#── ;; ( last boss ) 𓂃≛

[vante1920pm]

──;; 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒 ★☆

★ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: i immediately fell in love with him the moment he popped up on screen

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

☆ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: being stalked ( and kind of harassed ) by takatora samura

☆ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: last boss/gn!reader

☆ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: stalking, harassment

☆ 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱: no

- You first noticed him while meeting with a friend in a Café

You immediately recognized him, he was your neighbor. A quiet guy that you only saw occasionally.

You never had a conversation with him, but you noticed the glances, or more like, stares you got from him.

He was probably shy, that's what you thought.

You were out with your friend, just shit talking while drinking your favorite stuff.

You noticed him on the other side of the road, staring right into your eyes. He was just standing there, hands in his pocket, his back crouched, watching you.

You got goosebump when you met his eyes. They were wide open, as if he was confused or something. But they also had this weird glance in them.

You were sure you would avoid him in the future.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

- Watches you from his window

As if the Café situation wasn't enough, you saw him on the opposite of your house, watching you do your laundry from his window.

His apartment was right across from yours, letting you be able to see into his bedroom. But he also could look into yours...

Not rarely did you catch him there, staring at you while passing your window. It creeped you out, understandably.

You would just close the curtains, but you always still had this feeling of him watching you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

- Leaving you gifts outside your door

The first time you found something, you were surprised. You looked around, searching for whoever could've left this little box outside your door.

But after opening the present, it was painfully obvious. In there was a small plushy, holding a small heart, with a mini sword sticking in it.

Next to it was a note, only the letter T was written on it. But you already knew who this belonged to.

Takatora Samura.

You felt a heavy feeling on your shoulders, as if something was behind you. You turned around, facing your window, where the curtains were open.

And he was there. On the other side, watching you trough his own room, intensely staring at your form.

© 2023, vante1920pm

#── ›★ zekes aib headcanons #── ;; ( last boss ) 𓂃≛ #── ;; ( takatora samura) 𓂃≛ #alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #x reader #last boss #takatora samura #samura takatora #last boss x reader #angst #trigger warning #takatora samura x reader #aib #aib x reader #gn!reader #gn reader

[rxzennia]

hibernation/ brumation

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 winter dormancy.

in his five years of being your boss, aventurine hasn’t ever seen you send in a request for leave. but here he is, staring at your application for a month-long vacation.

a month? isn’t that a little too long?

you didn’t even stick a little comment about where you’re going or what’s happening, dammit! he wants to know so bad, but he feels like he’ll either overstep his boundaries or come off as clingy if he asks.

he’ll approve it, of course!

he wants you to not hate your job, and part of being a good boss is letting his subordinates take the leaves they’re entitled to

and you deserve a nice, long break, anyway

but the curiosity is killing him inside. what will you be doing? will you still hang around the IPC?

he really, really wants to barge into your office and wrench an explanation out of you

and also, how dare you try to take leave right into the holidays! rude

he wanted to take you out to dinner! to fancy places! he was prepared to have a schedule full of you!

totally not dates or his attempts to spoil you

he totally isn’t thinking of doing it so that you’ll spoil him in return

he’s found out that you respond to him if he rants at you

and that you get very soft and careful with him if he presses the right buttons

he digs that so much it’s unreal

there’s something about having you, of all people, treat him tenderly

perhaps because he’s seen firsthand what kind of monster hides in your scarf

or… what kind of monster hides beneath your silent, icy exterior

it just hits different when someone like you treat him so gently

and he knows for a fact that you’ll never abuse that power you have

he absolutely loves that. 100%.

“guess who’s here!” aventurine announces as he enters your office without so much as a knock, “hard at work, my favorite secretary?”

“out, please.” you hiss, sparing him barely a glance from your computer, “i’m concentrating.”

since when did your complaints stop him

he saunters over and sits himself on your armrest anyway

your scarf lift him up and set him down on the couch opposite to you

he finds his way back to your chair

you put him on the couch again

he comes back to your armrest

is he a cat obsessed with a particular box (namely, your chair) or something

you give up

“what is it?” you relent, scooting over so he can fit onto your seat, too, albeit barely

this man does not hesitate to invade your personal space

“where are you going for a month, hmm?” he asks with a playful smile, “can’t even tell me?”

oh, so that’s what this is about

but why is he resting his face in his hand and looking at you like he’s trying to flirt?

“hibernation.” you keep typing without giving aventurine much of a reaction, “not exactly, but close. brumation.”

wait. wait, what?

it doesn’t take a genius to know that aventurine is currently flabbergasted. “you… hibernate? like sleep hibernate?” 

“no, i hibernate awake.” you mumble sarcastically, but he catches it even if your words are muffled

“c’mon, i’m just checking!” he throws his hands in the air as if protesting your attitude

“yes, i sleep, for the most part.” you scoot over a little more and lift him up, setting him down in your lap. “but i’ll be awake here and there.”

you rest your head on top of his and continues to work, effectively caging him in

he realizes you’re much more like a snake than he thought

not in an alarming way

you’re coiling around him, but, like, in a friendly danger noodle way

“will you?” he chuckles; maybe his plans aren’t entirely foiled, after all, “for how long?”

you look at him. “a few minutes up to an hour?” 

you’re only getting up for water and/or changing sleeping positions

never mind, his plans to try to spoil you is, in fact, foiled

he pouts. he had the entire thing planned out already! all five days that you’ll be off!

he looks like a kid who’s about to buy the last donut but you beat him to it and buy the donut right in front of his eyes.

“you can visit.” you say, and you see him light up almost immediately. 

though, you don't think there’s much worth visiting, but whatever makes him happy

when aventurine visits you during your well-deserved vacation, he’s pleasantly surprised. you’re sleeping so peacefully, despite the fact that you usually rarely sleep at all.

you’re curled up into half a ball under your blankets and your scarf

and letting out little snores

is this what you look like when you’re asleep? 

so adorable. if only you’d let him see it often…

but he doesn’t know the frequency of your brumation period

as far as he knows, it’s once in five years, but he has no idea if it’s more than five years

you’re not covering your face, either

aeons, he loves seeing your unobscured face

you’re so beautiful under your scarf

especially the patches of scales along your neck, they glitter in white gold under the light

he wishes you wouldn't try to cover them up

during your entire month, he’s going to be in your room whenever he’s free

he will totally try to sleep next to you at night

what? it’s not like you haven’t shared a bed before!

it’s just that you’ve never been asleep by each other's side!

you will cuddle into him if he tries to hold you

and you will get fussy if he tries to get out of the hug

if only you were as honest when you’re awake

aventurine has been trying to catch you in your small conscious windows, but he’s having not much luck with that. though, this isn’t exactly a gamble, so “luck” might not be the right word here.

he’s so busy; he’s drowning in work 

your temporary replacement isn’t very good at their job

or maybe he’s just used to the way you do things and now everything feels wrong

he wants you back already 

because nowadays he barely has an hour to spend with you apart from bedtime

he hates it

what do you mean by he can’t sit next to your sleeping form while he signs papers?

horrible, very horrible

but eventually he does catch you when you’re awake

you’re drowsy and you’re dragging your blankets and your scarf with you around your room

the cutest thing he’s ever seen in a long while

he watches as you clumsily pour yourself some water, spilling some on the table because you can’t line up the jug and the glass properly

and he watches as you sluggishly flop onto your couch after you’ve downed the water

“had enough of the bed?” he asks, sitting down next to you and brushing a few strands of hair away from your face

“hnnnnnngh,” you grumble and turn to face away from him, you just want to go back to sleep

then you remember this is your boss’s voice

and you reluctantly mumble, “it’s too warm…”

do you even know what you’re saying? you’re melting his heart

“oh, that so? it’s too hot over there?” aventurine snickers softly, his hand caressing your face, the cool fabric of his glove making you sigh in delight. “you’re so lovely.”

he recognizes the amount of trust you have in him to let him visit you when you’re sleeping, and it’s doing things to his stomach. you’re so lazy, so barely aware of your surroundings, but you trust him to be around you while you are in this state.

there is an urge, and he acts on it. he nuzzles against your cheek, rubbing your noses together and planting a small kiss on your forehead. he’s been dreaming of holding you like you’re his greatest treasure, but he’s never mustered up the courage to do it. 

maybe someday he will tell you, and then he’ll be allowed to adore you openly the way he’s always wanted to.

“my favorite snake,” he whispers to himself, feeling a shudder of affection throughout his bones, “sleep well. i’ll look forward to taking you out when you rise.”

#honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine #honkai star rail x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales

[iovesia]

𐚁֙࿐ BE MY DADDY TONIGHT.

keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀bodyguard!con&wick⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.

synopsis: you have one job for tonight's ball: behave. easier said than done, right? well, your two bodyguards will make sure you stay in line. by any means necessary.

contents. bratty!rich!reader. large age gap. threesome. brat taming. oral (m!receiving). hate to gentle sex? double penetration (+ANAL). sir kink. pure filthy filth. 5.0k words.

⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note. mentally, physically WEAK for my fav duo— this is a spin off to you can be the boss, so hopefully you guys will enjoy :3 if u see any grammar or spelling errors, no you don't ♡

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Why not?” You scoff. 

“Take that off.”

You roll your eyes, looking back into the mirror, hands gently smoothing the silk covering your hips. Having people paid to stalk your every move, means you’ll always have a second opinion for your outfits. The downside is that they’re 40 year old men with zero fashion sense.

“No way,” you defend, viewing your body in every angle. The pink satin hugged your figure just right, the slit on the side exposing your smooth leg and thigh. Each mirror perfectly reflected your good side— which was every side. “This is totally, like, ball material.”

The annual Senator’s ball. The one day of the year where your father is forced to interact with you, and acknowledge your existence beyond a weekly check to your bank account. You and your family have attended every single one since you were 5, a begrudging effort to boost your father’s campaigns and image. 

Family’s everything.. at least to the voters. Chin up and grin when the cameras point your way. 

“Is this ball in the red light district?” Constantine snickers, earning a glare from his associate. 

Your two bodyguards were spending their Saturday afternoon watching over you, as they always do. Except now at the painstakingly boring activity of shopping. Constantine and John (your original offer of calling them ‘Beavis and Butthead’ were immediately shot down), a pair of older brawny men in black suits, sat in the comically pink fluffy chairs as you tried on several outfits. As similar as the two men look, they couldn’t be more different personality wise.

Constantine was the fun one; could actually take a joke, and was more lax on the rules, but you knew it was just to irritate John. You had no clue why your father hired him, then you remember the handfuls of other guards you annoyed to resignation. Last resort.

John was the polar opposite. Total grade A military asshole. Knows what you’re gonna do before you do it. Wouldn’t crack a smile to save his life. He was the worse cop to Constantine’s bad cop. 

“Find something else,” John stares blankly at you.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you sneer. The two of you lock eyes in a silent stand-off, with Constantine just smirking on the sidelines. “It’s my money, not yours.”

“No, it’s your father’s money,” John retorts. 

“And daddy dearest is gonna have our necks if we let you come dressed like that,” Constantine interjects.

“Change. Now.”

Your face scrunches up into an ugly scowl, as you march back to the dressing room, muttering profanities under your breath. Like a petulant child, you tug and try on new dresses with aggression in your movements. Damn near ripping the seams.

You come out after a few minutes in a new dress: a baby blue silk dress which reaches the floor, hiding your curves and hips. Like a Kate Hudson look-alike, the silky dress left your back exposed.

“Nuh uh,” the older man shakes his head, arms crossed.

“Oh come on!” You exclaim, turning around in a huff. “You want me to show up dressed like the Virgin Mary. Get real.”

“Yeah, John, get real,” Constantine mocks your high pitched voice.

"You stay out of this—" John shoots his partner a side eye.

“John, I’m buying this. I’m not going to that ball lookin’ like a nun,” you reaffirm, as you take one last look in the mirror. Your hands smoothing the dress down over your backside, you grinned satisfied. The soft material on your skin boosted your confidence for the upcoming night.

“Just buy the dress and let’s go,” John mutters, glancing at your reflection. Constantine smirks, whispering something to him. Your brows furrowed, but you waved your hand dismissively, your mind focused on the ball rather than their stares.

The ride to the ball was painful. Mentally at least.

You sat next to your father in the back of the pristine limousine. Your father typed endlessly away on his mobile, answering the string of emails that flooded in daily. He was a busy man, and this upcoming election only soaked up any remainder of his free time. Stupidly, you hoped he would at least talk to you on the way to the ball— a repeatedly unfulfilled hope.

“Please behave at this ball, I need tonight to go well,” Your father drawls, like he has to force out every word. Talking with you always seemed like a chore.

“I always behave,” you try to joke, but it falls flat when your father doesn’t even lift his eyes from his phone. Incessant clicking noises fill the limo, and you clear your throat, shifting to rest your elbow on the car door. 

“I mean it,” he says firmly. “You will not embarrass me like you did last time.”

“That was an accident..”

The dreaded accident he’s referring to was the year prior, and the aftermath of it all nearly cost your father his win. Being a politician’s brat means your only other friends included snobby offspring of other politicians, or mobsters who shadowed them. Your then boyfriend at the time: Richard Dubois, son of an alleged mobster, was getting handsy with the Judge’s daughter. Your firey temper got the better of you, and the words “fucking bitch” left you quicker than the common sense did as you threw your drink on her.

The tabloid nightmare that followed that night almost made your father’s head explode. His furious words echoed in your mind. 

“Rich brat strikes again! Party-girl daughter of the running Senator spills the gossip AND drink on— Do you see what you’ve done?!” He reads the article out loud, disdain dripping from each word. “What the hell’s the matter with you?! Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I said sorry..” 

