bear. Willingly. The bedroom door creaked open to reveal a space just as humble as the rest of the house. A couple of drawings in handmade frames, a chair with a pair of pants on it, and the bed. Your eyes were glued to it. The bed and its tangled sheets seemed inviting, though a wave of nerves prickled your spine. ‘You’re here to give him a massage, don’t get ahead of yourself’ you thought, teeth sinking in your lower lip. You weren’t too young or naive to think that a massage was all this night would end with, but such a quick change of heart in Joel made you doubt your every breath. 

When you brought your eyes back to the man you saw him studying you, you could swear a nervous tick clenched his jaw but you didn’t let yourself ponder on it.

“I’m gonna rip the bandaid off and say it as it is, okay, pretty girl?”

Your breath hitched. Joel stepped closer, his eyes steadily holding yours. You nodded, not trusting your voice. His gaze was intense, making your heart hammer loudly enough to be heard.

"Massage ain’t exactly the thing I took ya here for,” Joel admitted, eyes dark, voice raw with honesty. “If you catch my drift.”

“I…” You cleared your throat, you wanted to look confident, or at least not scared. You’ve wanted to get into this man’s bed for months now, imagined how and when and what, and now that it happens you can barely squeeze out a, “yeah, of course I do.”

Joel smiled, one of his hands flying to cup your jaw as he brought his lips closer to yours and you closed your eyes in anticipation of his soft skin on yours. “Good girl,” the remnants of his wet breath stained your lips.

As quickly as he came at you, he left. His pace was languid when he worked on taking off his jeans, leaving himself in a ridiculous attire of a flannel shirt, a t-shirt underneath and simple cotton boxers.

You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle at the sight. His eyes snagged on your smile, sharpening with mischief. Joel raised an eyebrow, catching your amusement. “What’s so funny, darlin’?”

“Nothing,” your cheeks felt extra hot and you were glad for the poor lighting in the bedroom. “Lay on your back, please. As I said before, I’d like to help you relax.”

Joel held your gaze for a hot minute, but then silently followed your order. “I’d maybe argue any other day, but not now, sweetheart. Today I’ll take all the care I can get,” he smiled, but you missed the warm gesture. He laid back, his head hitting the pillow, long curls that he had left to grow splayed around the back of his head. You were too focused, letting your hands wander over his chest, feeling the texture of his shirt and the years of safer life that he was hiding underneath had grown out brushing against the fabric. You moved your fingers lightly over his chest, watching his eyes flutter closed.

His hands blindly found yours, hardened blisters of his palms scraped your soft skin, and he pushed your hands lower, somewhere you didn’t dare look for too long.

“Don’t be shy, babygirl,” he muttered with his eyes still closed. You let him guide you. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the rigidity slowly melting away under your touch. 

You remembered him talking about ripping a bandage off, so you followed his philosophy, hooking your fingers under the elastic of his boxers and tugging the material down. As the cool air grazed his skin, he released a slow, shuddering breath. It felt like something forced you to lift your head up, you met his gaze and saw a flicker of softness and gratefulness in his eyes.

“This okay?” You whispered, hands already exploring the places your eyes were too shy to inspect.

“More than,” Joel’s voice was calm, breathing barely indicating the intimate setting you were in. His eyes fell shut again and a part of you thought that was only to give you more freedom, save you from his scrutiny. You noticed the slight hitch in his breath with each new touch, his body responding to your feathery strokes.

When your fingertips grazed the hot skin covered in coarse hair you couldn’t help but look. Even in half darkness it was easy to see that Joel was well-endowed and eager. His cock laid on the pillow of his pubic hair, the shaft slightly curved. Pink tip was glistening with precum and you wondered if you got him excited or the promise of future pleasure. Your left hand was resting on his hip when as if hypnotized you traced your index finger from his tip to where his base was covered in sparse graying curls.

Joel’s cock jumped to attention, twitching under your light touch, prompting you to close your fist around it which you immediately did. With the first tug on the velvety soft skin both of you released a moan.

“Spit on it, baby, make it wet,” Joel’s voice was relaxed, as if you put your hand on a muscle that was aching for days and relieved the pain.

