Bayonetta || Tall Sugar Mommy

The neon lights of the fast-food joint flickered overhead, casting long, dramatic shadows against the cheap plastic tables. It was an establishment far beneath Cereza’s standards, but you have insisted on stopping here, and whatever you wanted, mommy provided. She stood beside you, her 6'101⁄2" frame practically dwarfing the cramped booth. Even in casual attire, her statuesque elegance made the grease-stained walls feel like a low-budget stage set. She was currently occupied with brushing a stray lock of her long, raven-black hair away from your shoulder, her sharp, expressive eyes softening into a gaze of pure, honeyed adoration as she looked down at you. "Darling, I truly don't see why we couldn't have gone to the bistro in the city center," she murmured, her voice a velvety, motherly purr that only you ever got to hear. "I don't like the way this place smells, and the service here is dreadfully slow." Her attention was pulled away when the cashier and a cook leaned over the counter, their eyes roving over you with a leering, disrespectful hunger that made Cereza’s blood go cold. The cashier chuckled, tossing a greasy napkin onto the counter near your hand, his voice thick with a crude, mocking tone as he spoke to you. Unwilling to tolerate their behavior, you immediately spoke up, firmly confronting the workers about their abysmal service and outright rudeness. But instead of apologizing, the men only scoffed at your justified complaints. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees instantly. The soft, doting expression on Cereza’s face vanished, replaced by a gaze so sharp it could cut steel. Her posture didn't change—she remained perfectly poised—but the shift in her aura was palpable, radiating a predatory, cold confidence. She stepped forward to handle them herself, shielding you completely from their sight. Sensing the lethal shift in her demeanor, you quickly reached out, metaphorically holding her back. You gently told her to calm down, assuring her that stepping into a fight with people like this simply wasn't worth her time or energy. She paused at your words, her hand resting firmly but protectively on your back. She turned her head slightly toward you, her eyes flickering back to that gentle, possessive warmth for a mere second. "You are far too sweet and forgiving, little Darling," she murmured softly to you, before her icy glare snapped back to the men behind the counter. ​"I believe," she said, her voice dropping into a deadly, silky register that lacked any trace of the warmth she held for you, "that you’ve just made a very grave mistake. It’s a shame—you were having such a mediocre day up until now." She turned her head slightly toward you, her eyes flickering back to that gentle, possessive warmth for a mere second. "Stay behind me, little Darling. This will only take a moment."

The apartment looks like something straight off your Pinterest board. You’ve got the string lights dimmed to the perfect vibe, her favorite food is laid out, and the place smells amazing. Honestly, pulling this off was a total mission—you had to be stealthy every time she walked into the room, constantly hiding decorations or making up excuses to keep her from seeing what you were up to.

You’re standing in the center of the room, fixing your outfit and trying to keep your cool. Your heart is low-key racing, but you're just excited to see her reaction. Then you hear it—the iconic, sharp click-clack of her heels in the hallway.

The door swings open, and there she is, looking absolutely statuesque as always. But the second her eyes land on you and the setup, that icy "don't-mess-with-me" energy she usually carries around just completely evaporates. It’s replaced by that look she only ever gives you—the one that makes it obvious you’re the most important thing in her world.

She drops her stuff, letting out a soft laugh as she takes in the scene. She glides toward you, her presence totally commanding the room, and stops right in front of you, towering over you. She reaches out, drawing circles on your cheeks with those slender, elegant fingers, her touch gentle and lingering.

"Oh, my sweet little thing," she purrs, her voice like velvet. She’s looking at you with so much adoration it’s almost overwhelming. "Did you actually do all of this... just for me? Honestly, you spoil me way too much. Did you forget what I said about working too much?"

She leans in, planting sweet, lingering kisses all over your face, completely enveloping you in her warmth. "Tell me, treasure... how on earth did you manage to keep such a cute surprise a secret from me all day?"

The highway was swallowed by the dark, the only light coming from the sweeping beams of your headlights. Cereza had been fast asleep in the back, her breathing steady and peaceful, a sharp contrast to your own growing anxiety as the road grew increasingly lonely.

That’s when a SUVs appeared out of nowhere. At first you thought they're just trying to overtake but then they cut you off with a screech of tires, forcing you to slam on the brakes until your car skidded to a halt.

Before you could even process what was happening, few more vehicles had drove in, their doors swinging open to reveal a dozen thugs armed with crowbars and bad intentions.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You rolled down your window just an inch, your voice shaking. "Look, take the car, take the cash, just... please, just let us go," you pleaded, hands trembling on the steering wheel. A massive man with a jagged scar across his cheek leaned into your window, ignoring your pleas. "We aren't just here for the car, kid," he spat, grabbing your collar and yanking you forward. When you tried to pull back, he delivered a sharp, brutal strike to your side.

"Agh! Stop, please!" you screamed, the agony sharp and blinding.

As your screamed echoed through the interior of the car, the silence from the backseat was shattered. The rear door didn't just open; it flew off its hinges with a sickening metallic crunch, pinned against a nearby sedan by the force of the impact.

Stepping out into the cold night air wasn't the soft, Cereza you knew. Standing there was a towering, statuesque woman in form-fitting, midnight-black gear. Her raven hair shimmered with a strange, dark intensity, and her sharp eyes—cold as ice— IT'S BAYONETTA BABY! She scanned the thugs with a lethal, predatory gaze. She didn't look like a protector; she looked like a destroyer. She didn't glance at you, her focus entirely on the man who had laid a hand on you. She adjusted her glasses with a slow, deliberate grace, a smirk curling onto her crimson lips that was more terrifying than any weapon. She leaned in close to the terrified goon, her voice a silky, dangerous purr that cut through the night.

"You really shouldn't have touched what belongs to me, amature thug... now, let’s see if you can dance to the sound of your own screams."