“Sorry that I cut your allowance in half,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. Your father sets his phone down, his attention briefly flittering to you. His brows furrowed, as he analyses your outfit. The crinkle in his nose marking his disapproval. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping an eye on you.”

“What?!” Your lips part. “You promised I’d get to be on my own tonight.”

“That’s before I remembered you’re a goddamn walking PR nightmare.”

You didn’t respond and he knew he had upset you. Your words were lost as you turned your face away.

“Fine, whatever,” you mumble, hiding the hurt in your tone. 

“You pull any stunts, young lady and I’m cutting you off.”

You turn your head back in a shock, not registering what he just said. 

“You’re damn near 21 years old, you’re lucky I loved your mother enough to not kick you out,” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Wick and Constantine will be keeping me up to date. If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.”

Being monitored and scolded like a child greatly dampened the mood.

Not that these balls were much fun anyways.

The hall was filled with hundreds of familiar faces dressed in the latest fashion. Rival candidates, politicians, judges, criminal affiliates, and of course their children; each more spoiled than the last. There was not a single friendly face in this ball. Each man and woman walked and danced the floors with hungry hearts and dollar signs in their eyes.

Humility was a poor man’s game. 

You found yourself talking to a group of girls your own age. Like most rich brats, the conversation turned to competition, each girl showing off whatever luxury adorned her body. Every sly comment or backhanded compliment from them simply bounced off you, as you had no qualms showing off your own expenses.

“My parents are taking us to Cabo next month. We’re staying at the Waldorf,” One of the girls (Aria..? Anna..? You couldn’t be bothered to remember) spoke with amusement at the “awes" coming from the other girls.

“The Waldorf? Oh that cute little place?” You chime in, sipping your glass of champagne. “I’ve been, like, 4 or 5 times already. This is your first time going?” The girl's eyes widened a little at your audacity, influenced to focus on you now. That’s the one thing you were good at: being the centre of attention. You couldn’t help it. The conversation goes in loops, everyone trying to outshine the other, and eventually your glass turns empty.

“Excuse me,” you clear your throat, disbanding from the circle. Scratching at your skin, the boredom in you grew antsier. You needed some stimulation— something remotely interesting to converse about which wasn’t the stock market peaks, or whatever Fox News was blabbering about.

A notification on your phone alerts your attention, and you check your latest message. Your group chat is filled with details about a party going on a few blocks down from here. Unable to stop the grin growing on your lips, you glance around the room. You prayed that maybe your father wasn’t serious about Constantine and John being on your ass all night. With no sight of two men in black, you make your way towards the exit of the ball.

As you walk down the halls of the ball, a hand gently wraps around your elbow.

“Where are you going?” 

You were a bit taken aback at the way John holds your elbow. 

“Salsa dancing,” you mock, tugging your arm back. “The bathroom, obviously.” The lie flows off your tongue like water. But he wasn’t as stupid as you hoped.

The dark eyed man looks down at you with a blank stare, as though he doesn’t believe you. He straightens his back, his hand moving back to his side. You swallow, trying to bury the goosebumps swimming on your skin. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” you raise a brow.

“Okay. Go then,” he says to you. 

“Well.. yeah..” you stammer, pushing a strand of hair from your face. “I didn’t need your permission.”

John’s eyes never leave your figure as you keep walking. Pretending to head to the bathroom, you hide behind the half-wall, occasionally peeking back to make sure he wasn’t looking. Once the coast was clear, your heels clicked against the polished floors as you left the party all giddy.

The techno beat of the music, along with vibrant flashing lights stinging your eyes, made your movements only more sluggish in this dingy club. Having just entered the party, you were whisked away by some “friends” and immediately handed some shots to do. 

You were merely four blocks from where the ball was taking place, and you were quite proud of yourself for slipping past your father and his Shining Twins. Not that it was a hard feat, apparently. You haven’t seen those morons almost the entire night. 

You down your third shot, the liquor burning your throat deliciously as your friends cheer you on. Granted, they were just people you linked up to get trashed with rather than actual friends— but it beats drinking alone. 

“Hey baby, let me get some of that,” a random male voice calls out from behind you. 

“In your dreams!” You call back, earning a whistle and a few chuckles from drunk wannabe frat boys. The incessant pick up lines and cat calling rolls off your back at this point, keeping your focus on the party girls who keep taking shots and howling along to the music. 

Sure enough, you lose track of time. Beads of sweat form on your forehead while you sway your hips along to the beat, dancing with your girls. Your throat almost raw from shouting the lyrics over the bass, you’re completely amiss to your phone that’s exploding with missed calls.

You’re in the middle of downing another shot when a warm presence is felt on your back. Annoyance etched on your face, realising that frat boy was back, you turn around “Look, asshole— I already said—”

“Ouch, sweetheart."

Your face falls at the sight of Constantine’s contrived smile.

“Oh fuckkkk,” you whisper, a little too loudly. “Constantine— hey— wow—”

“Wow indeed,” Constantine interrupts, grabbing your bicep. With a loud “hey!”, you slap at his tight grip as he drags you through the sea of drunk partygoers. Your anger turns to pleading then to bratty complaints once you begin reaching the exit.

“Constantine— wait— c’mon—” You try to interject. His unusually calm disposition brewed the panic in your bones. If Constantine of all people was calm— that was your indicator you fucked up. Normally you could play off your rule-breaking tendencies with some witty banter, but tonight was not the night. 

As the older man hauls you out of the club, onto the chilly New York streets, you lock eyes with your other bodyguard. John stood in front of a black car, his dark suit almost blending into it. His muscular arms crossed on his chest as Constantine nearly shoves you in front of him.

“Look let’s not freak out now—”

“Get in the car,” when he spoke, it was like there was gravel in his throat. You’ve never heard such a commanding tone from him before. 

You sat with your tail between your legs in the backseat of the black mustang. The air was suffocating you and slowly sobering you up, nervous chills dancing on your spine. The two men sat in the front, with John driving as always. 

“I was just—”

“No.” John says bluntly.

“But I–” 

“No.”

“John plea—”

“Save it,” he commands, his tone quiet but deadly. You glance up at the rearview mirror, looking to Constantine for some backup. He barely turns his head from where he’s sat in the passenger’s seat, looking back at you.

“Can’t help you here, kid,” his voice lackluster, before turning back to facing the road.

You were in for it.

“Have you lost your mind?” 

The deja-vu nearly makes you sick. You were sitting in your disgustingly pink bedroom, on your soft queen-sized bed. John stood diagonal to you, in his typical stoic position as Constantine boredly spun around in your desk chair. 

“No,” you retort in a duh tone. “I was just trying to have fun.”

“Ah yes, drinking and illegal substances— perfect idea of fun,” Constantine scoffs, his face in an uncharacteristic frown. 

“There were no drugs!” You defend.

“Like we’re going to believe that,” John says coldly, earning a jaw drop from you. Sure you were spoiled, complained a lot, and lacked common sense— but you weren’t a liar! Swallowing, you look back up at John’s intense gaze. 

“I was just having some fun— Jesus!— The ball was so goddamn boring, I literally thought I would fall asleep!”

“So dramatic,” John grumbles, his dismissive tone so similar to that of your father, it makes you snap.

“Go fuck yourself!” you huff bitterly.

“Watch your mouth,” they warned in a chilling tandem, their voices tinged with a cold edge. Your eyes widened a little at their unified scolding, causing your ego to shrink down. The chair squeaks as Constantine stands up, now joining John’s side. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I snuck out,” you sigh, your apology as insincere as it gets. “Are we cool now?”

“No we’re not cool now,” John jeers, mocking your inflection. “You realise you could’ve gotten in serious trouble right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t—”

“Because I had to drag your ass out of there. Who even let you in? You’re not even 21 yet,” Constantine’s brow stitched together, judgement filling his words. Your hands weakly gesture to your figure, the low cut dress speaking for itself. Constantine rolled his eyes, while John released an exasperated sigh. 

“Your father’s gonna have a field day with that one..” John taking out his phone made your heart drop.

“Woah—woah— wait no— why are you calling him?” You stammer, jumping up from your spot. The two guards share a look before turning back to you, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Maybe because his daughter not only snuck out, but went drinking on one of the most important days of his life?” John explains, but you were well aware already.

“And so we don’t get fired,” Constantine interjects.

You opened your mouth but John was already scrolling to find your father’s contact information. Suddenly you grab at his wrist, soft pleas leaving your lips. Finally cracking through his blank expressions, he raises his eyebrows a little at how weak you sound. 

 If I hear a single fuck up from them, you’re done.

You couldn’t get cut off. You weren’t built for anything outside of partying and shopping.

“Please don’t tell him, please,” you ask, the mirth in your voice fading. John clears his throat, his interest clearly piqued and he lowers his phone. You looked uneasily between the two brawny men, as they awaited your next words. “Please.. I’ll do anything. I’m really sorry.”

Batting your lashes, you can see the cogs turning in their heads. You weren’t stupid. You were stupid hot–— but not stupid. Constantine’s little jokes always had some flirty undertones, and as high and mighty John says he is, you definitely caught him readjusting while you were trying on dresses.

Before John could pick his phone back up, Constantine swoops in. “Hang on a minute,” as he holds his hand over John’s wrist. “Anything?”

You bite your lip, nodding. 

Constantine side eyes his cohort, his pink lips turning up from a frown into a sly grin. John’s lack of protest or offence at the suggestion only affirmed what you knew. You take a step closer, purposely amplifying the sad bambi look in your eyes. Your delicate hands resting on either chest of John and Constantine, manicured fingers toying with their ties. “It’ll be our secret..”

“Fuck,” was the weak groan that fell from John’s lips. His body betrays him, and he feels his cock twitching underneath the slacks you’re hastily working to get off. The man in black lies back against your fluffy pillows, and headboard, with you on all fours, and Constantine at the end.

Constantine sponges soft kisses from your lower hip, all the way up your spine, his hands sliding the silky dress further up and up. Meanwhile, your own hands are pulling at John’s pants, slowly tugging them down, exposing his dark happy trail. 

“No bra on? Dollface, I’m shocked,” Constantine taunts. He’s knelt right behind you on the bed, his huge hands stroking your sides before cupping your pillowy breasts. You whine, looking at John through your long lashes as Constantine toys with your sensitive buds. The bearded man leans up a little, helping to take your baby blue dress off before tossing it to the side. A wave of shyness overcomes you, your naked body aside from panties being eyed hungrily by two men who want nothing more than to taste you. 

Constantine pulls you up, your back pressed to his clothed chest as he pinches at your nipples. John’s gaze never leaves your flustered face, and you feel his hands on your hips. Constantine’s lips leave faint kisses on your ear and neck, as both pairs of hands grope and squeeze your soft skin. 

“Isn’t she fuckin’ pretty?” Constantine’s baritone voice echoes in the shell of your ear, his huge hands still massaging your breasts. John simply chuckles, his fingers hooking the sides of your skimpy pink panties. 

“Prettier when her mouth’s shut,” John muses. The cool draft hits your exposed skin as John slides your underwear down, leaving you bare and ready to be feasted on. John’s calloused finger trails your inner thigh before reaching your slit. His digit traces over your clit, gently stroking it in slow circles.

“John—” you whisper breathlessly.

“Sir,” he corrects.

Constantine pushes you back down, and your face now inches from John. The sound of Constantine’s clothes ruffling as he unbuttons his shirt, piques your excitement, and you can’t help squirming your hips. 

The sound that left you was embarrassing as a cold glob of spit trickles from Constantine’s mouth down to your cunt. John watches how you unravel as Constantine’s touch, and he holds tightly onto your jaw. Your big doe eyes are forced to stare into his dark irises, and he drinks in every whimper and squeal coming from those pretty lips.

Constantine pushes his index finger into you, and you bite your lip hard. The two men chuckle quietly at your reactions, and Constantine flusters you when he comments on how tight you are. Your nails gently pinch into John’s thighs, and you feel his hand on the back of your neck. 

You take the hint as your fingers pull his cock out from his slacks. Swallowing, your eyes widen a little at the size, your hand barely wrapping around the base. John’s lips press to your temple.

“Suck,” he says lowly, 

“Yes.. sir..” the word drips with sin as you lower your head. Pressing pecks to his tip, you generously spit on your hand to lube his cock. John can’t hold back a groan, your pretty little hand stroking his cock while Constantine fingers you was a sight to behold. 

Your mouth was so wet and warm, your lips stretched to the brim as you lowered your head even further. John’s large hand rests on the back of your head, keeping you in your place and making you gag. Your heart stuttered at the action, the near lack of oxygen filling your bones with panic and adrenaline. He only lets you up when you choke, and there’s a long clear line of spit connecting from your lip to his cock. You wipe your mouth, using the extra spit to stroke his girth once more.  

Meanwhile, Constantine’s slacks dropped as well. You mewl when he pulls his finger back, leaving your needy hole empty temporarily. His pelvis pressed against you, and you felt something hard. Your eyes closed as you welcomed the sensation of his cock teasing you, collecting the slick off your weeping cunt. His tip prods at your entrance, barely filling your desperate hole. 

Constantine smirks at your muffled whimpers, the obscene sounds eliciting from you sucking John off only made his own cock harder. “Daddy’s little girl is such a cockslut, who’da thought?”

“You’d do anything to not lose daddy’s money, huh? Even fucking the help?” John croons coldly, and the heat blooms in your cheeks. John’s hand tightens as it finds a home on the back of your head, his fingers pulling at your hair as he drags your mouth up and down his cock. 

“Not the first time— probably the only reason the other guards stuck around as long as they did, right?” Constantine lies just to rile you up. He was not gentle as he pushed his way into you, making you gag once again. His hips rolled against you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Constantine’s fingers dug painfully into your sides, each motion of him pulling you back and forth on his cock rattled your body. Your moans and pants vibrated against John’s cock, your tongue flat against the base.