Your short nails dug into his hip when you started contemplating how to do it. You weren’t completely innocent, far from it, but somehow you could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times you needed to spit during sex. Deciding against spitting in your own palm, you took a different position, scooting lower down the bed and hunching over Joel’s waiting cock. The moment the smell of his skin and sweat hit your nose it was like you were intoxicated. Your lips closed around his flushed tip, tongue diving to get more of his taste. Both of your hands settled on his hips, either to hold him down or find balance. You abandoned the idea of spitting, the thought of not having his cock in your mouth almost pained you. It was like this was the grand finale of your romantic labor. Here, on your knees between the legs of a man who was holding you at arm's length for the longest time. It shouldn’t have felt so good, but it did. Taking care of him, even in this basic, primal way, felt like taking care of yourself.

Your wet mouth slid further down, the thick shaft of Joel’s cock stretching your lips. It took you a moment to realize Joel’s hands were in your hair. For a moment you thought he wanted you to stop, you even started to lift off, but the firm pressure of his hand on your head made it clear that he wasn’t against this turn of events. You let yourself build up to a comfortable taste, exploring each centimeter of his skin in your mouth, the way a couple of veins bulged under your tongue, the ridge of the head pushing further in your throat. You didn’t hurry and neither did he. You savored the slow rhythm of push and pull, letting him go deeper with every thrust.

One of his hands left your head and you raised your eyes to Joel’s face, mouth still very occupied with his cock. He must have felt it, because he barely lifted his head off the pillow, stray curls sticking to his sweaty forehead and you could swear you saw him wink at you before he laid his head back, using the freed hand to tuck away long strands of hair behind his ear.

The picture of this man, always so rough and guarded, finally relaxing under your touch and shedding the years of hostility made you drunker than any booze Tommy could’ve offered. Your movements became faster, saliva dripping down his cock and making it glisten. You felt Joel’s hips tense under your palms and you didn’t even need to hear the shameless moans drowned by your excitement and the sloppy wet sounds to know he was close.

“Doin’ good for me, baby, doin’ real good,” he groaned as you felt the tip of his cock punch the back of your throat repeatedly. Your eyes watered, but you admitted to yourself that you would rather suffocate and die than let the cock of this man out of your mouth. Your jaw was aching, the pleasurable pain that said how good of a job you did. 

The shaft under your tongue felt even harder, a loaded gun pressing on your tongue and you couldn’t wait for it to shoot.

Both of Joel’s hands returned to your head pressing you into his skin so hard that little hairs tickled your nose and your vision started to go blurry.

His load was salty and thick, you felt it slide down your throat like lava, burning you from the inside. Barely catching your breath you sat straight, watching closely how Joel’s chest rose and fell following his erratic breathing. There was an indecent amount of wetness gathered in the gusset of your panties and by the look on Joel’s face you knew you’d have to handle it yourself.

“Feeling good?” Your voice sounded weird, hoarse and raspy in the gritty silence of the room.

“You’re really good at massage, darlin’, I’m more relaxed than the day I was born,” Joel held his gaze on you, using his shoulder to scratch the underside of his jaw. You took it as your key to leave, after all, you never agreed to anything more.

Joel’s voice stopped you with one foot over the doorstep.

“Maybe I could return the favor some time.”

[aliceramblez]

Dating The BroZone Brothers 🎤🎶

Tags: Gender-neutral reader, Fluff, Some Angst (mostly for Branch lol), Also Broppy isn't canon here, obviously. But I love them dearly so don't come at me!

Follow me @taruchinator for more structured content and/or feel free to leave a request here in asks. Enjoy!

John Dory

We all know this man is a bit self-centered, and that doesn't stop at your relationship.

He'll find any opportunity to show off for you— anything from singing, to dancing, to just his ‘incredible leadership skills that make him the perfect boyfriend!’

He also definitely introduced himself as a member of the old boy band BroZone, which you may or may not have heard of, which may or may not have left him flabbergasted.

Despite all his faults though, John Dory will do his best to be a good partner for you. It's what you deserve, after all!

Keeping you safe from wild creatures, making sure you're always happy because he loves your smile, and also being the overprotective boyfriend who'll square off against anyone who even dares to make you uncomfortable even if they're 10x his size.

Small detail, but he also loves the fact that Rhonda took a liking to you instantly.

“She knows how to pick the good ones,” he'd say with a wink.

Talks about his brothers CONSTANTLY, but always in a way that makes it seem like he doesn't care and that it's their fault the band broke up in the first place. He obviously really cares about them, though.

