WhorriblePerson

She’d break him like a fucking twig if she had to. And Coyle… he’d kinda like it 😏

She’s taller than him, sure as hell outweighs him, and has hysterical strength. She’s a whole lotta woman.

He tried it once, and she manhandled him and pressed him against the wall, pressing her body against his, and he had no way to get out of that situation.

He was pretty shook up by that whole ordeal, and hard, too.

Two crazies in love. What could be more better than that??

God, that house would be a fucking crack den, though.

Oh, they’d be fucking insane together.

Oh, btw - I never noticed she was licking the screw of Dr. Futterman. Really disturbed by what that implies…

Twisted little thoughts I’ve had about Coyle. Just a little ramble of words I’ve spewed out without much thought. Just pure filth. Grammar issues but it’s late and I have work in the morning. Enjoy and give me your thoughts. Targeted towards female readers.

Now that it’s officially established and canonical that Leland likes butt stuff (like it wasn’t obvious enough) while receiving head, I like to imagine if your fingers weren’t exactly big nor long, he’d more than gladly accept an empty beer bottle to get off.

Get it wet and slick with saliva, and rub it on the entrance of his asshole. Make sure to tease him by pushing the rim of the bottle into him, and removing it. Make sure to suck him and nuzzle “Little Justice” while you’re at it, and he’ll forgive your naughty teasing.

Stretch him, and push the dark glass in, and wiggle it inside him. Have him bucking his hips every single press of warm glass against his prostate. Every buckle of his hips pushes his penis deeper into that cavernous, delightfully moist, plush and warm mouth, eager for its salty homecoming.

Gagging or not, you’re a good little bitch for your master. Little bitches don’t whine or complain, they simply look to their master and waggle their tails and present their ass until their blooming, tingling vulva and pulsing clitoris’s gets fed and fed with long, hot strokes.

He’ll pet his Little Bitch, stroke her hair and caress her ear with that rough, burned and scarred hand of his. Such a gentle caress from such a violent creature, such as himself. Leather never felt so soft and sweet, like the silkiest of fabrics.

Even a strict daddy has a gentle touch for his sweet, Little Bitch.

“Oh, sweetness…” he’d say, his words slurred by pleasure, as the bottle continually pressed into his most sensitive spot. The heavenly swirl of pleasure at the feeling of your mouth taking in his pink flesh - it was all so perfect.

There’s no need for him to grab the back of your head and push his penis into the deepest parts of your throat, you do it on your own.

Relaxing your throat, you swallow him. Swallow him until your throat is bulging with his penis. Somehow, he goes even deeper when his muscles tense, standing on his tiptoes, and pushing himself in even further.

His pubic hair stunk of piss, blood and cum, and body odor and perhaps the smell of your own odor, after he’d taken his from your nether regions. You stink, and so does he.

His spunk spills deep in your throat, and you don’t even get to taste its saltiness. Down the gullet, straight into your growling stomach.

“When was the last time I even ate a proper meal in this place? Besides Coyle’s spunk?” You think.

The corners of your eyes begin to darken, and the world slowly becomes more and more silent. The faint ‘cling-cling’ of the bottle hitting the ground reverberates through your mind.

There’s a brief second where nothing exists, until Coyle’s flesh leaves your mouth, and the air fills your lungs once again, awakening your brain and firing up your neurons with oxygen. Still, the world is a whirl of colors and sensations.

Heated iron presses under your chin, and lifts your face to its owner. Coyle looks down at you, the reflection of his glasses show a messy-haired, sweating and flushed, dreary and watery eyed woman, half-mad and half-dreamy.

“Now, where on God’s gracious Earth have you been hiding?” He said, his voice low and almost tired.

“What am I gonna do with you…” there was a genuine contemplated tone to his voice.

You choke, and cough and reply with, “anything you want, Master.”

He chuckled, “is that so, Little Bitch? Anything I want?”

His electric rod pushed harder into your chin, lifting you to your knees.

“How ‘bout you wash my dick?” His electric staff left your chin, and he began to stride away. He looked over his shoulder and tapped his rod against his calf.

His beckoning was met with obedience, and your raw knees ached as you followed him to the showers.

so I decided to combine these photos to see what Leland would look like without glasses or a beard and got…

Umm… holy crap 😀

A/N: Realistic, slightly OOC Vladimir Makarov headcanons. This is a fantasy. Also, I wrote this, like a year ago and forgot to post it. Here y'all go.

Look, y’all - this man is a true psychopath, through and through. He is completely incapable of love. If he existed in real life, I don’t think there would be anyone he would be romantically involved with… if it doesn’t serve his purpose. He’s an extremely violent man. No lover boy here. I don't approve of any of his actions or ideologies.

TW: Implications to rape. Obsession and mistreatment.

A “relationship” with Makarov would be one built on obsession and possession, completely out of the realm of love. Love is kind, love is patient - and Makarov does not care for any of that.

Instead, you’ll be met with prickles at the back of your neck, and turn towards the source of your discomfort, only to make eye contact with eyes so dark and empty, like two black holes that swallows all light that crosses its path, and is never fulfilled no matter how much it feeds.

You weren’t sure what you did to get such a man’s attention, but you had it, and it wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

Everyone was an object, a tool to be used and discarded when it is no longer in need. The old granny on the train, retiring after scrubbing floors of the rich all day, the exhausted mother and her three children returning home from the grocery store, the young man bringing flowers to his first love - all sacrifices for his idea of what was the greater good.

But you? You were more than a pet, but less than a lover. Between the two of you, it was more like a master-slave relationship. You’ll have no freedom, no sense of will and definitely landlocked in some hotel or apartment. Kept away like a favorite toy, occasionally brought out to be played with and then be shut away until he feels “playful” again.

Until then, the limbo of time blurs into nothingness again. His visits held no pattern of recollection. And when he visited, it would be more like being stuck in the center of the Pacific Ocean, with a bleak-eyed shark circling the infinite waters beneath your flailing feet.

You were there to fill a void. To make up for something missing. No family, no friends (Yuri is his friend. But even he couldn’t fulfill that need) and no one waiting on him. Then you came along, and suddenly something in him clicked.

He lost it all. His purpose. His sense of identity. Even his country. And then you came along.

Make no sudden movements - he’s unpredictable. Lashing out with harsh words and threats, backhanded slaps across your face when you raise your voice, bruises at the hollows of your neck, and sticky sperm trailing down your thigh after he teaches you bodily lessons.

Every plan of escape would be thwarted, and thoroughly punished. He’s not above severing your hamstrings to make sure you stay put. Don’t push your luck, for his forgiveness should not be abused.

On a shallow level, he does understand your suffering, but that’s about it. Knowing a song, but not being able to sing it.

Thank you. I try not to make Makarov OOC, but also try not to make him too canonical. This man is not capable of love, but if he did (which is toxic and possessive as fuck), I think it would look somewhat like what I depict.

Villains, especially like Makarov, would have a very fucked up version of 'love'. It wouldn't look the way the average person loves. It would be toxic, cutthroat, demeaning, and controlling. Painful but strong and unshakable.

Honestly, I was just writing to “stretch” out my fingers after taking such a long break from writing. I was exploring this character and feeling it out. It’s been awhile since I wrote a multi-chapter series, so I need to plan out some stuff.

God, this man is such a psycho. I can’t wait to put this out.

I’m not deleting it, but please do not consider it “canon.”