You gasp for air as John pulls you off once again, his fingers smearing the drool and cum from your lips all across your mouth and chin. Eyes shut in fear as he pats your face condescendingly. “You like being used like this, hm?” John’s tone is gentle even if his words are mean.

You nod mindlessly, hand still stroking his cock. John tilts his head to watch where Constantine’s hips and your ass meet, his cock no doubt buried deep into your sopping cunt, and John licks his lips. “Use your words.”

“I— I like—” you pant, as Constantine leans forward, pressing his now bare chest to your back. You relied on John for support, little squeals falling from your wet lips as he ruts relentlessly into you. “I like being used— yes— yes sir—” 

“Oh, she fuckin’ likes it..” Constantine mocks your whines, his lips graze your ear. “What would daddy dearest think if he saw you like this? Fucking the men he pays to watch you?” 

Your eyes flutter closed, mouth parted open slightly as Constantine fucks you stupid. His cock sliding in and out of you with ease at this point, as you leave a ring of white at the base of his dick.

His thrusts come to a gradual halt, his cock pulling out of you. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love the sight of you clenching around air, begging to be filled like the needy girl you are. Suddenly you feel John manhandling your hips, pulling your chest against his. He shifts his hips a little lower, lining up your sensitive entrance with his shaft. Your thighs were a trembling mess as you hovered right over him. Like a fleshlight, he lowers you painfully slowly down on him, letting you feel each inch stretching you apart.

Constantine’s lips ghost your shoulder blades and he kisses along your shoulder, his huge hands back on your breasts. You’re surprised that John hasn’t shifted once, and instead is letting himself be snug inside your warm hole. 

Your curiosity turns to alarm when you feel a wet sensation on your other opening. 

“No— wait— I’ve never—” your stutters were merely shushed by both men, and a sharp spank from Constantine. John’s hands hold your hips tight and Constnatine pushes you down, so you’re chest to chest with John. With a forced arch, Constantine parts your cheeks, further exposing your holes.

You squirm a little, begging for any stimulation from John’s end, but he remains completely still. 

“I’ll be gentle.. Promise,” Constantine offers you reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back. Inhaling sharply as you feel his tip probe your puckered hole, John’s hand strokes the side of your face. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with worried eyes. 

“Shh.. look at me,” John whispers, pulling your face close as he slots his lips against yours. This mini distraction allows for Constantine to slide in a little deeper, releasing a hiss of his own. Your whimpers of pain were swallowed by John as you stretched around Constantine. Soon enough, the two men were lodged deep inside you, and you felt full to the brim. 

Tears kissed your eyes in the sudden shift in atmosphere, and with the contrasting feel of pain and pleasure of having two men inside you at the same time. Constantine kisses behind your ear, and John along your lips and cheek.

“Taking us so well, dollface,” Constantine croons. 

“You’re doing so good for us, c’mon..” John whispers.

Your tears do nothing for your pain, but earn the gentle affection of John and Constantine. The pain spikes when they both begin to move in and out slowly. Your manicure digs into John’s muscular chest, and it pushes out a quiet moan from him. 

Their thrusts gradually quicken, and their caring personas begin to drop once again. Constantine’s hands cup the fat of your ass tightly, keeping you spread as he oogles the way he and John’s dicks disappear inside both your holes. The two men can’t help how fucking good you feel. Like the giving gift, they will gladly keep taking.

“It hurts, hurts—” you whine softly, eyes squeezed shut as tears roll down your flushed cheeks.

“I know, baby, I know,” John hums, his words not matching his actions as he keeps moving your hips up and down. Their strokes were fast and hard, and with Constantine pressed against your back, you felt completely sandwiched between them both. 

Their pants and grunts mix in with your airy, feminine cries of pleasure. They were too occupied in watching the way your ass jiggled or how your tits bounced with each roll of their hips. The spoiled little brat they once knew, was now a whimpering, flushed mess: your doe eyes all teary and lips swollen from how hard you’re biting them.

“Our girl’s making us feel so good— it’s what we deserve after the shit you put us through tonight,” Constantine pants, putting his foot up which makes his cock plunge even deeper into your ass.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry—” your shaky tone comes out, forcing in a painful breath as you cry, the voice of reason in your mind going right out the window. 

“No more sneaking out after this right? Gonna be a good girl? Listen to what you’re told?” John coos, cradling your clammy hand on his chest. You can barely speak, so you nod feverishly. You’d agree to anything at this point. 

“I think the poor thing wants to cum,” Constantine pulls your head back, and your neck cranes as you look back at him over your shoulder. He sees the fucked out gaze in those pretty irises, and feels the tension in your clench. “Should we let her?”

“I think she’s had enough,” sent relief through your body. You couldn’t even tell who’s fingers pressed against your clit, but all you know is that it made the coil in your belly tighten. The quick circles on your bundle of nerves, was enough to send over the edge, and you exhale a loud moan. The tension in your tummy snaps, as your fluttering walls tighten through your climax.

Meanwhile, your two bodyguards were still chasing their own highs, using your trembling frame like a doll at this point. You could hardly comprehend a thing until the feeling of warm, thick release filled both your holes. All three of your exhausted pants filled the sweaty, sex-smelling room, and you finally collapsed against John’s chest. The animalistic growls came to a halt as they stilled inside you. 

“Hey, hey..” a few gentle pats to the face jolt you awake. A little squelch can be heard when Constantine pulls out of you first, with John following. The brawny men lays you on your back, ignoring the dribbles of cum leaking from your holes. “You okay?” Constantine pats your face, a flash of concern on his face.

You nod tiredly, eyes drooping. The mascara stained your face, and the glitter lipgloss was nowhere to be seen anymore. 

“Did so well for us,” John says calmly, kissing the corner of your mouth. The stoic, cold, brute you once knew was now gently soothing your sensitive body.

“Good girl.” Your heart flipped.

“Our little secret, right?” Constantine smirks, trying to lighten the mood. Licking your dry lips, you give him a lazy smile.

“Our little secret,” you reaffirm tiredly.

Fin.

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[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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[kenposting]

New Guy

Summary: Short & sweet; Ken is the new guy at your work - somewhere he keeps calling the ‘real world’. You don’t get that, but what’s new, he never really makes any sense. 

WC: 2.2k

AN: (Insert crying emoji) thank you for all the kind comments on the last Ken brainrot story I wrote omg!!! I just like him... did nawt expect all that. A small part of this was very loosely inspired after reading a blurb by @ideas-live-forever where Ken doesn’t like a latte. Its very cute and you can read it here!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀⋆˚✿˖°⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You wished you had words to describe him, really. I mean, how many times could you redirect the conversation away from the two of you? Your friends, roomates, classmates, even your family – they all picked up on your recent busy schedule. You were seeing someone, and that someone came off as incredibly alluring and mysterious to them after your hesitance in explaining. 

Ken was not alluring, let alone mysterious. Bless his heart, he was a bit dense actually. You didn’t want to tell people about him - not out of embarrassment, but out of protection for him. This world was a lot different from the one he claimed to be from… another piece of him you didn’t quite understand. You chalked it up to at best a joke or some weird pick up line (him saying he was from “out of this world”) and at worst an actual delusion, but you didn’t mind it. You found it kind of charming. 

You still remember when you first heard about him. There was a new guy at work and your coworkers were laughing about some of the answers he gave on his job interview. You felt a little bad, knowing his answers should’ve been kept confidential, but you couldn’t help but laugh when you overheard them. 

“No, yeah he literally said his last job was ‘beach’. Not lifeguard, not pool attendant, not national park ranger, not even the beach, just beach.” 

You laughed a little to yourself, finishing wiping down one of the tables. You had a morning shift today, like most days, but you wouldn't be open for a little while. You had time to listen. 

“I don’t know, man. At least he can wash a mean dish.” 

They weren’t laughing with him, but rather at him. It did make you a bit sad. He sounded hilarious, honestly. It was probably just a bit that he took too seriously. After all, a job interview isn’t always the best place to joke around like that. 

A metallic ding rang through the restaurant as the door swung open. You looked up to be met with quite the character. He was tall, probably around 6’3” or 6’4”, and tan. Must've been all that time at beach. His stature was broad and his shoulders barely fit through the doorframe. He was dressed in the same uniform you were, except his yellow diner ringer tee was tucked in to a pair of light blue cuffed jeans, paired with white tennis sneakers and white crew socks. He was blonde, clearly by choice, not birth, and he stood with a clean dishtowel draped over his left shoulder. He looked like he just stepped out of an 80’s back-to-school Target ad. 

“Morning, Ken.” 

“Morning! Thank you for the opportunity to work here! So cool…” 

You smiled to yourself, grabbing menus to set out on each table. He looked just as odd as he everyone made him out to be. 

Prep duty was your given task for this morning. Since you typically worked an opening shift before school, you only had to wait tables until 2pm. Doors didn’t open until 9am, so that left you three hours to cut vegetables and fruit while you supervised the new guy. 

“Hey, my office please.” 

Your boss beckoned you, explaining what Ken’s tasks were so you could keep an eye on him. 

“He’ll probably keep to himself, honestly. He seems nervous, but he’s glad to work here. I don’t really… get him.” 

“What do you mean, sir?” 

You boss sighed and shook his head, searching for a way to explain everything. 

“When I asked him about previous employment he just said he worked at ‘beach’ and that he was 'very good at it'. His references were all listed under the name name… his name. Ken. I kept asking if he was, like, a lifeguard or something and why everyone he’s worked for was also named Ken. He just kept repeating, ‘no, sir, just beach,’ and ‘I’m not sure I understand, sir, is your name not Ken too?’ like that made any sense.” 

Air quotes punctuated the absurdity of the whole thing. 

You bit the inside of your lip, stifling a laugh. This guy was wither a genius or actually insane. 

“Anyways…” he trailed off. “He didn’t have much more to say about work, but he said he was in town to study – of course, without any documentation. I guess you don’t need a diploma to wash dishes.” 

Ken did keep to himself mostly, but you could tell he took his job incredibly seriously. His brows furrowed while washing the plates from last night’s dinner rush. He wanted to be good at this, you could tell. You wondered if he took beach the same way, like his life depended on it. 

The day went by quickly. All the girls – and Ken – got off at the same time, switching aprons as the evening crew trickled in. 

“Wanna come to the bar with us tonight? It’s half-price on Tuesdays!” 

You smiled at the offer, but respectfully declined. 

“I’ve got homework, but maybe next time!” 

They sighed, saying you were no fun, waving to you as they all left together. You stayed behind to count and divide the tips. So did Ken, for some reason. 

“You can go home whenever you’re ready, Ken. Good job today.” 

You pretended not to notice his ears perk at your compliment. He was blushing, like… actually blushing. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

He sounded surprised, like he hadn’t ever been told he did well before. 

“What are you doing now?” 

You looked up at him. He was actually quite handsome up close. You both had your backs turned to each other most of the day so you didn’t get a chance to notice. 

His eagerness to learn was also attractive. He wasn’t handsy or gross or trying to hit on you like some of the previous employees you’ve worked with. He was kind and appeared genuine. 

“I’m counting the tip jar from this morning so I can divide the tips between all the morning waitresses. Each of them get their own tips on the bills or in cash, but the ones in the jar are kind of random, so we split all of those. We count morning separately so whatever the evening crew makes can be divided amongst themselves, in case they were busier or slower than us. Its fair that way. You get some too.” 

He looked like you just told him his childhood home caught fire. He was just bewildered at the concept. 

“I get some? But I already got paid for today, they said I’d get it on my 'check' in two weeks.” 

He did not know what a check was. You smiled to yourself, still deciding on wether he was being smart with you or if he was just inexperienced in the world. 

“Yeah, see? 20, 40, 60, 80, 100 in 20s, then 110, 120, 130, 140 in 10s. I already counted the fives – 145, 150, 155, 160, 165, 170, 175, 180, 185 there – and ones, so 186, 7, 8 ,9, 90, 91, 2, 3, 4 ,5, 6, 7, so that’s 197, divided by the staff is $32.83 each.” 

He did not get it at all. He nodded hesitantly, hoping to convince you he understood you just fine. You were explaining it like he should know this, afterall, and he felt kind of insecure that he didn’t get it. You didn’t mean to hurt his feelings and he knew that, but he was just more sensitive than most. 

“So I take it you didn’t make any tips at ‘beach’?” 

He shook his head, answering with complete seriousness. 

“No. We didn’t have money at all, actually.” 

He was always like that. It had been a couple of months now since he started with you. Every day he said something weirder than the day before. Just like today, when he asked if you were doing anything after work. You said homework, as per usual, and watched him panic, replying with, “Oh yeah... me too actually…”

“Yeah? You’re in school?” 

He nodded, another serious look on his face. He had forgotten about homework for a while now. They didn’t have homework in Barbieland. 

The thought alone of this man in a classroom was enough to have you laughing. Sure, he was smart and charming and handsome and good at his job and personable and kind and… lots of other things you didn’t want to admit, but he didn’t strike you as someone that would thrive in an academic environment. 

You took him out for drinks that afternoon. It was a small cafe that also served daydrinks, like mimosas or sangrias. It was a comfortable and safe environment, which was welcome, as today’s assignment was complicated even for you. Who knows why you took organic chemistry as your major. You hated chemistry. Everyone hated chemistry. 

You felt him watching you attentively, like he was checking if you might’ve needed anything. 

“What’s your homework on?” 

He was gentle in his approach. He liked you. 

You looked at him. He truly wanted to know, it wasn’t just small talk. 

You explained it as best at you could, truly, but he looked like he was about to cry, like it physically hurt his brain. Changing the subject, you asked what he was studying. 