Some nights, he'll reflect and regret all the stuff he said and did to them, and wishes he could go back and make it right. You reassure him through most of it, trying to convince him that he was young and just didn't know any better.

He stares at you in awe and disbelief because how could ANYONE think that what he did was justifiable? Abandoning his younger siblings all because of his stupid ego and personal insecurities.

“I really don't deserve you...”

Give him some time he's just emotionally constipated.

Also you BET he's gonna show you off to his brothers once they're reunited, so just let him. He just wants the most important people in his life to meet.

You can also expect them to try and embarrass John Dory with stories from their childhood, so be ready to have a good laugh as your boyfriend plots for murder in the background.

Spruce/Bruce

Probably the one who's best equipped to be in a relationship out of everyone in the group.

He is a family man, after all.

Speaking of which, if you think him settling down in the movie and having kids of his own was cute, it really is! But that just indicates that he has a way with children.

If you have a child or younger sibling, expect them to get dotted and taken care of to DEATH by this man.

He may not have been the sensitive one of the group, but was definitely the most reliable of the eldest, so he's got experience handling little trouble makers that come his way.

He still opens a cantina in Vacay Island, which is where you two met for the first time, and so you help run it occasionally whenever you have the chance. And even though you don't go there 24/7, all the regulars just think that you're the co-owner since you're dating Bruce.

You're the one who finds out that he's actually ‘Spruce’, the member of old boy band BroZone. You just happened to stumble upon an old record he kept in his room, and after confronting him about it, he reluctantly confirms your suspicions.

It was hard to recognize him since he was much older now and his body had definitely... grown over the years.

Bruce doesn't like preaching about those days, since he's quite embarrassed of the ‘immature ladies man’ he used to be back then.

But he won't deprive you of them either, since he'll happily share any stories on his misadventures with his brothers, funny backstage incidents, etc.

He misses them dearly and wishes they're all doing okay.

Two words: Hopeless. Romantic.

He's ‘The Heart Throb’ for a reason.

Roses, chocolates, dances— he can do it all!

Bruce will always make time in his busy schedule to spend time with you, taking you on dates to your favorite spots around the island, getting you meaningful gifts, and just overall expressing his love for you in any way he can.

He loves singing to you because it always serenades you and it puts a smile on his face.

People always joke that he's going to propose to you out of the blue one of these days, which always leaves him a flustered mess, but he never denies either.

“What can I say? I might be waiting for the perfect opportunity...”

Clay

Poor baby doesn't know what he's doing but he's trying, okay?

The two of you meet in the abandoned Bergen Golf Course, where you and Viva welcome him with open arms, and everything pretty much plays as in the movie, except that he really likes spending time with you and ONLY you, which he doesn't quite understand?

You're the one to ask him out cause otherwise you'd be playing this back and forth forever. He says yes.

He's never had a partner before, so he's justifiably worried that he'll mess up in some way, or that you'll end up finding him too boring after a while.

This becomes much more apparent after a particular bad night, in which after mumbling incoherently because of a nightmare, you find out that he has brothers and used to be in a boy band.

He doesn't open up about it at first, so you give him some space and reassure him that you'll be there when he needs you. Just give him some time and he'll tell you eventually.

He talks about how he could never be himself, since he was always expected to be ‘The Fun One’, and now he's basically tried to become the complete opposite in hopes of gaining some control over his life.

But he also worries that others will think he's too dull, and that he just isn't interesting enough to be around. Especially you.

You immediately take his face in your hands and look him in the eyes.

“I fell in love with Clay. Not ‘The Fun Troll from BroZone’ Clay. Also, you're fun in your own way!”

He basically falls for you all over again after hearing this.

After that, he becomes slightly less uptight and allows himself to enjoy the little things. You sometimes actually catch him dancing when he thinks no one's looking and you find it's the most adorable thing in the world, even after he realizes he's not alone and wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“Don't mind me, I'mma just crawl in a hole for a while...”

“No, no- Babe, it was amazing! I loved it! Pleaseeee show me more!”

Overall, he's a pretty good boyfriend all things considered.

He's incredibly overprotective of you, and will always give you advice and tools he thinks will be helpful if you're thinking of venturing outside of the Golf Course.

He asks Viva for dating advice CONSTANTLY and she DOES NOT let him live it down. Of course she has good ideas, though.

He'll pretty much do anything for you, even if it means going out of his comfort zone.

Floyd

Another great candidate for being in a good relationship.