“I’m majoring in Patriarchy and minoring in Horses and Beach.” 

You didn’t ask more. He was dead serious, too. He really was highlighitng and placing index notes on a book about horses. Stacked in his (pale yellow) backpack (with tiny embroidered flowers) were heavy textbooks, though, so he must've been studying something. Maybe this was part of the joke. After looking over his course catalogue to help him figure out assignment priority based on credit weights, you saw he was majoring in Gender Studies and minoring in Equine Science and Marine Biology. So yes, patriarchy, horses, and beach. 

The waitress stopped by your table and he panicked again, ordering the same thing as you. A little while later, two Espresso Martinis arrived. You sipped the drink casually, focused on your assignment. 

He didn’t mind it when you weren’t focused on him. He enjoyed your company, even in the quiet. He never felt like you were laughing at him. It was more like you found him funny, but in a nice way. He liked that about you. He liked all of you, actually. 

“Oh, wow!”

He had a sort of outburst that startled you from whatever it was you were reading. You couldn’t remember actually, the look on his face made you forget what you had just read. 

“Oh my gosh, that is terrible!!” 

He spoke in an elevated whisper, careful to not offend the workers. 

“Why does it hurt, is something wrong with it??” 

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing at him. He looked truly horrified. 

“Have you never had anything with alcohol in it before? I thought you were, like, what, 24? 25? Aren’t you in college?” 

“I don’t even have an age – wow, I’m so sorry, that is so bad.” 

He was so weird. So so weird. But you really liked that about him actually. He was sweet about everything and very kind and thoughtful, too. 

He clearly hated his drink but finished it anyway, probably out of courtesy. His face crumpled a bit every time he had to wash a dish that had a lot of food leftover. It was like he felt great sorrow for the chef – that their work wasn’t good enough for the customer, and they tried really hard, so that made him sad. 

Oddly enough, he put a $20 in the tip jar on the way out, shrugging when you asked him about it. He said sure, he didn’t like it, but that wasn’t anyone’s fault. He was grateful they ‘took good care of him’. He was just repeating what he’d heard other diner guests say when they tipped. He was so cute. 

You walked him home. He insisted on the other way around, but he was tipsy and didn’t really know what to do about it, hiccupping and catching his balance. He wasn’t frightened or anything, reassuring you he’d ‘seen this in the movies before’. You assumed he was referring to knowing what it’s like to be inebriated. Still, all this after only one drink, and a stereotypically girly one at that. 

“Thank you for walking me home and helping me with homework and letting me hang out with you today!” 

You smiled, nodding your head. 

“Sure, Ken. Do you work tomorrow?” 

He nodded excitedly, standing in a salute-like pose. 

“Sure do! I’m gonna wash the hell out of some dishes.” 

Cursing, although incredibly light for him, was something he told you he was learning to do since he was now ‘in the real world’. You didn't understand that, like most things about him, but you were excited to see him tomorrow nonetheless. 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀⋆˚✿˖°⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

For more Kenpostings I’ve written, click here.

For part two, click here!

#ken #kenergy #ryan gosling #what kenergy is this #just ken #ken x reader #ken barbie movie #<3

[teenidlegirl]

꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 ┆ 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

˒ ♡ ៸៸𓂃  𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚  ˖ ׁ ⁩ .ᐟ  you wake up in a random bed and dressed in an oversized shirt. turns out you are in miguel’s penthouse. you demand some answers about what happened. however, he says some things he shouldn't have said.

˒ ♡ ៸៸𓂃  𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕  ˖ ׁ ⁩ .ᐟ  angst, heartbreak (sorry not sorry), swearing, mentions of drowning, mentions of near-death experiences, miguel being an asshole

꒰ previous chapter ꒱ ⋅ ꒰ masterlist ꒱ ⋅ ꒰ next chapter ꒱

softness awakes you, engulfing your body in a delicious comfort. the sunlight shines down your on form, like a warm blanket. slowly opening your eyes, you’re greeted by the warm light of the sun through the window, no curtains to block it. you blink a few times to adjust to the bright sunlight. once your eyes adjust, you look around your surroundings. you find yourself in a bed, not your bed. this is not your room; not your home. you take a moment to stretch, arching your back and stretching your arms, soft kitten moans escaping your lips. damn that was a good stretch. slowly sitting up on the bed, you find daisy on the floor softly barking and wagging her small poofy tail in excitement. oh how you miss your furry baby. before you jump out of bed, you quickly glance down at your clothes. a plain white shirt.

wait — this isn’t your shirt. 

you slowly get out of bed, rubbing your eyes. as you stand up, you glance down at the white shirt again and your mouth drops open. 

holy shit — the shirt is huge on you. it reaches down to your knees and the sleeves are so loose on your shoulders. it looks like a nightgown. looking down further, you seem to be wearing a pair of white socks that goes up to your calves. 

whose clothes are these?

whose home are you in?

so many questions plagued your mind. scooping up daisy and carrying her in your arms, you walk out of the bedroom and down the hallway. there’s no pictures or wall decor, only blank white walls. two voices come from the end of the hallway. walking down the hallway and entering the living room, you find a tall man clad in a white long sleeve sweater and gray sweats standing in the middle of the room. you recognize that muscular back any day. 

“uhhh boss, you got a visitor.” lyla nods her head at you before vanishing. 

miguel swiftly turns around, meeting your gaze. “oh you’re awake, oh gracias a dios.” he walks up to you but leaves some space in between.

“uh yeah.” you clean your throat awkwardly. “quick question, where the hell am i?” you quirk a brow.

“my penthouse.” 

your brows raised in surprise. “your penthouse? goddamn. okay, richie rich.” a chuckle escapes your lips, glancing around the living room in amazement.

miguel rolls his eyes, taking another step closer. “how’re you feeling? did you sleep okay?” he rushed out, hint of concern in his tone.

“uh yeah, actually. probably one of the best naps i’ve ever taken.” you chuckle, gently petting daisy’s head. “what the hell happened last night?” you knew something happened in order for you to end up in miguel’s penthouse. yes, you do remember him and the gang rescuing you but your mind went blank afterwards. you really want answers.

miguel stares at you dumbfounded. “are you serious? you don’t remember anything?” he sounds genuinely shocked, or even confused a bit.

“oh well — i remember you and the others rescuing me. kicked harry’s and doc ock’s asses but i don’t remember anything else after that.” you shrug awkwardly but answer truthfully.

you got the sense something serious happened by the way miguel was looking at you with those wide eyes, like he was in disbelief by your words. it made you feel a bit anxious. what the hell happened last night? was it that bad or something?

a sad sigh escaped his plump lips as he ran a hand through his dark chocolate locks, the other hand resting on his waist. 

oh you didn’t like that look. that definitely meant something bad happened. 

“miguel, what happened?” you sounded desperate, taking a step closer towards him.

he turns away from you. hands rested on his waist, head hanging low. “you couldn’t listen, could you? always so damn stubborn.” he mumbled.

you frown at that. “what?…”

“why couldn’t you just listen to me?” he mumbles on, still looking away from you. 

why is he saying these things? did you do something bad? it confuses the hell out of you. sure, you are a stubborn person but not stupid. these mumble words were starting to piss you off since he isn’t answering the damn question.

you take another step forward. “miguel, what the hell happened?!”

“YOU ALMOST DIED!”

he finally turns around. crimson eyes boring into yours. canines and claws peeking out. chest heaving rapidly and hands balled into fists at his sides. 

that look reminded you the first time he looked at you like that when you accidentally snooped through his private files in his office. the sight terrified you, this time not really but startled you a bit. it just naturally happens when he get angry or frustrated. 

“what?…” you look at him confusingly, almost in disbelief at his shocking answer.

“you almost drowned!” miguel threw his hands in the air out of frustration. “you almost drowned, don’t you understand that?! of course not because you’re so fucking stubborn! you should have just listened to me when i told you to leave but no! you never listen to me and almost got yourself killed!” 

for once, you were speechless. all you could do was stare at him with wide eyes. poor daisy was shivering in your arms, softly whining.

almost drowned? oh fuck. 

it was that bad.

he lets out a sad sigh at the lack of your response. miguel runs a hand through his hair again, shoulders slumped. he knows lashing out at you is wrong, considering the last time he did that and things went to shit afterwards. he needs to tell you everything.

“after we took them down, harry activated one of his grenades and threw it at us. i rushed out to you but the whole place blew up before i could even reach you. then, you got knocked out by one of the pillars and you fell into the lake. i went after and saved you. when i did, you didn’t wake up…” miguel meets your gaze for a moment then looks back down, feeling anxious at the horrible memory. “you… you just laid there… not moving or breathing for two minutes. two fucking minutes. the worst two minutes of my fucking life.” he rubs the temples of his forehead with a hand, calming himself to not lash out again. “then you finally did.” he brings down his hand to his side. “but then you passed out. so i took you back here, changed you into warm clothes and carefully placed you in my bed so you could rest. i stayed up all night to make sure you were okay.”

you remain speechless, or perhaps enthralled by the last part. he took care of you? changed you out of your drenched dress and into his own clothes? slept in his own damn bed? stayed up all night just to see if you were okay? your heart fucking melted. suddenly, your eyes began to feel moist but you held it back. you can't cry right now.

“i…” you don’t even know what to say, too speechless and enthralled by his actions. the first thing that popped in your mind was expressing your gratitude. “thank you… for all of this…” you gesture at your (his) shirt and his bedroom. “i’m grateful…”

you were too shy to look at him. when you do, your eyes meet for a second before miguel looks away. he turns around again, his muscular back to you. the sight makes you sigh, slightly annoyed.

“what?” you push, annoyance laced in your tone.

you’re only met with silence. it’s clear there was more and miguel is just being difficult. you just wait, folding your arms over your chest. 

“this can’t happen anymore…”

you look at him in confusion. “what?”

his shoulders slumped as a sad sigh escapes him, clenching his fists. “whatever… this is, it’s over.”

anxiety starts kicking in, adrenaline flowing through your veins. “what the hell are you talking about?”

miguel turns to face you, those ruby irises present. “this!” he gestures at the space between you two. “whatever this is, it’s done! it’s over.”

you stand there dumbfounded. heart pounding in your chest, anxiety consuming your body. a thin layer of water began forming in your eyes. “what?”

he flinched at your voice crack, making his heart ache. “you need to forget about me. forget about everything about us.”

you frown. “what the fuck are you talking about? what do you mean ‘forget about you’?” 

“we can’t be friends anymore, or whatever the hell we were. this is done.” miguel states firmly, but deep down inside he was hurting. he knew this would hurt you both, break both your hearts.

but he has to do this.

he has to keep you away from the down side of him.

your vision turns glossy as tears threaten to spill. your heart breaks, anxiety at its peak. he can’t be serious. he doesn’t want to be friends anymore? he wants you to forget him? and he forgets you?

what the fuck?

“why?” your voice cracks, a mix of upset and anger.

“because you’ll get hurt!” miguel exclaims and you went silent. “you’ll always be in danger because of me! look what happened! you were kidnapped and almost fucking drowned because of me!”

a single tear drop from your eyes trails down your cheek and miguel’s heart cracks.

“this is why i don’t get close with anyone! because they always get hurt, or worse, killed!” his chest heaves. “i should never have met you.” oh fuck that slipped out his mouth and instantly regret it. his eyes widen in realization, looking at you but he knew those words hurt you by that heartbroken look. oh he fucked up again and he hates himself. he hates the hurt look in your eyes all because of him.

that’s when your heart breaks.

in simple terms, he wants you out of his life. 

to fuck off.

more tears spill from your eyes and you don’t even bother to wipe them, allowing them to fall freely. you can’t even look at him anymore now that he wants you out of his life. then, the sorrow turns into anger. very slowly and intimating, you finally look up at him but with anger in your eyes. that made miguel shit his pants, an unpleasant shiver his spine. that was the first time he witnessed anger in you.

“fine.”

without giving him a chance to speak, you storm back into his bedroom, leaving a confused miguel in the living room. not even five minutes, you return but wearing your black dress that was drenched from yesterday’s attack as daisy follows you. supposedly he washed and dried it while you were asleep; how generous but that doesn’t get rid of the frustration flowing through your veins at this moment. miguel watches you walk towards the front door without sharing a glance at him before stopping in front of it.

“since you want me out of your fucking life, i don’t need this shit.” you take off the watch he gave you and throw it on the floor, shattering into pieces. without looking back at him, you grab daisy again and walk out the door, slammed it on your way out, leaving him speechless and heartbroken.

the minute the door closed, miguel fell down to his knees and broke down.

he fucked up for the second time.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  ˖ ࣪ ༘  @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43 @undf-stuff @miatjie @leshasnolife

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #fanfic series

[zlebooks]

𓂃 ayato + who’s a good boy?

ayato learns that maybe he shouldn’t mess with you the next time you’re taking a stroll… or anytime for that matter.

warning: idk if the last parts of the fic are considered as sexual innuendos 😭

ayato grew up in a gated neighborhood— that probably already says a lot about him and his tax bracket.

his father, a director at one of the top hospitals in the country and his mother, a well known art gallery curator, made sure ayato grew up comfortably. he had the best tutors to help him remain on the top of his class, a world class nanny who knows hand to hand combat if it ever comes to the worst scenarios, and a whole staff of his own that will help him with literally anything.

to say ayato never worked a day in his life would be unjust and offensive. however, he does admit that he is more privileged compared to others.

one of the many privileges he had growing up was he barely had to follow any orders. usually, he would have the option to disregard it or at least postpone doing it for an extended period of time. however, he had learned to never pass it on to anyone else; the moment he tried to pass the responsibility on to his sister, ayato earned himself a flick to the forehead from his father.

(it is a common knowledge in the kamisato residence that ayaka has always been their father's favorite while ayato had always been their mother's most precious little thing.)

that's why ayato notices almost immediately that you had the tendency to order him around.

it wasn't anything degrading, of course. it was more like a simple request that can be put in better words. and the kamisato heir doesn't mind at all— even though he grew up with almost no one bossing him around, he still follows you wholeheartedly.

but there are days where ayato becomes more mischievous than usual— he blames it on the childhood that he never got to fully live as he was part of high society— and he thinks it's a great day to stir some slight trouble.

"ayato? come here." you say, flicking your wrist towards you, inviting your boyfriend to walk with you.

your boyfriend puts on a commendable act. he pretends to think for a moment— with matching lean-on-one-hip and chin-caressing.

"no."

this causes you to raise an eyebrow, your eyes dripping with suspicion. "why? do you want to go somewhere else?"

ayato gives you an affirmative answer and you puff your cheeks out. "you should have told me earlier," you say as you feel guilty for not intentionally dragging him around.

this almost makes your boyfriend cave— almost. but he decides that he isn't done with you yet.

"where do you want to go?" you ask sweetly, your face contorting into someone who's sorry.

he hums for a moment, acting as if he were thinking again.

"i don't know."

the moment he tells you that, every remorse in your bones vanishes within a second.

"you're not being cute right now."

ayato shrugs.

"okay, seriously. what do you want?"

"i want to go somewhere else."

"where?"

"i don't know."

ayato almost snorts when he looks at you about to pull your hair out. for a moment, he feels sorry for trying to pull this prank. but then the red little guy sitting on his left shoulder reminds him that seeing you so out of your element is the best thing that might have happened to him. (aside from you saying yes when he asked you out)

"why are you being like this?" you groan.

"because it's always you who is ordering me around."

you gasp. "is that how i come off?"

"you're always like 'come here', 'go over there', and 'follow me'. it's like you're talking to a dog instead of your boyfriend."

your expression softens, and another pang of guilt hits ayato on the chest. this makes him feel even worse; he even starts to contemplate if he should tell you it's all a joke.

“well, i’m extremely sorry if that’s how i seemed like. i swear that i don't have any intentions to make you feel like you’re any less.” you try your best to apologise sincerely, but when you caught ayato’s lips quirking up a bit, you suddenly realise what was up.

kamisato ayato has a lot of talents— there is no room for any arguments. he had a gift for writing the most poetic stories, he’s able to charm anyone everytime he sings, and whenever he picks up a new sport to play, nine out of ten times he excels at them. but most importantly, the talent he is proudest of was his innate ability to act.

ayato has his arms crossed, shoulders tensed and furrowed eyebrows; everything points out to him being mildly hurt and offended. to everyone, you two look like lovers in between the process of a quarrel, already on the way to resolve the problem.

but then he blinks. twice.

you catch your boyfriend blinking once, and then immediately followed by another. you also notice the sides of his lips lifting a little— these were the tell signs that he’s just messing around. trying to rouse up any type of reaction from you.

you scoff to yourself, two could play this game.

“besides, it’s not my fault that you sometimes behave like a dog.” ayato winces at this, and you think if you went too far.

but you decide to take it up a notch; you take a huge step towards ayato, almost closing the gap between the two of you. if you had moved any closer, your chest would be touching his, and his lips would hover temptingly on yours.

“you turn into this soft, pliant, obedient pup…” you whisper into his ears and you have to hold back your laughter as you feel him shudder against you, “… one might say you’re being submissive.”

as soon as you see ayato gulp, you immediately take a step back before snorting. “you’re just like taroumaru.”

this was enough to feel like a splash of cold water on ayato’s face. he knew that he had been utterly defeated.

just a moment ago, it was obvious that he had the upper hand (which was unfair because you had no idea what was going on), but with your wit and quick thinking, you suddenly flipped the table under his nose.

the kamisato heir shrugs. he supposes there’s another bullet to add on the long list of reasons why he loves you.

you turn your heels away from the man, suddenly picking up your pace before sending him a glance. “will you come along?” you ask expectantly.

ayato is woken up from his trance, jogging to where you are and finally slowing down to match your phase. your boyfriend hums, maybe you were right when you told him that he was an obedient little dog.

please do not repost or translate without my permission . reblogs are greatly appreciated

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff #genshin angst #kamisato ayato #ayato x reader #ayato imagines #ayato headcanons #ayato fluff #ayato angst

[loveywon]

♡𓂃 ON DUTY ! — eight: blow me?

☼ it's officially summer season, where those in that are in school feel a breathe of fresh air from being buried with exams and work. for y/n, summer is nothing special. summer does not give her a breathe of fresh air because the oh, so annoying, pathetic, gratating jake sim prevents y/n from ever getting a break.

wc: 1.1k+, cw: one (1) sex joke, not proofread! sorry for any mistakes

two minutes until you have to clock in, and you’re barely parked and stumbling out of your car as you grab your things in a hurry. the job is typically chill, but one thing that your boss has shoved down your throat is about being on time and it’s safe to say that you’re on your last strike. huffing out a breath before you messily run to the shack, you barely spare sunghoon (who is looking at you like you’re a headless chicken running) a glance, letting all your things drop to the dirty wooden floor that definitely should not have passed the safety checks. you open the tablet to clock in, and time is ticking. sweat beads are starting to form on your temples when you hear sunghoon try to stifle a laugh behind you.

“this is not funny! you know i’m on my last strike i cannot be late right now,” you grumble as you fumble with the tablet, clicking away since it’s old and won’t pick up your finger taps. he tilts his head to the side, as if thinking about something. “ugh! oh my fucking god, boss really needs to get a freaking iPad or something,” you whine, becoming frustrated with the stupidly old tablet. then, at the top corner of the screen, you see that the time flicks from 9:59 to 10:00. you gasp, about to crumble to the floor dramatically as your face scrunches up.

before you even get a wail out, sunghoon takes the tablet out of your trembling hands and sets it down on the counter top again. he points and laughs at your face, giggles leaving his lips that only leave you confused. “i already clocked in for you, i already knew you were going to be late,” he grins as his pointed finger at you turns into an open palm for you to take. your eyes widen in shock, hesitant to take his hand but you take it nonetheless, “what? and you let me just struggle there for an entire minute?! you are a sadist,” you mumble underneath your breath, grabbing your things off the floor and putting it into the designated lockers.

“oh, not even a thank you? well don’t look at me when you get your last strike tomorrow,” sunghoon shrugs his shoulders before walking away, a faint, satisfied smirk resting on his face.

you quickly follow behind him after carelessly tossing your things into the small locker, climbing up the lifeguard tower with him. “okay, okay thank you. you have saved me twice the past two weeks,” you express your gratitude to him, in which he only responds with a raised brow.

“uhm, pretty sure the first time backfired. you still worked with him last week,” he says with a light chuckle, turning his attention to a noisy family that’s setting up their umbrellas and towels.

you groan, “do not even get me started! he was so annoying, calling me a sorcerer of some sort just because i won rock paper scissors. he literally used paper each time, what was i supposed to do? not win? and then he started to just fumble in the storage room and caused a huge mess, that he left me to clean! can you even believe the nerve of that guy? how are you even friends with him…”

sunghoon purses his lips at your rant. he merely referred to jake, he didn’t even say his name, and you manage to go on a tangent about him. he smiles a little at the irony. “why do you not like him, again?”

you blink at him, as if the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. “uhm, because he’s jake?” you reply, shrugging your shoulders as your eyes follow two kids running on the shoreline. he hums in reply, slowly nodding as if he understands. “and what is jake?”

“the devil in disguise,” you mutter with a sigh leaving your lips. sunghoon grins, bumping shoulders with you. “hey! that’s my injured arm,” you frown, feigning hurt as you rub your shoulder that he bumped into. “i didn’t know you injured yourself?” he tilts his head curiously, and you nod dramatically.

“you have jake to thank for it! after he made me clean up the storage room, the toolbox fell off the fourth shelf onto me. you should have a talk to him about that, actually. he never even bothered to check on me after too,” you mumbled the last sentence under your breath. too bad that sunghoon never misses anything.

with a dimpled smile that seems more mischievous than sweet, he says, “you wanted him to check on you?”

you open your mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. pursing your lips together, you shrug once more. “would have been nice, i guess. common etiquette, you know. it really hurt— the toolbox, i mean.” sunghoon bites back yet another ear to ear smile at your words. he cannot wait to tell jake about this later.

“well,” he starts, eyes carefully watching kids playing in the ocean, “jake was acting kinda weird the other day.” you almost snort, “when is he not acting weird? jake’s weird is like, when he’s acting normal.” 

he laughs with you, nodding in slight agreement, “okay, but, he threw a fit. and you’ll never guess why,” he says almost excitedly, turning his attention on you (because he cannot wait to see your expression). 

you merely raise a brow at him suspiciously, “the way you say that makes me not want to know.” he rolls his eyes, mumbling “you sound like jake” underneath his breath. “huh?” you lean a bit closer, missing what he said. 

“oh nothing,” he quickly says. “he was throwing a fit because most of my shifts are with you. and it was so weird, like he was blaming me for being with you all week,” he explains to you. 

“um, okay?” you furrow your brows together in confusion, and sunghoon’s jaw goes agape at the lack of reaction. “what does that have to do with me? or are you confiding in me? i didn’t know we were that close, sunghoon! or should i start calling you hoon?” you ask with a grin on your face. 

“what?? no, i mean, yes? i don’t care? call me whatever you want…” he frowns slightly, wanting a much bigger (and better) reaction. your words remind him sickly of jake, clueless as ever. “he’s jealous!” he rushes the words in hope that it rushes to your brain, but you just blink at him blankly. 

“jealous of me just cause he wanted to work with you? he is weird…” you mumble with a dramatic sigh, and all sunghoon can do is huff in defeat before a group of kids start yelling for help, no thanks to their parents lack of, well, parenting.

eight — blow me?

previous ❥ next ❥ masterlist

a/n everyone say thank u for your service to sunghoon in advance

taglist is open! send an ask to be added

@boydepartment @loveliii @emikisses @yunicide @luvistqrzzz @str0l0gy @ghostiiess @lalalalawon @captivq @kpopstanmeg @pointlessapple @sanasour @luvmura @sserafimez @enhastolemyheart @mariji @lluvjjun @koibiz @beomgyusonlywife @hangecanweholdhands @jlheon

#enhypen x reader #jake x reader #jaeyun x reader #enhypen smau #jake smau #jaeyun smau #sim jake smau #enhypen fanfic #jake fanfic #jaeyun fanfic #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines

[sweetadonisbutbetter]

🕸；hey stalker ! ﹒ zᶻ

⧣₊˚﹒✦₊ ⧣₊˚ 𓂃★ ⸝⸝ ⧣₊˚﹒✦₊ ⧣₊˚ /) /) (｡•ㅅ•｡)〝₎₎ about me! ✦₊ ˊ˗ . .╭∪─∪────────── ✦ ⁺. . .┊ ◟﹫ Name : Adonis . .┊﹒𐐪 Age : 18 . .┊ꜝꜝ﹒Pronouns : they/him/It (however any/all are good) . .┊﹒𐐪 Gender: Agender . .┊ ⨳゛Sexuality : sapphic romantic and still figuring things out . .┊◟﹫ Birthday: june 30th (Cancer) . .┊ ◟ヾLocation: stinky US; CST . .┊⚟﹒Socials: Insta, Twitter, AO3, Tiktok, slasheradonis (disc) . .┊ꜝꜝ﹒ Ask Close!! (For Now)! ╰───────────── ✦ ⁺. ⧣₊˚﹒✦₊ ⧣₊˚ 𓂃★ ⸝⸝ ⧣₊˚﹒✦₊ ⧣₊˚

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ‧₊˚✧ ╰─ - ̗̀✎ My Favorite… ୨୧┇Color: purple and blue ୨୧┇Shows: Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, South Park, Steven Universe, ATLA, MLP, LMK, Owl House, Arcane, TADC, Miraculous, Demon Slayer, Black Butler, Madoka Magica, Invader Zim ୨୧┇Movies: Mean Girl (2004), Grand Budepest Hotel, Moulin Rouge, Chicago, Barbie (animated and 2023), The Hunchback of Norte Dame, Spiderman,  The Fantastic Mr. Fox, Lilo and Stitch, The Princess Bride, Scream ୨୧┇Game: Cult of the Lamb, Persona series, BG3, The Last of Us, Sims, Honkai Star Rail, Pheonix Wright, Resident Evil, Stardew Valley, BTD/TPOF, FNAF, Poppy Playtime, TWST Wonderland, Cookie Run, Sonic, Night into the Woods, Mystic Messanger ୨୧┇Animals: cats, deer, jellyfish, sharks, bunnys/rabbits, ⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ‧₊˚✧

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ there is more stuff but i forgor˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Fics:

note: REQUEST ARE OPEN!! there will also be some characters that I will not write for, most likely from personal bias or otherwise! things will also be slow since I am a student! be sure to read my rules before submitting an ask!!

Lego Monkie Kid

Baldur's Gate 3

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

If u want a fanfic from a fandom I am in I will definaltely add it to the list of fanfics!! these are just the fandoms I am currently in/writing for lol

#about me #☾adoniswrites #shocker #may update this as time passes

[callitwhatuwanttay]

INTRO POST !!

this post contains;

interest

basic info

describing my personality !

◜ ⟣𓂃 ‧ ✧ ◞

I N T E R E S T ! !