Need I explain myself with this man?

His entire personality revolves around being caring and understanding, so he's definitely always on the lookout for anything that makes you sad or uncomfortable and will fix it ASAP.

Floyd is the kind of person who will ask for consent with pretty much anything you do— from holding your hand, to kissing you, to giving you a hug; he will ALWAYS make sure that you're okay with it even if you've given him the green light in the past.

He's not huge on PDA due to his somewhat shy nature, but if you are, he'll try his best to keep up with you.

This doesn't mean he dislikes physical affection, in fact it's his love language. He'll go out of his way to try and sneak in as many hugs as possible throughout the day and maybe a kiss or two if you'll allow it, which of course you do.

You also try your best to get involved in his own interests, because that's only fair after everything he does for you.

It isn't until one day that he sings for you that you compliment him and he nonchalantly comments that he used to be in a band when he was a teenager.

Cue the reveal of him having four brothers and you begging him to tell you all about them.

Which he does, but you can't help but notice the melancholic expression on his face, so you immediately stop him and apologize for being pushy on the matter and that he doesn't have to share anything he doesn't want to talk about.

He only looks at you with a small smile and shakes his head.

“No, I'm glad you asked. I haven't talked about them in years, so I like remembering the good times, even if they're in the past now.”

So he'll go on and on about them, one by one, and go into excruciating detail about what kind of person they are and what he loves about them. He's especially fond of his little brother Branch, based on everything he tells you.

When he gets kidnapped by Velvet and Veneer, you immediately go to Branch for help.

Once you're reunited, you two basically run to each other and hug with tears streaming down your eyes.

“Did they hurt you?!”

“No, I'm okay! Did they hurt you?!”

“Who cares?”

“I do!”

Floyd is then incredibly happy to introduce you to his brothers, who begin to affectionately tease him about getting himself a partner and you happily step in to protect him from any unwanted bullying.

You also tell him that you like the new hairdo, which only causes him to giggle and kiss your forehead affectionately.

Honestly you guys probably have the healthiest relationship out of the whole group.

Branch

I was really debating whether to include him or not since there's many Branch Reader Inserts out there, but I don't wanna leave my baby out so here we are!

You have a classic childhood friends to lovers situation with him, since you've known him ever since he was a member of BroZone, only being about a year older than him.

You'd help him practice for his concerts and would always give him pep talks whenever he felt worried that he'd ruin the show.

You're basically his number one fan— never missing a concert even if it meant dragging your parents with you so they'd let you get in.

The moment the group disbands and Branch is left all alone, you're there for him and wait alongside him for his brothers to return, reassuring him that ‘siblings would never break a promise’.

Cue his whole childhood trauma and him losing his colors, but it's only because of you that he doesn't completely isolate himself from society. He still builds his bunker though, since he's pretty much scarred for life thanks to the Bergens.

Just like with Clay, you're the one who takes initiative and asks him out, and he's just left gaping like a fish because why would you want someone like HIM?

After reuniting with John Dory, he's also dotting you about how big you've gotten and treats you like a baby, which actually irks Branch much more than it does to him.

He makes sure to remind his brothers that you both are grown adults, thank you very much.

Once the band gets back together, you kinda become a manager of some kind and help them in organizing their performances. Branch is eternally grateful and thanks you for staying by his side all these years.

[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."

[evilminji]

You know... >.>

My Dad always used to tell me, if I get a Genuine Genie(tm)? Get a lawyer first. Before I make my Wishes(tm), so they can help me word them correctly.

Obviously, a human lawyer would not be foolproof... BUT! What about a Ghost Lawyer?

Like? Obviously Desiree would be PISSED. How DARE you twist HER wish twisting! Her THING is "what you believe is your heart's desire always comes at a terrible cost" which is what she DIED to learn.

So obviously she would NEVER, willingly, bend her Obsession for ANYONE. And you'd have to make a DAMN good case to that Lawyer for why he ISNT breaking the law by helping you. Probably some "you can: save the life of an unconscious person against their will/shove an unobservant person OFF the train tracks, even if they get hurt, to save their life" clause.

Like? Using a ghosts Obsession against them? Bad. Illegal.

Using it against their will, to save OTHER ghosts, who are in immediate danger? Not illegal, but they will be PISSED. Still not great though, you will want to apologize and fast.