◜ ⟣𓂃 ‧ ✧ ◞

MAINS —

Taylor Swift

Bojack Horsemen

Hazbin Hotel

Hamilton

OTHERS —

Ariana Grande

Olivia Rodrigo

BFDI

BFB

TPOT

ITFT (its time for the)

ii

Helluva Boss

Invader Zim

The Summer I Turned Pretty

Total Drama

Shera

◜ ⟣𓂃 ‧ ✧ ◞

I N F O R M A T I O N ! !

◜ ⟣𓂃 ‧ ✧ ◞

I go by Cat/Catty my pronouns are She/He/They

I am 13 which means I am a minor !

Here is just a straight up list of info ! ;;

- Central Time Zone

- Middle schooler

- Usually w/ friends on Thurs. -- Sun.

- Berrisexual (meaning to it here)

◜ ⟣𓂃 ‧ ✧ ◞

P E R S O N A L I T Y ! !

◜ ⟣𓂃 ‧ ✧ ◞

My MBTI is ENFP (test last taken Aug. 2023)

Some disorders that shape my personality is;

Autism, ADHD, ADD, (possibly!) BPD

I yap yap yap a bunch

I love showing people things I like and to even try to get them into it (not force but try to)

Goodbye !!

#taylor swift #object shows #bfdi #battle for bfb #bfdia #tpot #its time for the #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #ariana grande #olivia rodrigo #bojack horseman #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hamilton musical #total drama #intro post #hihihi #uhmm hai

[butterflyclan]

Mid Winter

Hickorymarsh is practically gasping for air between coughs by the time he finally admits something's wrong.

"I couldn't be sick," He tells Pondfang glumly when, at long last, the coughing fit subsides. "The Clan needs me to be healthy. We need as many healthy warriors as possible."

Pondfang didn't deign to give that a response, instead just giving Hickorymarsh a look that made the tom fold his ears and look away guiltily.

"It's yellowcough, I think," Pondfang said at last. "I can't be sure, of course, but that's what it looks like to me. You've got some yellow gunk coming out of your nose."

"Yellowcough isn't so bad, right?" Hickorymarsh asked hopefully. Pondfang snorted at him, and he looked cowed.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

Pondfang sighed in relief. The swelling in Stormclaw's leg had gone down, and the skin wasn't hot anymore. The tom was sleeping peacefully for once. This was good. This was great, actually. Pondfang had declared Shadowbloom free of whitecough earlier that day. Everything was going wonderfully for now. He could only hope it would stay that way for a while.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

"Algae, if you'd step forward please."

Algae blinked in surprise, and the Clan murmured. They'd expected that Sky would be apprenticed now that he was six moons, but instead Algae was being called up. The black she-cat stepped forward cautiously, meeting Parsleystar's eyes.

"This she-cat has proven that she belongs among us. Should she accept, we will welcome her into our fold. Algae?" Algae's heart quivered. She'd found a home here, where she'd least expected it. She'd learned the ways of Clan life from Lynxfur and Burdockheart, and watched Hickorypaw become Hickorymarsh. She wanted... she wanted to stay here.

"I do," Algae called. Parsleystar's eyes crinkled with joy.

"Then I, Parsleystar, leader of ButterflyClan, the Colony of Survivors, bestow upon you a warrior name. From here on forth, you shall be known as Algaesky."

A purr caught in Algaesky's throat as the cats around her roared her new name.

"Skypaw is now six moons old, and ready to be trained," Parsleystar continued after the Clan had calmed down. "Algaesky, I'm entrusting him to you. I know you will train him well."

A lump formed in Algaesky's throat as she touched noses with an eager Skypaw. To be given a new name, a community, and an apprentice, all within a few minutes... it was almost overwhelming.

"Lastly, Sakari has asked to stay with us. She has requested to keep her name, and I have considered this request carefully and decided to accept it. Sakari, from now on you are a full warrior of ButterflyClan. We welcome you warmly into our fold."

Skypaw scrambled away from Algaesky to chatter excitedly at his mother, and she watched her apprentice go, swelling with pride. Today had been a very, very good day.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

"Hey, Algaesky!" Skypaw called. "There's an old tom over here saying that he's looking for ButterflyClan!"

Algaesky bustled over, concern alight in her eyes. The tom looked quite nervous at the sight of her, but nodded to confirm Skypaw's declaration.

"I'm Minty," he introduced himself. "I have some healing skills, and-"

"Healing skills?" Algaesky interrupted. She turned the concept over in her mind. Pondfang would love to be a warrior again, she knew. And it would mean great things for the Clan to have a medic who- well, who knew how to be a medic.

"I'm pretty sure we have a position for you."

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

"I'll be returning to warrior duties now," Pondfang announced immediately upon meeting Minty. "Good luck."

"At least stick around long enough to teach him the job," Parsleystar told him. "Not the medical job, of course. But the job of caring for Clanmates."

"Look at him," Pondfang scoffed. "He's practically trembling. He doesn't need to learn how to care for anyone. He'll have to learn to boss them around!"

"And you're very good at that, Pondfang. Very bossy. I'm sure you'll be a great mentor." Pondfang didn't seem like he knew whether this was a compliment or not. It could have been both. Parsleystar seemed like the kind of cat to compliment and insult you at the same time.

"I'm going back to being a warrior," Pondfang decided, squinting at her.

"Okay," Parsleystar shrugged.

"...I am."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"Fine! I'll teach him how to be bossy! But I'll be doing my warrior duties, not medic ones." Pondfang grumbled to himself as he rustled away. Parsleystar watched him go with a smug air about her before turning her attention to Minty.

"What do you think about the name Mintswirl, dear?"

#clangen #hickorymarsh #pondfang #stormclaw #shadowbloom #algaesky #parsleystar #sakari #mintswirl #skypaw #skyrumble

[rxzennia]

domestic headcanons

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 ambiguous relationship (oh my god they were roommates); living together; word vomit; incoherent scenarios; ooc aven probably. i offered my exp mats to gepard instead and now i have to grind traces all over again, maybe i should build clara while i’m at it (losing this particular 50/50 has driven me insane istg)

after aventurine’s endless pestering, you finally agree to move in with him. he’s got a whole block all to himself, so what’s you temporarily claiming a room going to change?

the moment you agree, and by that i mean the very second you agree, he’s going to arrange for people to move your stuff

you just need to move yourself over

he’s not going to let you do any hard labor, that’s what the grunts are for

it’s so quick? like, it only took the morning to have everything packed, moved, and unpacked

when you get to your desk the first thing you do is clutter it up

but there’s so much space? 

you just can’t stack your stuff enough so that it’s snug the way you like 

you try, but all you’ve managed to do is make a paper fortress on one side of your desk

why do the senior managers have so much space?

but you soon realize you didn’t really need to finish building your wall of documents

because your boss sits on your desk whenever he fancies annoying you

so there’s your clutter for the other side

though you still leave a few of your spare scarves there just so it’s not completely empty

a little out of place, but you have nothing else bulky enough

it’s okay, that corner of your desk is often occupied by a certain someone anyway

surprisingly, living with aventurine isn’t unpleasant at all. maybe it’s because you’re almost always within reach now, he’s started bothering you less – instead, he’ll do his work in your office. he has a perfectly good office of his own (arguably comfier too), but he insists on sitting next to you.

frankly, you are tempted to kick him out, but this is his place. you shouldn’t try to kick out your host landlord. and it’s not like he’s actively preventing you from concentrating. you usually leave him be, but you might’ve accidentally gotten used to it – when he’s not around, you feel like something’s missing. just a little bit, though.

he can and will always poke his head over to see what you’re working on

“arranging your meetings, go away.” you push his face back towards his laptop

“hey, leave 6pm to 8pm free!” he whines, as always, he’s trying to get a dinner date(?) with you

“no can do, you’re having dinner with mr diamond.”

he will throw a hissy fit

“why must it always be meal times? i want to eat with you!”

will complain and complain and complain even if you ignore him

you give him a flat “i will be present as well.” 

you’re so bloody infuriating

he stares at you for a whole minute. and then he closes his laptop

you look at him. what is he trying to do now?

“not what i meant.” he gently whacks you over the head with the device, “you and i. dinner. alone. get it?”

normally you stand your ground and make him go through with these meetings

but sometimes you cave and indulge him

this is one of those times

“fine, i’ll push back your meeting with the media department tomorrow.”

you see literal flowers around him as he gets his way

well, not exactly his way, because if he had his way he would be free today

a compromise for tomorrow is good enough, he supposes

he will bring you out to lunch and dinner every day if he could

if only you’d stop telling him you technically don’t need to eat and just go along with it

and if only you’d stop scheduling every. single. important. meeting. during. meal. times.

still, he finds it amusing to read your face whenever you’re in those meetings with him

the only good thing about them, really

because you will have the tiniest furrow in your eyebrows when you eat something you don’t like

and it’ll last until the taste goes away (which is usually the entire meeting)

or you’ll have the most serene expression ever (though it’s more neutral than anything, really) when you find something you like

loves it when you try to not make it obvious that you like a particular dish because you’re not discreet at all

that is all you will eat for the rest of the meeting

you are given your own room, but more often than not you find yourself in aventurine’s room at night.

mostly because he drags you away from your desk – no, scrap that, it’s only because he drags you away from your desk. otherwise you would’ve kept working. or maybe gone and did some combat training. or anything but sleep, really.

you soon realize he likes cuddling you when he sleeps

this is something you’ll never deny him if he asks

in fact, he doesn’t even need to ask nowadays

you show up in his room everyday at around the same time

if he wants a nap in the middle of the day, you’ll also be there

you notice how much more quality rest he gets when you’re by his side

and how much less nightmares bothered him compared to before

(maybe you should try casual sleeping, too?)

whenever you try to slip out of his death grip to get some documents, or to use the bathroom, or for water, he will quietly ask you where you’re going

in a very, very slurred, sleepy way

you will try to explain, and all he’ll tell you as you wrench yourself out of his arms is a quiet “stay”

how are you supposed to go if he says that while letting you go?

good luck if you’re hoping to use the bathroom, most likely you’ll have to hold it in

otherwise, if you need anything else, your scarf-serpent can get it for you

although one time it returned with your documents in its mouth and drool all over it

then you had a rigorous session trying to teach them how to coil around things to pick them up

more like you had to learn, since they’re somewhat sentient extensions of you

on the off chance that you’ll be out for the night, you’ll leave your favorite scarf with him

it’s not as comforting as your person, but it does smell like you and feel like you

he’ll take it as a placeholder until you’re back :(

aventurine hates it when you’re out of office. whether it is to represent him, or to discuss matters with clients before you pass it onto him, he hates it when he’s alone at home.

odd, because he was so used to being on his own, and he was so certain he was going to be alone for the rest of his life.

this man will sit in your office regardless of your presence

your spare scarves keep him company

imagine his surprise when a bunch of faceless noodles slither onto him

he makes the connection very quickly

did not expect that every one of your scarves are mini leviathans

he thought there was only a few, and they move between scarves

a welcome surprise because he knows these huge little guys are friendly

those are the same guys that swallow monsters, so they’re actually not very friendly

but they’re friendly to him because they’re you

one of them will coil into a pile on his lap and rest its head on his thigh

and the others will be all around him

will slobber over him 100%

he will try to pet them, and will realize that they’re really affectionate with him

they will try to eat his hands

but, like, in a not alarming way

hold his hand in their maws but will not bite. only drool

when he pats the one who has his hand, it’ll let go

literally “that’s a weird looking dog” but there's more than ten of them

when you return from your errands, the first thing you see is aventurine dragging a bunch of your snakes along with him as he practically runs to greet you.

you wrap your arms around him as he jumps towards you, and you give him a few spins before setting him down again. 

then you lower your scarf

you’re comfortable enough with him to not cover yourself up anymore

oh how he loves seeing your face, aeons, you have no idea

“guys.” you snap your fingers, and the creatures collapse back into inanimate fabric

you catch all of them, of course, then you open one arm for your boss

the best part (real) 

he snuggles up against your side naturally

you lift him up easily even though both your hands are busy

he’s practically sitting on your forearm as you walk around the house

princess treatment

you’ll cuddle with him properly once you drop off your stuff

“ten minutes,” you tell him, “then i’ll have to get back to work.”

he will throw another hissy fit, like, “why are you busier than i am? i’m the boss!”

you pinch his nose and go: “exactly, mr aventurine” 

instantly droops like a kicked puppy

he doesn’t even try to hide it

absolutely hates it when you’re formal with him in private even if you’re joking

feels like you’re back to square one all over again

“don’t call me that,” aventurine groans as he grabs your hair and tug at it like a toddler.

you glance at him. “displeased?” 

“of course!” he tries to shake your head violently, but damn you and your stupid strength. “what happened to aven?”

you don’t respond 

you’re busy tossing everything onto your chair and praying nothing falls off

he moves on to slapping your face lightly

“hey, hey!” as his hands smack and grab everything that’s touchable on your head

surprisingly, you let him

he might also pull on your scarf

and after a while, he’ll resort to rubbing his cheek against yours

“are you ignoring me…?”

you sit down on the couch and set aventurine in your lap. “impatient, are we?”

“can’t help it,” he doesn’t hesitate to bury himself into your embrace. “i hate when i’m alone…”

“aven…” you pat his back, knowing full well you’re falling for his tricks again. “there, there. should i just call it a day?”

“you would?” he asks, like a child receiving a gift for the first time, “really?”

“really.” you sigh as he tugs you down into spooning him, and you watch him tangle his limbs with yours.

eventually, you pull him closer to you. jeez, there’s just no way you can win against him, is there?

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales

[iovesia]

✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒.

bodyguard!john wick⠀x⠀bratty!spoiled!fem!reader.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. being notorious for your spoiled, bratty behavior— you have successfully scared off your all previous bodyguards. but you’re stumped when this one just won’t quit.