So like??? Reality Bending Power. Patrick Star Method of "what if we MOVED the city... somewhere else?" Considered at 1am. Team of Ghost Laywers, acquired.

Amity and all Limnals are REMOVED from the DP-verse.

Wish worded juuuuust so. Any ghost that forms there? Yoink! Instantly removed to the Zone. Natural Portals? Cut off. Let the whole Reality fade out at an accelerated rate, as no NEW energy is fed into the system. Entropy will do, what entropy does. Exactly as they wished it.

They hated Death so much, they speed up the heat death of their ENTIRE universe by Eons. Congratulations, you guys "Won". Enjoy the wildly more fragile flora, fauna, and general ecosystems. Now that none of you have that ambient Ectoplasm strengthening your bodies. Yeah, the things you used to shrug off? Those are gonna maim or kill you now.

Doesn't MATTER if you "learn your lesson" though! Cause this is WAY past that point! This is "cutting off the tumor before it kills us" territory, and buddy? Amity ISNT the tumor. Go forth a grow, just like you wanted.

They won't be here to fix your messes anymore.

Because Danny got himself a dictionary thick "I Wish..." contract. Which was worded, as it needs to be, in one loooooooong run on sentence. Shouted "I Wish what's written on THIS, as it is currently, and without any form of editing or negotiation!" As fast as he could. Yote the document in Desiree's direction. And Flew like an INCANDESCENTLY pissed off Genie was trying to set his everything of fire.

Which she was.

Thankfully, Paulina came in clutch with her History of all things Jewelry, world fashions, and Make-Up knowledge. That, coupled with the Power Of Rich Friends(tm)? (Sam. Her mother was THRILLED to take her Jewelry and clothing shopping for something other then blacks and dark purple. They went on a jet setting whurl-wind tour. Sam actually kinda liked a some of what she found.)

They have Apology Bribes.

They shamelessly HIDE behind the mountain of Apology Bribes, while they explain themselves. Is Desiree HAPPY? No. But those bracelets are magnificent and she DOES deserve nice things. Those silks will really bring out her eyes. And she... DOES... admit...

Maybe...

That things are not... SAFE. Any longer. Danny TRIES. Everyone else can see it. And he's made incredible strides! Even convinced his lunatic parents. Though they're still not quite POPULAR. (WAY too pushy and invasive with their questions, for most people.) But the fanatics in white?

They nearly killed Box Lunch. If her father hadn't BEEN there...

And the poor man will have that scar on his back for the rest of his afterlife. Desiree can see why Danny is pushing. Does she LIKE it? No. But...

She supposes she will content herself with the suffering of the Fanatics in White and all who support them. THEIR wishes, twisted. Their ugly heart's desires.

Fine.

"SO YOU WISH IT. SO IT SHALL BE!"

And? The ghost town of what WOULD of one day grown into Amity, had the witch's there not been found by those they had fled from, which sits in long rotted ruins, amongst the trees in nowhere Illinois? Poof! Two "Towns" are switched.

The roads out of town coming to a clean line stop, meeting not even goat paths. Just trees. Old growth.

But it's not ALL of Town, is it? Faces missing. New, confused, faces from every corner of the map, taking their place. No Limnal left behind. No supporter of the GIWs genocide, brought along. Family's kept together where they could be. But by the few, scared and upset, green flashing eyes of children in the crowd?

It seemed for some, it was easier to fear and hate, then love their children.

Already they were being gathered up by school teachers and PTA parents. As everyone tried to figure out what had happened. Concerned, quite muttering a dull roar as everyone tries to coordinate.

Red Huntress joins Danny and Dani in the Sky. She doesn't get a word in. Wanted to know what the HELL was going on. She was with her dad in Chicago! Dani was in Taiwan! Literally! As in, sitting in a SUBWAY station one second, the next? Outside!

But they don't get to demand those answers. Because there is a sonic boom on the horizon. And then? Floating... weird... not ghosts?

Uuuuuuhhhh?

Hi?

That much blue... sure is a Statement. Like the cape and... bloooomers? Shorts. Bikini bottoms? It.. it's a Cool Look, dude! No, really. They are being VERY supportive here! If YOU like it? That's the only thing that matters!

Red Huntress smacks the Danny/i's Repeated upside their heads and demans to know what the Not-Ghosts are doing in their airspace.

Oh YEAH. Good point! What she said! And can it WAIT? They're kinda going through A Thing right now...

Kon? Wants it on record he loves these guys. They're hilarious. The LOOK on Clark's FACE?? He wishes he could frame it. Preserve it for future generations. Thing is? There was NOT a town here a second ago.

Well, bout 30 minutes or so, but you get the idea. One moment? Tree noises. Bam! Thousands of people! Obviously the checked it out. Only to be met with two... three maybe? Heros who have NO IDEA who they are.

Clear Reality warping shenanigans. Might be time travel or multiverse. Question is... are they STAYING? And if SO? What now...

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter

[hanafubukki]

Okay Hana, hear me out. Current Lilia with General Lilia Tsum.

How much chaos is going to go down? 😂

Hello Syrenkitsune 🌺💕🌸

What’s that I hear? People screaming and NRC is on fire? Ah, so that’s why 😂😂 Jkjkjk

This can go so many ways. I can see current Lilia kind of poking at his younger tsum self just for giggles you know? Kind of a flashback to how he used to be and, wow, what a hot head he was.

General Lilia even in his Tsum form gives me feisty cat vibes. I can see him alert and protecting Malleus from the sidelines. But also kind of running away from our diasomnia.

Which makes me wonder…did he also go through the trauma of book 7 🤔 I think it would be heartbreaking and yet kind of funny. To see General Lilia just…running with an egg on his back and either chucking his hatchet or bulldozing through enemies 😂

General Lilia is also powerful and strong, maybe even stronger than our Lilia so I can see them tousle a bit 😂

Now, General Tsum is not dumb. He will find Lilia’s weakness and use it against him. 👀 He won’t use diasomnia because family feelings but there’s you.

You’re just a human right? It doesn’t matter. But oh it matters

The way Lilia freezes when he sees his General tsum on you. Daring him.

Lilia could shred him right now to pieces. Suddenly Lilia has claws out.

But I feel it also kind of back fires on general tsum too 🤣🤣 you hold this tsum close and comment how cute it is and you’re reminded of your dream adventures.

Giving it love and hoping it has an easier life and hoping it knows how loved he is.

And then you kiss him and both the tsum and our Lilia freezes.

You know that scene in Lilo and stitch?? Where Lilo puts a flower necklace on stitch and he freezes and falls? Yeah, that’s general tsum.

Suddenly he’s frozen and you’re pretty sure it’s becoming hot from how flustered he is. 🤣💕

Our Lilia on the other hand is pouting, that was his kisses!! How dare? He didn’t think his tsum would truly hurt you but to steal his affection? Now’s he’s sulking 🤣

I can see general tsum leaning into you, shocking you both. But you can’t help but smile and just cradle it close to your heart.

General tsum sees how his counterpart is with you. Maybe, just maybe, he can let himself rest with you.

And our Lilia feels a part of him heal just from the sight 🥹💕

Anskskshshshs this got deep and tender 😂🥹💕💞 I can’t help it with them 🥹🥹💚💚

[littlelightfish]

I've been thinking about Mickbell since last chapter came out.

Have you noticed how everyone refers to him as Mick? He's a hafling, they shouldn't call him that since its his first name.

But here's the thing.

We know Mickbell didn't have something to call a family the majority of his life. He was all alone against the word for quite some time. He, as I said before, didn't have a proper family, didn't have any friends. He was alone. No one to care about him, no one to love even in a friendly way.

He can seem to be quite unfair towards Kuro, but truth is he doesn't know any better. He does what he can the best he can, the best he knows, because he loves Kuro so much, he doesn't want to loose his first friend, his first glimpse of a family, the only one that cared for him after so long the first one to recognize him as someone rather than something.

Kuro doesn't understand common language well, we know for a fact that he struggles with it and that he's still learning to communicate. When Mickbell found him, it was his sense of "I'm in great debt to him because he saved me" what made him attack the one that attacked Mick. "How dares he tuch my savior?" Kind of behaviour. And also revenge I guess. But, hear me out. He hears Mickbell telling something to him in a language he doesn't understand, but he sticks to his side from then on, because he saw a savior in him. Because he feels in debt with him, because he sees that this guy enjoys his company and also feeds him. He is like a stray dog after being adopted, loyal. He loves and cares for Mickbell, he wants to be able to truly understand him and to make himself known to him by talking. He's learning how to speak common, not because it might be useful, but because he wants to be able to fully communicate with his dearest friend, with the one he considers family.