—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀large age gap. hyperfem!reader. reader is a bitch. mean!john. oral (m!receiving). dubious consent. brat taming. size kink. face slapping. 2.4k words.

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ for all my hyperfem!reader enthusiasts— this one's for you! i lowkey hate this but i haven't posted a fic in ages ohmygod and i also started school so i might be less active..

#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.

NO.

It was the one word that was not in your vocabulary. 

“No. My decision is final.”

Unfortunately, it was your father’s favorite.

“Daddy, this is so unfair!” You squeal like a petulant child, hot on your father’s trail as he walks through the lavish penthouse which you reside in. Your heels hitting the marble floors reverberate along with your high pitched whining. “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Bodyguard.” Your father corrects. 

“Same difference!” Your father lets out an exhausted sigh at your complaints, rubbing his eyes with his ring-adorned finger. The wrinkles on his face are prominent, displaying his ageing stress. “I can handle myself! I’m not a child anymore!”

“You behave like one!” Your father snaps. “It’s how you’ve managed to scare off the last two bodyguards. So help me God, if this one quits too, there’s going to be mayhem. You hear me, young lady?”

Your soft features contort into a nasty grimace when your father points his finger in your face. Resisting the urge to stomp your Dior, pink heel —ergo proving your father’s point— you let out a defeated scoff. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Your father gives you a tight lipped smile. “Jesus, you’re just like your mother. God forbid things don’t go your way.” You try to ignore the sting in your heart at your father’s callous words, the venom in his tone as he refers cruelly to his ex-wife, and your mother. 

You clear your throat, quickly wishing to change the topic. “Who even is this guy?!”

“His name’s John Wick. He’s highly specialised in martial arts, firearms, and other weaponry. He also has military experience—”

“So basically, you hired The Terminator?” You interject, snapping your gum loudly in between your lip gloss covered lips. “I still don’t understand why the hell he’s here. None of my friends have old bodyguards following them!”

“Your friends are also not daughters of a mob boss,” your father replied bluntly, his patience wearing as thin as his greying hair. Before you could conjure another witty retort— the doorbell rings through the apartment. You follow close behind your father, eyes shooting daggers into the back of his skull when he walks into the entrance area. 

The penthouse was adorned with gold trim and marble floors, along with glimmering chandeliers hanging from the tall ceilings, accentuating your father’s immense wealth— your silver platter prison as you liked to call. 

“Christ, give me strength,” Your father mumbles under his breath.

“It’s John, isn’t it?”

“I pray it is.”

“If he’s short, bald and old like the last one— I’m going to freak out,” you hold your hands up defensively, briefly admiring your manicured french tip nails. You pride yourself on your appearance— if you’re not complaining and bitching, you’re spending daddy’s credit card on all things girly and pink.

The door slowly opens. From the bottom of your new bodyguard’s Oxford shoes, you eye him up past his lean body under his tight black suit— accentuating his buff arms and chest, up to his slicked back black hair and piercing dark eyes. You stare in slight disbelief at the man ahead, who towered over you. 

“Meet John. Your new bodyguard.”

AS ATTRACTIVE AND BROODING as your new bodyguard was, he was also quiet.

Too quiet.

Unlike your previous bodyguards, John was as still as stone, completely unresponsive to any of your nasty quips, bitchy comments or snarky commands. You were lucky to receive even a word of acknowledgement, let alone a sentence.

He was your silent shadow, always standing eerily close by wherever you went.  At the mall. At clubs. At the library. Even when you go to public restrooms, he stands waiting outside the door, embarrassingly dragging attention to the both of you.

“Seriously?” You grumble to yourself, adjusting your pink tennis skirt as you walk out of the ladies restroom. The older man merely looks down on you, his unreadable expression only pissing you off more.

“It’s my job.”

That was his famous catchphrase. Like a broken record, or a poor man’s Princess Bride— it was his automated response for any of your complaints. It’s his job. 

You huff, tongue in cheek as you lean against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching the brooding bodyguard read a book. John’s leaning against the back of the chair, his arm resting on the countertop of the kitchen island, his veiny hand holding the book upwards as he takes a sip of coffee with his other. The palpable silence was too much for you to bear. You’ve had enough. You needed a reaction out of him— anything— literally anything other than this monotonous apathy. 

Your hips sway side to side as you stroll over to John, his attention unwavering from his book. You clench your jaw, tapping your nails on the marble countertop. You take a seat next to him, and lift your leg up, resting your foot on his thigh. 

Shockingly, he raises a brow— but still doesn’t look at you.

“Lace up my heels,” you demand, a smug smile on your lips, gently digging the heel of your shoe into his thigh. But he doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even produce a sound of pain.

“You’re not a child, you can do it yourself,” his voice is low, and raspy as he clears his throat. John flips to the next page of his book and your brows stitch together, a small frown etching on your lips.

“Lace up my heels, Jack,” you repeat firmly, the taunt in your voice disappearing as you purposefully get his name wrong.

“John.”

“Whatever.”

John’s attention to his stupid book never faltered, and your annoyance boiled like bile in your chest. Clearly you’d have to try a little bit harder. You remove your foot off his lap, and let out a purposefully loud sigh.

“I’m your boss, John,” you say mockingly, “you better do what I say.”

“Your father is my boss,” his tone is painfully monotonous, if he was anyhow irritated with your bratty behaviour— he didn’t show it. “I work for him.”

There’s another tense silence casted upon the door, and you huff, jumping off your seat before storming out of the kitchen. Blinded by your temper tantrum, you missed the older man’s leering eyes on your ass as you walked away.

YOU WERE FUMING.

A whole month.

A whole thirty days he’s been your bodyguard, and you still have not managed to find out what made John Wick tick. His silent, stoic demeanour seemed impenetrable to your girlish, spoiled wit. John has bested your previous guards by the duration of his stay— most, if not all of them would have packed their bags by this point.

The sun beamed on your soft skin, exposed by the skimpy pink bikini that barely covered your breasts and left little to the imagination. Lying across the sunbed next to the glistening infinity pool, the sun suddenly disappears from your face, and you open your eyes to see John hovering over you. 

“Move, you’re blocking the sun,” You roll your eyes, pulling your Cartier sunglasses above your head.

“Get dressed.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at his command.

“Your father says there’s a gala in a few hours, your attendance is mandatory.” John affirms his previous command, before he stalks away from you, his long legs carrying him far as he re-enters the penthouse. Immediately, you sit up from your sunbed, not bothering to cover your skimpy figure with a towel as you chase him.

“I don’t take orders from the help.”

“But, you do take orders from your father,” John quips, quirking a brow as he turns to face you, his staggeringly tall body looming over you. “Get dressed.”

“I don’t take orders from you, I’m not going!” You sneer, and when you attempt to walk past John, his large arm wraps around your forearm, gently but firmly pulling you backwards in front of him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Get. Dressed.”

“Get fucked, how about that?” You retort, scoffing at his audacity to tell you what to do. “I don’t take orders from the butler.” Roughly tugging your arm back, you take a challenging step closer and you can feel the warmth radiating from his suit covered body. 

“Bodyguard.”

“Oh, please— you’re a glorified babysitter,” you chuckle incredulously. “All that military experience is probably a load of crap— I have half a mind to get my daddy to fire you!”

“I have half a mind to shut that mouth of yours,” John’s low voice has goosebumps swimming across your skin. He finally cracked, and now you were just waiting for the pieces to come apart. John takes a step forward, closing the distance as his chest nearly touches yours.

“What did you just say to me?” You speak quietly, your confidence slowly decreasing. A small, devious scowl creeping on his face. “I said: what did you just—”

Your words die in your throat when a sudden hand clutches your jaw, fingers digging into your cherub cheeks. A weak gasp comes out, as John pulls you closer, your exposed stomach and barely-covered breasts pressing against his lean body. His stubbled face leans down, your noses almost touch as he whispers: “I think it’s time you got a taste of your own medicine.”

“GET ON YOUR KNEES.”

Jaw dropped.

“What?” 

“You heard me,” John rests against the back of the leather couch, sitting as his legs manspreading with his elbows resting on the leather couch pillows. You stood like a deer in headlights in front of him, hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Get on your knees.”

“I’m not gonna do that, are you out of your mind?!” You squeal, offendedly. John merely licks his bottom lip, his eyes focused on your hips, and thighs. “You are so fired, John! I’m telling my dad!”

“Go ahead, let your precious daddy know you made another one of his staff quit..” John shrugs nonchalantly, scratching his beard. “Your father will be pissed, and will probably cut you off.. And then who will pay for those little bikinis?” 

You kiss your teeth, lips pursed as your leg bounces anxiously. He was right. 

“Asshole,” you hiss under your breath as you lower yourself down to the ground, your knees scratching against the rough carpet. His penetrating stare made you sweat, a chill tingling down your spine. God, you wished you had taken that towel with you. John’s voyeuristic gaze trailed from your breasts that barely fit in your bikini top, down the curves of your hips to the swell of your ass. 

“Come here,” he says slowly.

Reluctantly, you abide his words, and your hands and knees graze the carpet as you crawl over to John— like an obedient little puppy. Sitting on the heels of your foot, you rest your palm on your thighs, an exasperated huff flaring through your nose.

“You are a spoiled little girl, you know that?”

You roll your eyes.

Suddenly, pain blooms in your left cheek as a firm hand smacks across your face— not enough to hurt, but enough to shoot down your attitude, making you mewl. “Ow!”

“Aw.. did that hurt?” John leans forward, his warm breath hitting your face as you look up at him, batting your long lashes. His fingers digging into your cheeks again, holding you in place. “You want me to kiss it better?”

Your face flushes at his question, as you roll your shoulders back. The diva inside you was screaming when you nodded— but you didn’t care. You eyed the older man hungrily, the sting on your cheek had you rubbing your thighs together. Unfortunately, John noticed.

“That’s too bad.” Pushing your face away, he leans back against the couch. John subtly spreads his knees further apart, signalling you to his shiny belt buckle. Eyeing the older man hungrily, the pads of your fingers touch the cool metal as you undo his belt. 

His lowered slacks reveal his flushed, hardened cock, with pre-cum already leaking from the red tip. Your hand shakily wrapped around his shaft, your whole hand unable to fit around his full girth. You stroke him gently as his lips part, a soft groan escaping. You swallow nervously, his cock throbbing in your hand when you halt your hand. Spit gathering into a small glob on your lips before stretching down onto his mushroom tip. The saliva made your movements smoother, and more confident. 

“I know that mouth does more than complain,” John taunts, his large hand softly caressing the back of your head when he edges your face closer to his thick shaft. Your mouth waters as you wrap your glossy lips around his cock, your tongue flat against his tip, the salty pre-cum satisfying your tastebuds.

Relaxing your jaw to adjust to his size, you lower your head, his cock nudging against the back of your throat. Whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth, your hands covered, massaging the base of his cock. John grits his teeth, swallowing a groan as you begin bobbing up and down his cock. John’s hand is heavier on the back of your hand, forcing you lower on his cock till your nose is buried in his short, curly pubes— making you gag loudly.

“Does the spoiled brat need some air?” John chuckles raspily, his hand clutching your hair, pulling you back off his cock. A thick line of saliva dribbles down your chin, lips puffy as tears brim your waterline. Your jaw ached, but your tongue was desperate for more. His thumb swipes against your bottom lip, wiping away the pre-cum and spit, before shoving his thumb into your mouth. The pad of his thumb presses down on your tongue, and you gag once again. 

“Spent the last month dealing with your little attitude problem,” John eyes squinted into slits, repeatedly patting your face with his other hand. “I think a little appreciation is in check.”

Like a cockdrunk doll, you nod ditzily as he switches his thumb out for the tip of his shaft. 

Your father was surprised to see you wearing jeans the next day, as they covered those little bruises on your knees.

john wick taglist : @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom. @hearteyedbambi @ilovedilfs4ever @aerangi @spacemonkeyfitz

let me know if you wish to be added/removed ♡

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick #john wick smut #keanu reeves smut #nsfw.josie #bodyguard au

[scribetry]

a list of all the webtoons i wanna read, have read, or am currently reading .ᐟ i don't usually post my thoughts about them on the dash, but if i do, it will most likely be under #― webtoons.

WANT TO READ ₊ 𓂃 shotgun boy, my gently raised beast, leveling up my husband to the max, operation: true love, my in-laws are obsessed with me, the remarried empress, designated bully, i'm the queen in this life, a not so fairy tale, omniscient reader, no marriage is perfect, my lucky strike, i thought my time was up, your throne, like wind on a dry branch, iseop's romance, the academy's genius swordsman, eleceed, the reborn young lord is an assassin, doom breaker, i was the final boss, the constellations are my disciples, return of the mad demon, wind breaker, moonchild, shadow bride, the last adventurer, the world after the fall.

CURRENTLY READING ₊ 𓂃 the mafia nanny ❪ ch. 24 ❫

FINISHED READING ₊ 𓂃

#― navigation. #― webtoons.