Going back to Mickbell, he saw someone caring for him enough to take revenge and protect him. This aren't little things to do for someone you just met. He knows this, because he probably wouldn't have done that, he 100% would've runned away because he has sense of self-preservation and knows damn well he doesn't stand a chance and he wants to continue living. He makes sure to keep this kobold to himself, at first because of his "if it can be made use of, then use it" principle.

He freed the kobold, not because he was a good person, but because he wanted to take revenge in his own terms. He wanted this man to suffer, he can't pick a fight because he doesn't stand a chance, so he steels his merch, or in this case, frees it. He freed Kuro because he wanted the man to suffer the loss of his merch. Not because he feels sorry for a kobold that could easily chomp his head off (they're usually agressive). Now, after freeing him, he noticed that this kobold would die if he didn't take off the thing he had in his mouth, so he helped him a bit there. This seems a bit out of character. Why did he freed the starved kobold from what could've saved him of being eaten himself? Because he is a good person. He doesn't want this creature to starve to death after freeing him, it would be cruel, and he isn't cruel. He doesn't want nothing to do with the kobold at first, he just doesnt want him to die because he didnt properly freed him, but after seeing how far is this someone willing to go for him? He has no room for doubt, he makes himself his boss.

As I said, Mickbell didn't had a real family before. He lacks of proper social interactions and bonds due to his past. But he loves so deeply. He doesn't want to loose Kuro. He sees him as the closest thing he'll ever have to a family, but he doesn't know how to treat him properly. He tries his best. He feeds him, and cares about him a lot, but he doesn't know how to talk to him. He wants to have him close at all times, he wants to pet him, to be carried around by him and only him, to tease him, to help him. He's always worrying about his well-being. And above all, he doesn't want to be alone. Never again. This is why he does everything he can think of to hold Kuro closer to him. This is why he's saving money, why he pays Kuro so poorly for his job. This is why he doesn't spent much money on himself either. He wants to live a life with kuro by his side because he loves him. He loves him deeply, and cares about him deeply too. He's his family. And he is terrified of the sole thought of Kuro leaving his side. Because that wouldn't just mean being alone again. It would mean Kuro left.

Now, this is what the party sees. A hafling that treats his kobold employee quite unfairly. He doesn't pay him almost anything, he leaves him alone as soon as battle starts, he is possessive about him, and he's terrified of someone snatching him away. The kobold doesn't seem to either mind or notice how unfair his owner is being towards him, and doesn't seem to understand him very well either. They see that they both care for each other more than they first thought as time passes by, but the unfairness of it all is still there. They don't get it. Why would the hafling, if he cares so much, reward him so badly? Why is he taking advantage of the kobold he loves so much? Why wouldn't he let him express himself in his mother language? They don't fully get it.

Time passes and they become closer to each other, just as Laios's party does. They start opening up, bonding, and before they knew it, they're something like a small family, rather than just a group of friends adventuring together. It's clear as day something in Mickbell wasn't quite right just by the way he behaves. He is childish, but it doesn't seem to be intentional. He behaves like a kid, but he is quite mature at the same time. He is like this because he didn't had a proper childhood? He only now can allow himself to behave lightly as he does? To cry at minor inconveniences? To want to be hold on someone's arms? They don't know, but they don't prey about it either.

And without realizing it, they call him just "Mick". Some of them, if not them all, know what it means to call a hafling by his first name. They maybe did it to tease him, maybe because they wanted him to know they consider him family, but he didn't even noticed. He hadn't a proper social interaction with haflings that ever got to the personal level of teaching him something he should already know. Haflings call him Mickbell, he doesn't mind, it's his name. His party calls him Mick, he doesn't mind, it's his name. He doesn't even know hee should care. The party picks up he doesn't mind being called that and gets surprised. Is he letting them know he sees them aa family too? They at first are really surprised, but it losses importance over time. They just use it as a nickname now, but they started using it because they wanted Mickbell to know they're family too, that they don't want to hurt him nor Kuro.

Mickbell it's just a good hearted guy who doesn't know how to do good. He saves up money so he can, one day, live with Kuro. So he doesn't pays him well even if he works hard. So he starves himself (he is underweight too, but it could be for the same reason Chilchuck is, he is 5 cms taller than the common hafling after all). So he allows himself to steal from corpses. He needs money. He has a dream. He wants to have a family.