[rxzennia]

leviathan of the cosmos

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 something unto death as the respawning boss enemy, i haven’t finished 2.1 yet

when aventurine brings up traveling to the reverie hotel in the dreamscape alone, your eyes narrow ever so slightly and you take a step towards him. though you do truly worry for him, you can’t deny that you also want to take a peek at the off-limits-to-visitors area for yourself, too.

he’s been keeping you away from conflict, away from the dangerous games he plays on the daily, but you want to know. you want to see all that he is, his feats and evils, not just what he decides to show you. and if it means following him into the dreamscape, you won’t shy away from your quest of knowledge.

he doesn’t want you to enter the dreamscape reverie with him, but you’re very, very stubborn

“it’s dangerous for you,” he says, giving you the most serious look you’ve ever seen on him, like he’s genuinely concerned (he is)

you tilt your head. even without saying anything, he knows what you’re trying to say – you don’t understand where he’s coming from

he tries to explain, boy, he’s trying so hard to explain to you why exactly it’s a bad idea, but he feels like he’s talking to a wall

are you even listening? hello? 

he can’t see your expression because your scarf is in the way, and your eyes betray nothing

for as much as he loves talking at you, this is the one time he wants you to give him a response

“you’re strong enough.” a statement, not a question, because this man is one of the ten stonehearts, and you know he has more power than he appears to have

well, yes. but, to be honest, he isn’t confident in his ability to protect you

death is a dangerous entity, and even if he’s certain he can hold his own against it…

what if it decides that you are its next target? you, who is so precious and lovely?

he doesn’t want to run the risk. he likes having you around, both as a friend and as a secretary, and the last thing he wants is to lose you

but you’re adamant. “there’s nothing to worry about,” you say, oblivious to all the worries running miles per second in his head

he feels like if he didn’t let you tag along, you’d just follow him anyway and that would be even worse

aventurine thinks he knows you well, perhaps even better than yourself, but turns out he’s just delusional. you’re so timid, so awkward, and when you’ve warmed up to him you’re still silent and brooding most of the time, how could he have known that you have so many cards hidden up your sleeve?

he’s just dealt with a few scattered crew from the dreamjolt troupe, but he might’ve made a little too much noise when he whacked the televisions

it feels like the entire floor’s enemies are attracted by the noise, even memory zone memes are showing up

he glances towards you, who’s doing a really good job at staying out of his way and avoiding attacks

way better than he expected

you don’t seem afraid, either. he can tell that you’re relaxed from your body language

one thing he’s worried about, though, is eventually attracting death 

because that’s the one thing he’ll try his best to protect you from, but he isn’t certain if he can

he doesn’t think you can fight, and your lack of inclination towards conflict only reinforced that belief

sure, you’re built like a fortress and you’re intimidating, but he soon found out that you’re a big softie inside

which, even more unlikely that you can fight. you just feel so… vanilla

you feel like the type who’d try to de-escalate a situation that could otherwise be easily solved with fists

even if you look like your punches would send people into orbit, it's just so out of your character 

he likes that about you, really, but sometimes he wished you have some combat skills

when death inevitably appears, aventurine’s heart drops. it completely ignores him and heads straight for you – perhaps it knows who’s stronger or weaker – its wing rearing back as it coils around you, picking you up by your scarf, and –

he goes pale. he immediately acts, invoking qlipoth’s protection

but he knows how swift death is, and how easily it will lay its claws upon you and take you from him

the shield he casts on you is easily broken in one, two, three slashes

does death penetrate armor? it doesn’t quite make sense – the kind of shield he confers should not have been so easily broken!

before he could even do anything, before he could even tell you how much he treasured you…

you’ll be gone, and he’ll be all alone again

he hates that. and you know he hates that, but what could either of you do?

for as far as he’s come, he’s still powerless to protect the ones he hold dear

he tries, he really does, but his attacks won’t reach death in time, nor will his shield reach you in time

it’s dead set on taking your life, and it’s going to succeed

damn it, he should’ve just forced you to stay in the reverie in reality, or the golden hour, or something

he’d take your annoyance over watching your symbolic “death” any day

he reaches for you – in a fit of desperation, he tries to grab onto you, your scarf, anything

you blink, watching as death’s claws withdraw, and as it swings its blade-laden scythe wing towards you. you seem shocked, but you close your eyes as you welcome the darkness.

the darkness known as your leviathan. 

your white scarf sits perfectly around your neck, and your nose is still comfortably buried in the fabric

but there’s no mistaking it; it’s yours

the serpent emerging from the ends of your scarf, who wrapped around the monster known as something unto death, whose translucent body wound around it until it is no longer visible, who made it disappear…

it obeys you, holy shit, that creature obeys you

but you’ve always seemed so harmless, so sweet, so, so… so innocent

how could someone like you harbor something so terrifying?

yet here you are, swallowing the memetic entity with a gulp, like you’re simply swallowing down your food

you’re eating – no, you’ve eaten death

your leviathan settles into your scarf again, its form dissipating as if it had never existed at all

so simply, so effortlessly, disposing of it as if it’s naught but a mere worm

aventurine stares, at where death once loomed, and then at you, who looks completely fine. he stammers your name, and for the first time, he feels a primal fear in him. it’s different to the fear of uncertainty, of whether or not he’ll still be alive tomorrow, or of being left behind again. it’s a fear more powerful, a fear stemming from coming face to face with someone perhaps even more dangerous than everyone he’s encountered on penacony. the fear of prey before the apex predator on the food chain.

his gentle giant of a secretary all of a sudden doesn’t seem so gentle anymore

he can’t really tell what exactly it is hiding in your scarf, but he has an inkling

before he can make a guess, you interrupt his line of thinking

“bleh…” you cringe in disgust, your face scrunching up as you stumble to find refuge on a nearby couch

never mind, he'll take that back

honestly, you don’t look like someone to be afraid of right now

you look like you’re about to collapse, with how pale you’re getting and how you’re almost retching up your lunch behind your scarf

which you are. the only thing stopping you is the physical aspect of being unable to

he pushes his fear aside, and finds it surprising easy to do so

in fact, it’s so easy that he could almost find your reaction hilarious

if you didn't look like you're three seconds away from keeling over

“you, you didn’t just–” he approaches you slowly, kneeling down by your side, “aeons, you look sick.”

you want to give him a reply, but the sheer flavor of the meme you just swallowed makes you so queasy that you think you might puke the moment you try to speak

his hands slowly reach up to hold your face, “will you be okay?” he asks, quiet and careful

you nod, relaxing into his touch, and he can feel you turn to lean against his palm even through the fabric that obfuscates your face

how are you still so adorable when you’ve just consumed the entirety of death?

you’ve never revealed much about yourself, and you’ve been the biggest mystery aventurine has been itching to solve. but at this stage, he isn’t too sure if he wants to find out anymore. you, your path, your abilities… you’ve been hiding them all, under that guise of innocence.

then again, he’s the one who made assumptions and decided to keep you away from conflict

he still feels cheated, just with no one but himself to blame 

he wants to believe that you’ve been genuine with him! that your personality, at least, isn’t fake

you’re doing a really good job at reassuring him

well, maybe because you’re experiencing indigestion on a couch in the dreamscape after eating something that looks decidedly inedible

it doesn’t feel like you’re lying to him at all, with the way you’re behaving 

when the nausea goes away just enough for you to speak, the first thing you say is a string of curses

and “i really hope i don’t get food poisoning”

it gets silent very quickly, and you two stare at each other

“i… i don’t think food poisoning is what you should be worried about right now,” he manages to say, suppressing the urge to just chuckle, because this is his confirmation that you’re still his favorite secretary

it takes you a while before you let out a very, very quiet mumble of “please don’t fire me.”

aventurine has never expected that to come out of your mouth. “what? why would i fire you over something like this?” he raises a brow, and he’s just as relieved as you are when your shoulders sagged. “i’m just glad you’re okay…”

he tries to lift you up, and you give him an a+ for effort, even if he ends up failing. you lean onto him, letting him carry half of your weight while you try to stand.

“c’mon, let’s get you out of here. you need to rest,” aventurine says, in the most happy, truly grateful way you’ve ever heard him speak. “but, after that? you have a lot of explaining to do.”

#ares's voracity pathstrider tales #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader

[rxzennia]

thrice shall the bell toll

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 expands on 2.2 leaks, dark content towards the end, character death (everyone dies), heavy angst(?), not proofread. totally did not die a little inside when i wrote this, no. thank you all for 100+ followers! gold and gears, achievement grinding are driving me nuts and seeing everyone else get him makes me want to quit the game altogether. perhaps it’s time i focus more on other things. 

“never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

the musicians begin to play with rigor as the symphony enters crescendo, building up to its climax as the orchestral music increases in intensity and irregularity. the choir sings, paving the way for the descent of an aeon, of justice; their harmony announcing the impending doom of the sinner, promising his demise, promising him eternal rest.

you arrive at the central plaza, just in time for the closing act.

you meet sunday’s eyes, the bastard head of the oak family, the mastermind conducting this cacophony of noises and disturbances. he has the gall to smirk, to flash you a smirk, as if he’s daring you to do anything.

“aventurine, ambassador of the interastral peace corporation.” sunday stalks around the man bound in shackles, like predator circling prey, hands behind his back as he looks down at him with contempt. “you are hereby found… guilty.”

the baton descends – with it, the melody dramatically tips over its climax into decrescendo. 

people often say that death has no place in a dream of prosperity and privilege. 

but when the distinction between dream and reality blurs as the very dimension crumbles, who’s to say that to die is to wake, and who’s to say that death is not still death?

in his last moments of consciousness, aventurine sees you reach for your scarf with an expression he had never seen before. acceptance, perhaps? or disappointment? regardless, you have still chosen to surprise him at his last moment. must you continue to exceed his expectations even at his execution? but both you and he know that it is already too late, and his final solace is that you are present to witness the final chapter of his story.

that he is not left behind again.

the golden hands come full circle, palms closing as the strings lift their bows in unison, leaving only the winds to continue playing. the conductor drops their baton as the inevitable quickly encroaches upon the center stage, as the music ceases until only a sole trumpet remains sounding –

he closes his eyes with a last smile for you; aventurine has finally won, at the cost of losing everything.

once shall the bell toll, for the blessed prisoner condemned to a life of deceit and insincerity.

in a split second, the sky darkens; what used to be perpetually golden and bright has been eclipsed without a trace. the artificial sun goes out, street lamps are extinguished, a veil of darkness envelops the golden hour. what was once paradise becomes the abyss, and lament stands where joy once stood. 

your scarf flutters to the ground as you give it a strong tug, undoing its loops around your neck as you let it fall. you are half-expecting a gasp followed by a waterfall of words, but it never comes.

because there is no source. aventurine isn’t here anymore. 

there’s no more of your boss staring at you with the most awestruck expression as you reveal your face anymore. there’s no more of your boss’s endless pestering anymore.

there’s no more of aventurine opening up to you, getting you to open up, or him tentatively trusting you with fragments of his past anymore.

for the first time, you experience anger. a wrath so intense that it is enough to set even the heavens alight.

it’s about time someone ripped up this disgusting dream woven with fabric made of lies. this facade of extravagant luxury built upon a decaying foundation and the desperation of the masses’ escapism, a nightmare delicately packaged into fantasy that had stripped countless people of their ambitions and futures, it’s about time someone demolished it all.

the dreamchasers who voluntarily surrendered their realities for a temporary escape, the family members who could only obey, the heads of families who put together a ploy like this, and the harmonious strings who composed such a chaotic melody…

none of them matter. 

all that matters is that aventurine is executed, publicly, in utmost humiliation.

your scarf disintegrates into tiny specks of dust. brilliantly platinum scales extend from your fingertips to your jaw, threatening to stretch along your face, too. as if answering your call, serpents emerge from all corners of your shadow, slithering off towards all directions as they respond to your will.

in the sky that is pitch black, even darker shadows rear their heads; they fly, circle around the plane of the masterfully crafted illusion, around penacony itself. they await your orders, they await your next command. 

“eat up, my darlings.”

twice shall the bell toll, for the manufactured illusion of utopia drowning in the afterglow of opulence.

there is a reason why oroboros the voracity has kept to themselves in an unseen corner of the universe – they are not titled the unsatisfied devourer without reason.

with each corner you take for your own sustenance, you feel the universe tilt. the scales are tipping, the balance is tipping. with each piece of reality you consume, the boundary between subconscious and conscious blurs, falsehoods bleed into truth, and you feast upon them all the same.

in your rage, you are not merely tearing lives and environments apart. you are tearing religions apart, tearing peoples apart. worshippers and monuments of xipe the harmony, their symbols and their emanators, the hard-built resort destination called the dreamscape, and the plainly unremarkable penacony in reality, you are tearing it all apart.

you know you have upset the balance, and you know the consequences. you can hear the crystalline chime of the arbiter’s footsteps approaching you, you can almost see the blinding white light of the operating theater.

as the planet of festivities begin to fall out of orbit, so too do the serpents begin to decompose into glittering ashes. 

people scream as gravity somersaults, some swallowed by the caving ground, some swallowed by the gaping maws of the faceless serpents, and some dying by the hand of their kin as they struggle for survival.

you watch impassively as mortals scramble to prolong their lives, and you watch impassively as your serpents are lost, one by one, to the hands of an aeon.

if the mere handwave of an arrogant upholder of justice and a simple declaration are justification enough for an execution, for what reason should you not return the gesture?

if people would simply watch as someone is served the death penalty, what reason do you have to act as they become feed one after another?

and what reason do you have to cling onto mortal sentiments, now that your anchor to mortality is gone?

the man they killed is aventurine. your sometimes-too-annoying boss that you would not trade for anything in the world. your anchor; your dear, dear friend.

you see no reason to rein in your instincts anymore. the primal urge to consume overwhelms you, and all you want to do is to devour, devour, until there is nothing left.

voracity. oroboros’s will.

eat up while you still can, fill your metaphorical stomach with the blood of implicit killers, and tear into the flesh of the perpetrators of this grave transgression.

make them pay. before your judgement rains upon you, before the trumpeters herald your doom, before the star radiating false light meets its end in a supernova, make them pay.

their surgery is swift and painless – precise incision; two, three motions of the scalpel; complete excision.

at long last, the curtains fall. theatrics reach its conclusion, and when you look – there is no one left in the audience. 

thrice shall the bell toll, for the leviathan whose fury burned brighter than the ordinance of equilibrium.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales