#*sobs violently in anticipation*

[enhaflixer]

ENHA HARD HOURS: reaction to you tying them up. bf!enhypen x f!reader cw (18+ MDNI) : bondage, nippleplay, overstim, degradation, facesitting, cockslapping, humiliation, crying big fat tears, swearing so explicit no words for my ovulation demon fic obvs

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Heeseung thought this would be easy.

When you straddled his hips and secured the restraints around his wrists, he just grinned, stretching his arms like he was comfortable, like this was just a fun little game that he was going to win.

“Damn, baby,” he chuckled, smirking up at you. “You really wanna keep me in place that bad?”

But now?

Now, Heeseung isn’t smirking anymore.

He’s panting, his chest heaving, his wrists straining against the restraints because he desperately, desperately needs to touch you. But he can’t. He’s completely at your mercy, and fuck, it is killing him.

His cock is already so hard it hurts, flushed deep red, thick and leaking, the veins along the shaft standing out with every desperate pulse. It’s long, perfectly curved, the kind of dick that feels dangerous—one that stretches you so deep it makes your legs shake every time.

It’s twitching in anticipation, the swollen tip glistening, because you’re kneeling between his legs, your hands wrapped around the base, and Heeseung is fucking dying.

“F-fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, his head pressing back against the pillows. “Please—”

You hum, tilting your head as you drag your thumb over his slit, spreading the wetness, watching the way his thighs clench in response.

“You’re already shaking,” you murmur, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his tip.

Heeseung lets out a helpless little whimper, his lip trembling, his eyes fluttering closed as he tugs at the restraints again.

“I—fuck, I can’t,” he gasps. “Let me touch you—please, baby, please—”

You just grin, your breath hot against his aching cock, before you finally wrap your lips around him—slow, wet, torturously soft.

He whines.

Like, full-body tremble, desperate, broken fucking whines.

“Ohhh, f-fuck, baby—”* His voice shakes, his head lolling to the side, his mouth falling open, his brows furrowing tight in pleasure.

You take him deeper, your tongue dragging along the underside, your throat tight around him, and Heeseung lets out a wrecked sob, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

“Shit—s-shit, I—” His fingers curl tight in the restraints, his muscles locking up, his face a perfect mix of agony and bliss as he tries so fucking hard not to come already.

His Adam’s apple bobs, his jaw clenching, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes on you, watching the way your lips stretch around his cock, the way your tongue flicks so perfectly over his slit.

“Oh my f-fucking god,” he gasps, his whole body jerking, his thighs trembling hard.

You pull off with a slow, wet pop, licking the tip, smirking as his hips twitch beneath you.

“You look so good like this, baby,” you murmur, letting your tongue drag over the thick vein along his shaft, savoring the way his abs clench tight in response.

Heeseung lets out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping at nothing, his head tilting back sharply.

“Y-you’re—”* he chokes out, voice so wrecked it barely sounds like him anymore. “You’re so fucking evil—”

You just laugh softly, before taking him all the way down, your throat swallowing around him, sucking deep and slow.

It fucking breaks him.

“Ohhh—fuck, f-fuck, baby, I—” His voice cracks, his entire body locking up, his muscles going rigid as he yanks at the restraints, so fucking desperate to grab you, to pull your hair, to hold onto something—but he can’t.

All he can do is take it.

“Fucking hell, I—oh my god—” Heeseung’s brows furrow so tight, his jaw slack, his thighs trembling violently as he fights it—as he fights losing himself completely.

But when you swallow around him again, moaning softly, Heeseung lets out a shattered sob, his head thrown back, his throat exposed, his hips jerking helplessly.

“I’m—I’m gonna—fuck, fuck, baby, I—”

You suck him down one more time, hard and deep, and Heeseung breaks completely, his whole body arching off the bed, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as he comes so hard he nearly blacks out.

You swallow everything, sucking gently, working him through it, feeling the way his thighs shake violently, the way his body shudders beneath you, completely fucking wrecked.

When you finally pull back, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his oversensitive tip, Heeseung lets out a weak, breathless laugh, his chest still rising and falling heavily.

You smirk, trailing your fingers up his stomach, watching the way his abs clench in overstimulation.

“Still think this was gonna be easy?” you tease, voice all sweetness and innocence.

Heeseung just lets out a shaky exhale, his arms going completely limp in the restraints, his face still blissed-out and wrecked.

Then, finally, his head lolls to the side, and he lets out a low, exhausted groan.

“Never fucking again,” he mutters, his voice hoarse as hell. “Never—fucking—again—am I letting you tie me up.”

You just grin, untying his wrists, pressing a soft, mocking kiss to his forehead.

“Sure, baby.”

But you both know he’s lying.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay has always been a giver.

It’s just the way he is

Right now, he’s tied up beneath you, completely helpless, his wrists bound tightly to the headboard, his broad chest rising and falling in shaky, uneven breaths, his jaw clenched so fucking tight he looks like he might actually lose his mind.

You’re riding him slow, rolling your hips in deep, dragging circles, feeling every inch of him stretch you perfectly, every little vein and ridge pressing inside you just right—but you never let him have more.

You keep it lazy, keep it slow, torturing him with every single movement.

“You look so fucking good like this, baby,” you murmur, leaning down, letting your lips brush over his ear, your breath hot against his feverish skin.

Jay lets out a wrecked, shuddering exhale, his fingers flexing uselessly against the restraints, his muscles tensing so hard you can feel them rippling beneath you.

“Can’t even touch me,” you continue, mocking, grinding down just a little harder, feeling the way his cock twitches inside you at the words.

His throat bobs, his lips parting, his eyes completely blown out, a desperate, frantic glaze taking over his normally confident expression.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out, his head tilting back, his biceps straining against the silk ties, yanking just enough to test them—but not enough to break free.

Because Jay is too good, too willing to give you whatever you want.

You just want to ruin him.

“You’re always so in control, aren’t you, baby?” you purr, dragging your nails down his chest, watching the way his abs clench and flex under your touch.

“Always making sure I feel good first?” Your nails scratch lightly over his nipples, and his breath stutters, his thighs twitching beneath you.

“Always such a good husband for me.”

Jay lets out a wrecked, filthy groan, his head tilting to the side, his jaw going slack, his lips parting on a helpless, choked-out moan as he bucks up instinctively—but you press your hand against his stomach, forcing him still.

He whimpers.

Actually, fucking whimpers.

Fuck, you love it.

“Look at you, baby,” you whisper, mocking. “All tied up and still trying to take care of me.”

Jay gasps, his body shuddering beneath you, his cock pulsing so hard inside you that you can feel him losing control.

“You wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?” you murmur, letting your tongue flick out against his earlobe, biting down softly, dragging your nails down his arms where he’s straining against the ties.

“Wanna hold my hips, wanna flip me over and fuck me into the mattress, right?”

Jay groans—loud, deep, so wrecked it makes your whole body tighten around him.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, I—” His voice catches, his chest heaving, his hands clenching into fists as he struggles, trembles, tries so hard to hold himself together.

“Can’t, baby—”* he gasps, eyes squeezing shut, his head tilting back sharply. “Can’t—can’t take it—”

You grin, shifting forward, grinding down deeper, your lips brushing over his panting mouth, just barely not kissing him.

“You don’t get to take anything,” you whisper, cruel and sweet all at once, dragging your tongue along the seam of his lips before pulling away.

“You get what I give you.”

Jay sobs..

His whole body tenses violently, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps, his thighs trembling uncontrollably beneath you.

“Please,” he gasps, his voice wrecked and desperate, his hips jerking up helplessly, his abs clenching. “Please, baby—let me—fuck, I need—please—”

You finally, finally, give him what he wants.

You start bouncing on his cock, fast, relentless, taking him deep and rough, making his headboard slam into the wall, and Jay fucking screams, his voice breaking, his eyes rolling back so hard all you see is white.

“F-fuck—fuck, I—I’m—” His entire body tenses, his muscles locking up, his jaw going slack, his fingers clawing at the restraints as he loses himself completely, coming so hard inside you it makes his thighs shake violently beneath you.

His whole body trembles, his lips parting around silent, choked-out moans, and you ride him through it, slowing down, grinding deep as he whimpers softly, his breath coming in sharp, erratic gasps.

When he finally comes back down, he just lays there, completely limp, his skin flushed deep red, his body still twitching from aftershocks, his head lolling to the side.

You reach up, untying the restraints, letting his arms fall to the bed, completely useless and weak, and he just groans, his lips parted, his entire body wrecked beyond belief.

After a long, breathless pause, he turns his head slightly, staring at you, eyes still glassy and dazed.

Then, finally, he lets out a weak, hoarse laugh, voice so fucked-out and exhausted it’s almost adorable.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his sweaty, overheated chest, tracing a finger down his still-trembling stomach.

“Still think you’re the one who’s always in control, baby?”

Jay just lets out a shaky exhale, tilting his head back against the pillows, a lazy, satisfied smirk forming on his lips.“I think,” he breathes, grinning, “I just fell even more in love with you.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake is so fucking frustrated he’s actually about to start kicking and screaming like a toddler.

He thought this was going to be fun—that you’d tie him up, tease him a little, then let him have you.

Oh, how wrong he was.

He’s tied to the bed, his wrists secured tightly, his body slick with sweat, his abs tensing uncontrollably, and you’re just hovering over him, your wetness dragging against the head of his cock, so fucking close but not giving him anything.

Jake is losing his fucking mind.

“Baby—baby, I swear to fucking God—” His voice is wrecked, raspy, and thick with frustration, his arms pulling against the restraints, his fingers flexing like he’s actually about to rip them apart.

You just smirk, dragging your nails down his trembling stomach, feeling the way his muscles clench violently.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you whisper, tilting your head, mocking him. “You look so… tense.”

Jake lets out a high, desperate groan, his thighs twitching, his cock throbbing angrily, a sharp pulse running through him every time you roll your hips just enough to tease.

“You fucking—”* he gasps, his eyes wild and unfocused, his lips swollen from biting them so hard, his hips jerking up just for you to press him back down.

“I swear to fucking GOD,” he growls, thrashing against the restraints, his head pressing into the pillow, his voice shaking. “If you don’t sit the fuck down on my cock right now—baby, I will scream so fucking loud the neighbors will call the fucking cops—”

Your eyes widen, caught between shock and amusement, and before he can say another word, you slap a hand over his mouth, muffling his wrecked little gasps, and shove two fingers past his lips.

Jake chokes on a whimper, his whole body arching violently, his tongue immediately latching onto your fingers, sucking so hungrily, so filthy, his cheeks hollowing out as he moans around them.

“That’s better,” you murmur, watching the way his eyes flutter, the way his breath stutters, the way his hips keep twitching desperately beneath you, like he physically can’t control himself anymore.

His fingers curl into fists, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths, his thighs trembling uncontrollably as he moans around your fingers, his whole body writhing beneath you.

“Such a fucking brat,” you purr, dragging your free hand down his throat, wrapping your fingers around it just enough to make him shudder.

“Always so fucking mouthy, always acting up—”* you press your fingers down slightly on his tongue, feeling the way it writhes against you, hot and slick, the way his lips tremble around them.

“Now look at you,” you mock, grinding down just a little, just enough to let the head of his cock push inside you, squeezing tight around the tip—but not letting him have more.

Jake screams into your hand, his back arching off the bed, his fingers flexing violently in the restraints, his whole body on the verge of breaking.

“F-fuck—fuck, I—please—”* his voice is a mess, muffled and wrecked, his hips jerking up wildly, but you slap his thigh hard, making him yelp into your palm.

“No, baby,” you breathe, smirking, pressing your wet fingers deeper into his mouth, feeling his tongue swirl desperately around them.

“You don’t get to act like a little fucking menace and still get what you want.”

Jake whines, actually whines, high and desperate, his eyes rolling back slightly, his breath coming in shaky, choked-out sobs.

“Y-you’re—oh, fuck—you’re so fucking mean,” he gasps, his words slurred around your fingers, drool slipping down the corner of his mouth, his whole body trembling like he’s on the verge of breaking completely.

You grin, finally pulling your fingers from his mouth, dragging them down his heaving chest, feeling the way his skin burns beneath your touch.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his ear, your voice sickly sweet and cruel.

“You haven’t even seen mean yet.”

Then, without warning, you slam yourself down onto him, taking him all the way in one deep, brutal motion.

Jake screams.

Not moans. Not groans.

A full, raw, broken scream, his head snapping back, his eyes rolling back so violently you almost think he passed out, his fingers pulling against the restraints like he’s trying to rip himself free.

“F-fuck—fuck, f-fuck, I—”* his voice cracks, his hips jolting up wildly, his whole body tensing violently beneath you, like he’s teetering on the edge of cumming already.

You don’t let him.

You slow down, grinding instead of bouncing, rolling your hips in deep, torturous circles, feeling the way his cock twitches inside you, the way his thighs jerk helplessly, the way his breath comes out in weak, shaky gasps.

“You feel so fucking good like this, baby,” you whisper, dragging your nails down his chest, watching the way his stomach jumps under your touch, the way his lips tremble helplessly.

“Completely helpless, completely mine.”

Jake sobs, full-body shaking, his wrists pulling so hard at the restraints that the headboard is knocking against the wall, his hips stuttering violently.

“B-baby, please—fuck, I—”* he gasps, choking on his own moans, his voice so hoarse, so destroyed. “I c-can’t—please, please—”

You grin, dragging your tongue up his throat, biting down hard on his racing pulse, making his whole body jolt violently beneath you.

“Aww, baby,” you mock, grinding down even harder, feeling the way he chokes on a wrecked little cry, his whole body convulsing.

“Are you gonna cry for me?”

Jake screams, his thighs clenching beneath you, his cock pulsing so violently inside you that you know he’s seconds from breaking completely.

“I—I’m gonna—f-fuck, fuck, I—baby, baby, please, let me—”

You slam your hips down one last time, and Jake breaks completely, thrashing beneath you, his breath coming in desperate, choked-out sobs, his whole body tensing so hard it shakes the bed.

And when he finally goes limp, completely wrecked, his chest heaving, his throat raw, his body still twitching from the aftershocks, you grin, running a lazy hand over his sweat-slick stomach.

“See, baby?” you hum sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to his panting mouth.

“That’s what you get for being a fucking brat.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon didn’t take you seriously at all.

When you told him about your friend tying up her boyfriend and ruining him, he just blinked at you, his expression bored, unimpressed.

“Okay?” he had said, scrolling through his phone.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s it? No reaction?”

“What do you want me to say?” He finally looked at you, tilting his head lazily. “I mean, it’s not that crazy. You tie the guy up, tease him a little, make him beg, then fuck him. Right?”

You licked your lips, leaning in. “You think you could handle it?”

Sunghoon snorted, smirking as he leaned back against the couch. “Baby, please. I could handle you with my hands tied behind my back.”

Your smile turned dangerous.

“Then let’s find out.”

But in reality, Sunghoon is fucked.

His wrists are tied above his head, stretched tight, his chest slick with sweat, his abs flexing uncontrollably as you ride him with no mercy, bouncing on his cock, taking him deep, rough, and fast.

He literally hasn’t said a word in ten minutes.

At first, he grunted, let out those deep, guttural groans, his thighs tensing, his body shaking beneath you as he tried so hard to hold on.

His jaw is slack, his lips parted, his eyes completely unfocused, so fucking gone that he can barely even breathe properly.

“Too much, baby?” you mock, dragging your nails down his sweaty chest, watching his muscles twitch violentlybeneath your touch.

Sunghoon just nods frantically, his breath catching, his fingers curling uselessly against the restraints as his hips twitch up, completely involuntary, completely desperate.

“But you’re taking it so well,” you purr, grinding down deep, rolling your hips slow and heavy, making him feel every inch of you.

Sunghoon lets out a choked, breathless groan, his thighs trembling violently, his whole body locking up beneath you.

“G-gonna—f-fuck—”* His voice finally breaks, and then—

He comes so fucking hard that his whole body tenses violently, his head snapping back against the pillow, his chest heaving as his cock pulses inside you, filling you so deep you swear you feel it everywhere.

But you don’t stop.

Not even when his thighs twitch, not even when his stomach spasms, not even when his breath stutters violently, too overstimulated, too much, too good.

You just slow down, rolling your hips deep, teasing, milking him through it, your nails dragging over his flushed skin, your lips tracing down his chest—

You pull off him completely.

Sunghoon lets out a sharp, broken breath, his whole body trembling, but before he can even process what’s happening, your hand wraps around his cock, slick and so fucking sensitive, and you start stroking him all over again.

His head snaps up instantly, his eyes wild and unfocused, his lips parting on a silent, breathless moan as his body jolts violently beneath you.

“W-wait—fuck, baby—”* His voice catches, but you ignore him, leaning down, letting your lips brush over his flushed skin, your tongue flicking over his already-sensitive nipple.

You bite down.

Hard.

Sunghoon shouts—the first full sentence he’s spoken all night—

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!—”*

You just grin, suck harder, dragging your nails down his quivering stomach, feeling the way his cock twitches uncontrollably in your grip, his whole body rocking with overstimulation.

“Oh, baby,” you mock, licking the bruise forming on his swollen, overstimulated nipple, squeezing his cock just right, watching his abs flex violently.

“I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

Sunghoon lets out a wrecked, helpless moan, his breath coming in frantic gasps, his head thrashing to the side, but you just lick a slow, teasing stripe up his throat, biting another dark hickey into the soft skin just below his jaw.

“Everyone’s gonna see that one, baby,” you whisper, grinning against his feverish skin.

Sunghoon just shudders violently, his eyes fluttering shut, his jaw going slack as his cock pulses in your grip, his breath coming out in sharp, erratic gasps.

“Ohhh, f-fuck—fuck, I—”* His whole body locks up, his fingers weakly twitching, his thighs spasming— he comes again, his hips jerking helplessly, his chest rising sharply, his lips trembling from how hard he’s shaking beneath you.

But you don’t stop.

Not until he’s come four whole times, his breath ragged and uneven, his body twitching violently, his lips parted in silent, choked-out sobs, his wrists weakly flexing against the restraints.

When you finally, finally untie him, letting his arms drop, he just lays there, completely limp, his chest heaving, his eyes unfocused.

After a long, shaky exhale, he blinks up at you, his face completely wrecked.

Then, finally, he lets out a hoarse, breathless laugh, his voice weak and ruined.

“You milked me dry like a fucking cow.”*

You just grin, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his damp forehead, brushing his hair out of his face.

“You were perfect, baby,” you whisper sweetly, kissing him like he’s the most magnificent, precious thing in the world.

Sunghoon lets out a tired, shaky exhale, his body still trembling beneath you, his eyes fluttering shut.

“There’s something fucking wrong with you,” he mutters.

You just laugh, kissing his jawline, his nose, his flushed cheeks.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo was always dramatic, but this?

This was a new level.

“You want to tie me up?” He gasped, clutching his chest, staring at you like you’d just suggested burning his wardrobe. “Baby, are you planning on murdering me?”

You rolled your eyes, straddling his lap and pinching his cheek, making him pout even harder.

“No, baby,” you murmured, running your fingers down his jaw, tilting his chin up. “I just wanna see you squirm.”

Sunoo huffed, looking anywhere but at you, but you caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched slightly against your thighs.

“I don’t squirm,” he said stubbornly.

You smirked, leaning in, whispering against his lips—

“We’ll see about that.”

An hour later, Sunoo is tied up and completely fucked out, his wrists bound tightly to the headboard, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths, his pretty lips swollen from all the pouting and whining he’s been doing.

But the best part?

He still hasn’t cum.

You’ve been playing with him for what feels like forever, keeping him on edge, bringing him right to the brink of release, then pulling away at the last second—again and again and again..

His cheeks are flushed deep pink, his eyelashes damp with unshed tears, his thighs trembling as he tugs uselessly at the restraints.

“B-baby, please—” His voice is soft, desperate, breathless, his lips trembling as he squirms beneath you.

You grin, dragging your nails down his stomach, watching the way his body jolts violently at the sensation.

“Please what?” you murmur, your fingers hovering over his leaking cock, but not touching him at all.

Sunoo whimpers, his hips twitching helplessly, his fingers clenching into fists.

“I—”* he gasps, his head tilting back, his pretty throat exposed and begging for attention, his chest rising sharply.

You take advantage of it, leaning down, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the delicate skin just below his collarboe, sucking until you know it’ll leave a mark.

Sunoo gasps sharply, his whole body tensing beneath you, his breath stuttering as a wrecked little whimper slips past his lips.

“You’re so mean,” he pouts, his voice cracking on the last word, his wrists twisting against the ties like he wants to throw a tantrum.

You just smile, letting your lips trail down his collarbone, over his flushed chest, lower and lower.

“Oh—fuck—” His voice breaks completely, his eyes squeezing shut, his thighs snapping together in frustration.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, kissing your way down his chest, your hand finally, finally wrapping around his aching cock. “You’re shaking.”

Sunoo lets out the most desperate little noise, his breath catching, his whole body going taut beneath you.

“B-baby—”* he gasps, his voice so high and sweet and helpless it makes you clench around nothing.

“Shhh,” you coo, stroking him slow, torturous, teasing, feeling the way his cock twitches uncontrollably in your grip. “Be my good boy and take it.”

Sunoo whimpers, his fingers flexing uselessly, his breath coming in short, frantic little gasps.

“I—I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can, baby,” you whisper, dragging your thumb over the swollen, sensitive tip, watching as his stomach tenses sharply, his breath stuttering in his throat.

Sunoo shakes his head frantically, his lips trembling, his eyes squeezed shut so tight that tears slip down his cheeks.

“B-baby, please—p-please, I—I need to—”

You lean in, lips brushing against his ear, your voice soft, teasing, dripping in affection—

“Then cum for me, baby.”

Sunoo lets out a sharp, shattered little cry, his entire body seizing up, his thighs clenching, his fingers curling into fists, his mouth falling open in a breathless, high-pitched moan as he finally, finally spills over your hand.

His chest heaves, his wrists straining weakly against the restraints, his whole body convulsing violently as he rides it out, his breath coming in ragged, uneven sobs.

When it’s over, when he finally collapses against the sheets, completely limp and wrecked, you untie his wrists, massaging the delicate skin where the fabric had been.

Sunoo’s eyes flutter open, dazed and glassy, his lips still parted, his breath still unsteady.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, “are actually evil.”

You just laugh softly, pressing kisses to his damp forehead, his flushed cheeks, his trembling lips.

“But you were so good for me, baby,” you murmur, cupping his face, kissing him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

Sunoo huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, but his arms immediately wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, his voice weak and breathless. “Now shut up and hold me.”

You just smile, curling up against him, feeling his breath slow, his body relax beneath you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon was always so composed.

Always the one in charge, always the one controlling the pace, making you beg, making you squirm, dragging things out just to hear you cry for him.

“You get so cute when you’re desperate,” he had said once, watching you fall apart, mocking you while he kept you on edge for what felt like hours.

“I wonder how long I can make you last before you break.”

That night, you had cried for him.

Tonight, he’s going to cry for you.

You’re going to tear him apart, ruin him so completely that he’ll never, ever try to put you through that again.

By the time you’re finished with him, he won’t just be begging for release—he’ll be begging for mercy.

Looking back it almost makes you laugh because Jungwon is so far gone that it’s almost pathetic.

His wrists are bound tight to the headboard, his fingers curling helplessly, his thighs trembling violently, his cock twitching, untouched, leaking all over himself.

The worst of all?

He hasn’t cum once.

You’ve edged him so many times that his body doesn’t even know how to handle it anymore, his breath coming in frantic, choked-off sobs, his cheeks slick with real, wet, desperate tears.

“P-please—please, f-fuck, I can’t—” His voice is so hoarse, so completely broken, his breath ragged and uneven, his body twitching, shaking, begging for anything.

You just smirk.

“Aww, poor baby,” you mock, gripping his jaw, forcing him to look at you, watching the way his lips tremble.

“You always act so tough.”

You drag your nails down his chest, watching the way his muscles tense, his abs flexing, his stomach spasming involuntarily.

“And now look at you.”

You slap his cock lightly, watching as his hips jolt up violently, his breath catching in a sharp, helpless moan.

“F-fuck—ohh, f-fuck, please, please, baby, I—I n-need—”

You slap him again.

Right on his leaking, swollen tip, precum splattering onto his stomach, his whole body jolting from the impact.

Jungwon screams, his thighs shaking uncontrollably, his wrists yanking at the restraints, but you just laugh softly.

“Oh, you need something?” you taunt, gripping his jaw, forcing him to look at you, watching the way his swollen lips quiver.

“What do you need, slut?”

Jungwon sobs again, completely humiliated, his body betraying him.

“P-please—please, let me cum—please, I c-can’t, I c-can’t—”

You tilt your head, fake pouting.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, voice sickly sweet, cruel, condescending. “You can’t?”

Then, you grab a fistful of his damp hair, yanking his head back, making his throat expose itself to you, his breath stuttering, a choked-off moan spilling past his lips.

“That’s funny, baby,” you whisper, dragging your tongue up his throat, feeling his pulse hammer violently against your lips.

“Because I remember you making me fucking beg. I remember you edging me until I was crying, just like this.”

Jungwon lets out a sharp, desperate sob, his thighs clenching, his hips twitching, completely lost in it.

“I—I’m s-sorry—please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be so f-fucking good, I s-swear—”

You grin, gripping his chin harder, tilting his head up, forcing him to stare at you.

“You’re already my good little fucktoy, baby.”

You slap his cock again, harder this time, watching as his body twitches violently, his mouth falling open in a silent scream.

“My pathetic little bitch.”

Jungwon whimpers, actual sobs wracking through his chest, his tears slipping down his temples, pooling on the pillow beneath him.

“You gonna cry harder for me, baby?”

He nods frantically, completely lost, completely gone.

“P-please—please—please—”

“Then cum, you fucking whore.”

The second you wrap your lips around his cock, sucking him deep and tight, Jungwon fucking loses it.

His entire body seizes up, his legs shaking so hard the whole bed moves, his wrists pulling at the restraints so violently that the headboard slams against the wall, his mouth falling open in a broken, wrecked scream.

He fucking breaks.

Jungwon cums so violently his entire body shudders, his stomach spasming, his throat bobbing as sobs rip through him, his voice so destroyed he can’t even form words anymore.

You swallow every drop, humming around him, your tongue dragging along his overly sensitive tip, watching the way his body jerks violently with overstimulation.

But you don’t stop.

You stroke him through it, slow and tight, dragging every last drop from him, his cock pulsing, twitching, his whimpers turning into helpless, wrecked cries.

“T-too much—f-fuck, b-baby—”* His voice is so weak, so ruined, so utterly fucking destroyed that he can barely even breathe.

But you keep going.

You suck harder, dragging your nails down his trembling thighs, taking him all the way back into your mouth, and he shrieks, his whole body flinching violently, his breath catching in sharp little gasps.

“Oh, f-fuck—oh, f-fuck—oh my god—please—please—”

He’s struggling now, actively fighting against the restraints, his body jerking uncontrollably, trying to pull away, trying to escape—

But you don’t let him.

“Awww, baby,” you coo, mocking, your mouth still wrapped tight around his cock. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked being in control?”

Jungwon sobs, thrashing beneath you, actually trying to get away, but he can’t.

“N-no more—please—please, baby, I-I can’t—”

And then he cums again.

So hard that his whole body convulses, his legs shaking, his chest rising sharply, his voice breaking completely, his sobs turning into nothing but gasps for air.

This time, his body just stops working.

Even as you slow your strokes, even as you lick the last of him away, even as you finally pull off of him, Jungwon is completely still.

His head lolls to the side, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths, his body weak, trembling, completely destroyed.

He passes out.

You carefully untie his wrists, massaging his twitching arms, pressing soft kisses to his damp forehead.

Just as you start to move away his arms shoot out, wrapping around you like a fucking koala, pulling you into his chest so tight you can barely move.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, his voice wrecked, hoarse, completely fucking gone.

You grin.

“Sure, Won”

“You’re a fucking demon.”

You laugh softly, curling into him.

“I know, baby.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

“Come on, Niki,” you pouted, straddling his lap, holding the silk ties up with big, pleading eyes. “Just once. For me?”

Niki just raised an eyebrow, giving you that infuriatingly smug grin, stretching his long limbs behind his head like he wasn’t even taking you seriously.

“I don’t see the point,” he mused. “I’m already stronger than you. If I wanted to get out, I’d just… get out.”

You groaned, throwing yourself onto his chest dramatically. “It’s not about that! It’s about the experience, the control, the trust, the—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” he mocked, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’ll let you tie me up. If it’ll make you happy, baby.”

You perked up instantly, grinning as you grabbed his wrists.

“Finally!”

Now?

Now, you’re two seconds from losing your damn mind.

Because Niki is absolutely ruining this.

Every time you tie him up, every time you think you’ve got him right where you want him—

He fucking escapes.

Like it’s nothing.

Like you’re not even trying.

The first time, you had him tied up nicely, wrists secured, headboard shaking, your lips trailing down his throat—and the next thing you knew, he was flipping you onto your back, his arms suddenly completely free as he grinned down at you.

“What the—NIKI!” you yelped, smacking his arm. “How did you—”

“Baby, come on,” he laughed, scooping you up effortlessly, pinning you beneath him like the whole tying-up thing never happened. “I’m literally taller than you. Did you really think I’d stay tied up?”

You pouted angrily, wiggling under him. “THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”

Take Two: Riding Him?

“Just stay tied up,” you whined, adjusting the silk restraints around his wrists again, glaring at him. “And don’t you dare break free this time, or so help me—”

Niki snorted, smirking up at you as you sank down onto him, taking him deep, your hands braced against his chest.

“Mmm, I’ll try, baby,” he murmured, watching you grind down, slow and deep, his lips parting on a low groan.

For once, it seemed like he was actually taking it seriously.

You relaxed, rolling your hips, settling into the moment—

Until—

SNAP.

You felt it before you even saw it.

The ties? Gone.

His hands? Completely free.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even do it on purpose—he just shifted slightly, and the fabric came undone like it was fucking Velcro.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” you screamed, shoving his chest in frustration, but the bastard just laughed, gripping your hips, rolling you deeper onto him.

“You really thought that would hold me?” he mocked, tilting his head, grinning like the little shit he was.

“I SPENT FIFTEEN MINUTES TYING YOU UP!”

“And I appreciate the effort, baby,” he cooed, flipping you onto your back effortlessly, pinning you beneath him again.

“But let’s be real… you can’t actually keep me down.”

Final Attempt: Face-Sitting

At this point, you were ready to lose it.

“Okay,” you said, shaking out your hands like an athlete preparing for battle, retying his wrists so tight that there was NO WAY he was getting out.

“This time, you’re staying put.”

Niki grinned up at you, that cocky glint in his eyes. “Sure, baby.”

You scowled, climbing up, hovering over his face, settling your weight down as you finally—finally—had your moment of victory.

Or so you thought.

Because the second you lowered yourself onto him, the second his mouth made contact, his arms shot out, grabbing your thighs, yanking you down so hard you almost fell forward.

“NIKI! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE TIED UP—”

He didn’t even let you finish.

Didn’t let you breathe.

Didn’t even let you process the betrayal.

Because in the next second, he was devouring you like a man starved, his grip on your thighs bruising, pulling you down so tight against his face that you had no choice but to take it.

Your body jerked violently, your fingers gripping the headboard for dear life, your breath knocked right out of youas his tongue moved so filthy, so deep, so desperate that your brain literally stopped functioning.

“N-Niki—oh my god—”

Then you heard it.

He was laughing.

Actually laughing against you, like this was the funniest fucking thing in the world, like he had just won some kind of twisted competition you didn’t even sign up for.

That’s when you snapped.

“GET YOUR FACE OUT OF THERE, YOU MENACE!” you shrieked, trying to pry his head away, trying to push yourself up, but it was fucking useless.

He had you locked down tight, had you right where he wanted you, and there was no escape.

“Nope,” he mumbled into you, smug as ever, lips dragging slow and torturous, his tongue curling in a way that made you tremble uncontrollably.

“I think I like it better this way.”

You don’t know how long he kept you there.

It felt like forever.

Your thighs were shaking violently, your body weak and useless, your mind nothing but static as you finally collapsed against the headboard, trying to catch your breath.

Niki had the fucking audacity to grin up at you, wiping his mouth like he’d just finished a damn meal, looking completely unbothered.

“So,” he mused, tilting his head innocently. “How’d that tying-up thing work out for you?”

You glared, your body still trembling, still trying to recover.

“I fucking hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You wanted to smack him, you really did.

But you had no strength left.

So you just flopped onto the bed dramatically, groaning into the pillow, accepting your fate.

“I give up,” you muttered.

“Oh, baby,” he purred, grinning as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he hadn’t just betrayed you on every level possible.

“You gave up the second you tried to tie me up.”

-

@naurwayyyyy @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @zzhengyu @annybah @ddolleri @kristynaaah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway143 @tiny-shiny @simbabyikue @koizekomi @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586

[lvl1l1]

Yes hello I will sell my soul to you if you give us a “who did this to you” type reaction with the love and deep space boys WAIT walk with me their lover calls them trying not to cry asking them to come get them they show up BAM they see them with bruises barley holding it together the ask what happened BAM AGAIN tears just crying as they explain that someone they kind of knew made a pass at them and when they were shut down they hit them yeah they are a hunter but they were so stunned who’s losing it and about to commit a crime and who’s silently about to actually ruin their whole life for hitting their princess that the boys would love and die for

All seriousness I know I made light of the reaction but I fully understand the serious implications of it if you don’t feel comfortable or that this is maybe to heavy to post feel free to ignore it I couldn’t find any rules about what you wouldn’t write for I hope this request doesn’t make you uncomfortable or is triggering in any way and if it is I sincerely and deeply apologize

“Who did this to you?”

Or: LaDS men when someone hurts you

pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader

WARNINGS: assault, harassment(please lmk if I missed smth)

content: hurt/comfort

a/n: someone tell me if the new format looks better

Xavier

The apartment was so quiet without you there.

Xavier was lying in bed, awake for a change.

He originally planned on taking a nap but as he noticed your side of the mattress being cold and untouched, he couldn’t fall asleep.

Sleep refused to come to him, while you were still out with your friends.

He couldn’t resist the unease in the back of his mind, gnawing at him.

He kept his phone close, just in case you needed him.

He finally felt his eyelids getting heavier, when the shrill buzz of his phone brought him back.

Your name lit up the screen and he instantly sat up.

His lips curled up into a small smile.

He picked up, anticipating your sweet voice.

But the moment he answered, all he was met with, were soft, broken sobs.

He felt the blood in his veins freeze.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

His voice missing its usually composure.

His was already moving before his mind had even caught up.

His posture was rigid as he got off the bed.

“Xavier, can you come get me, please?”

Your voice cracked, barely being above a whisper.

Before you could even hear his reply, Xavier already teleported across the city, he couldn’t be bothered to grab a jacket or change his clothes.

The moment he appeared before you, his heart broke.

You were standing under a flickering streetlight, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if to hold yourself together.

Tears were running down your cheeks and there was a slight tremble throughout your body.

But what made his hands curl into fists, were the bruises on your face, ugly, purple marks marking your perfect skin.

He didn’t move at first.

He couldn’t.

The fury raging inside of him was dangerous, violent.

He felt, that if he moved a muscle, he’d lose the weak grip he had on his restraint.

His jaw was locked, eyes raking over your form, taking in all your injuries.

His voice came out quietly, deathly calm but laced with barely contained anger.

“Who did this to you?”

You sniffled, forcing out the words,

“I thought he was a friend. The others left, we were standing here together and then-“

You interrupted yourself by choking on your words,

“He was-“

You inhaled deeply, trying to pull yourself together,

“When I rejected him, he got angry. He hurt me.”

The world around Xavier blurred momentarily, he felt consumed by the rage running through him, his ears were ringing.

But louder than that, was the sound of you, crying.

That’s what pulled him back.

You first

You were always first

He approached you, slow, careful steps, with his arms open but he wasn’t forcing you.

He was waiting, waiting for you to come to him.

You stumbled forward, collapsing into his chest.

The way he held you was oh so tender, one hand caressing the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles into your back.

He was shaking now, not out of anger but the overwhelming desire to protect, to heal, to be enough to make all your pain go away.

“I’m here.”

He whispered into your hair,

“You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you again. I swear to you.”

Your sobs only came out stronger and he simply held you tighter, encouraging you to let it all out.

Minutes passed like that. Hours, maybe. Time didn't matter.

Once your cries finally turned softer, becoming hiccuping breaths, he pulled back just enough to tilt your head up.

His usually bright eyes were burning with something darker, colder.

“His name. Tell me.”

His voice was low, dangerous

You hesitated but you knew Xavier.

You knew he wouldn’t let this go, not when it came to you.

You whispered the name and watched Xavier’s expression harden into something even more terrifying.

“Let’s get you home.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing away any left over tears.

“I’ll have to go for a bit after.”

There was a finality in his words, a promise.

You grabbed onto his sleeve weakly,

“Xavier, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

He looked down at you, pausing and his gaze softened again.

“For you,”

His voice a murmur,

“there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”

In the blink of an eye, he brought you home, before turning.

The night swallowed him up, like a silent predator.

He was going to hunt down the man who dared to hurt the one who was most precious to him.

Zayne

Zayne stepped out of the hospital, watching as the last golden rays of the setting sun stretched across the city.

It had been another long day and he couldn’t wait to see you again.

Just as he reached his car, his phone buzzed up.

A smile immediately curled onto his lips, as your name flashed on his phone screen.

Maybe you had finished up shopping just in time for him to come pick you up.

He answered on the first ring,

“Hello, darling-“

But he stopped mid sentence, when he heard a soft sniffle.

His heart plummeted.

Your name softly left his lips,

“What happened?”

His voice was sharp with panic now, he felt his muscles tensing.

Fighting your sobs, you tried to explain, while tripping over your words.

You ran into this guy you barely even knew.

At first, it seemed harmless enough, just engaging in some casual small talk with him.

Your answers were short and clipped, trying to be polite.

Then, when you tried to leave, he wouldn’t let you.

He blocked your way, getting increasingly more aggressive when you made it clear you weren’t interested.

Zayne tighten his grip on his phone, something tightening in his chest as he heard how the situation had escalated.

How you had gotten hurt.

You sounded so small. So scared.

“I’m on my way.”

He said firmly, getting into his car.

“Stay on the phone with me, alright? Tell me where you are.”

You gave him the name of grocery store, telling him you were waiting in the parking lot.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, as he weaved through traffic, dreading every second he wasn’t by your side.

You kept talking.

Or rather, he kept you talking.

His voice was low and steady, even when you fell silent, he didn’t rush you, didn’t push.

Just making sure you knew he was there.

When he pulled into the parking lot, his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting there, curled up on the curb.

Bruises visible on your skin, he noticed your wrist swelling from afar and the blood drying on the corner of your mouth.

But what really got him, was the hollow look in your eyes.

He wasted no time getting out of the car, he crossed the distance with long strides.

The moment you lifted your head and saw him, the tears started back up and you let out a broken sob.

You got to your feet, feeling almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Zayne. You’ve been working all day, I shouldn’t have dragged you here-“

He cut you off, his hands cupping your face gently, so carefully as to not hurt you further.

“Don’t. Don’t apologise for needing me.”

You could hear the emotion in his voice,

“I’m glad you called. You could never be a burden. Never.”

You finally let your body relax, falling into him and he caught you, arms wrapping around you, securely.

You two stayed still like that for a long moment, he was holding you safe against him and you clung to him.

He pulled back slightly, he brushed your hair out of your eyes, tenderly.

"Let’s get you taken care of."

He said softly.

He lead you to his car, opening the door for you and helping you in, a display of gentle care that made your eyes well back up.

The drive to the hospital was filled be a comfortable silence.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other rested on your knee in a silent reminder, showing you that he was by your side.

As soon as you arrived, Zayne parked hastily.

He held your hand as he helped you inside.

His face was grim and his whole body was tense but every time he looked at you, his gaze softened.

Once inside, he immediately called over Dr. Greyson.

After a few short, urgent words, Greyson took you under his care, leading you to a hospital room.

Zayne squeezed your hand before letting go.

"I'll be right here."

He said, voice low but certain.

As the door shut behind you, your boyfriend stood still before it.

He could feel his usually steady hands clenching at his sides.

His mind was racing, needing to make sure the man who did this to you would never come near you, or anyone else for that matter, again.

He sighed, thinking of how to best comfort you later.

Zayne would take care of everything.

You were safe now.

Rafayel

Rafayel stood off to the side of the gallery’s floor.

He thought tonight’s exhibition to be especially insufferably boring, the pretentious crowd leaving him annoyed.

He would’ve flat out refused Thomas if it hadn’t been for your soft kisses earlier that evening and your promise that you’d be fine hanging out with your friends.

That, however, didn’t stop him from mourning the time he knew he could’ve spend together with you instead.

All night, his mind kept drifting to you, your smile, your hand that had lingered on his cheek as you said goodbye.

He kept checking his phone, hoping for a message from you.

Nothing yet.

Some keen socialite kept trying to converse with him, throwing buzzwords around that he couldn’t care less for.

His phone finally vibrated against his palm.

Rafayel didn’t excuse himself, he simply turned and left, not sparing them another glance.

He lifted the phone to his ear, a grin pulling at his lips.

Then, he heard you.

You were crying.

His playful demeanour vanished in an instant.

He felt his heart constricting in his chest and his body snapped to attention.

“Where are you?”

His voice was low and commanding, not leaving any room for arguments, sounding like he was ready to tear through anything that stood in his way.

You managed to choke out your location through your sobs, somewhere a few blocks away from the location you had initially met your friends at.

You softly asked if he could pick you, not wanting to cause him any trouble.

“Trouble?”

He echoed darkly,

“I’m on my way already. Find a store and stay inside. Don’t leave until you see me.”

Rafayel hung up without another word, heading straight for the exit, ignoring the confused calls from the people around him and Thomas’s protests.

Non of that mattered. Nothing aside from you mattered.

The drive to you was a blur of red lights and the sound of cars honking, nothing that made him slow down.

His hands clenched around the steering wheel so tightly, the leather was creaking under his grip.

It was like the only thought on his mind was you.

You were standing by the door of a small convenience store, when he finally pulled up.

Your eyes were wide and red from crying.

Once you spotted his car, relief washed over your posture and Rafayel was out of the car and by your side in seconds.

He reached for you, one hand gently wrapping around your elbow and the other ghosting above your waist as he looked you up and down.

Bruises. Bloody fabric. The fear still lingering in your wide eyes.

Rafayel’s jaw clenched so hard the thought his teeth might end up cracking.

His body and mind were screaming for him to do something, to destroy someone but he forced himself to stay soft and gentle with you.

“What happened, cutie?”

He asked in a low tone,

He noticed the way you hesitated first but then you opened up.

You told him how your friends had all left one by one until you were alone with a man you barely knew.

You tried to leave before things got weird, but things ended up getting weird anyway.

He started making gross, inappropriate comments and when you tried to shake him off, he followed.

And lastly how when you turned him down for good, he decided to hurt you.

Rafayel didn’t interrupt you once as you were speaking.

He listened in silence, drinking in every word, every tremble of your voice and every tear that slid down your cheeks.

Once you finished, he pulled you into his arms, the way he touched you was so soft, so careful, almost reverent.

Like he was afraid any amount of pressure could hurt you.

As he held you close, he pressed his face into the top of your head, inhaling deeply.

“I got you.”

He murmured.

“I’m not letting go.”

He wasn’t pushing for the man’s name, not yet.

He wouldn’t ask for details he could find out later.

Right now, all you needed was him.

He carefully lead you to his car, helping you settle in.

You two spend the rest of the night relaxing.

Once you had gotten back home, he took all the time in the world to tend to you.

He gently cleaned the scrapes on your arms and knees.

He gave you one of his sweaters, having it frame you like a shield.

He made you drink water, brought you warm towels and curled around you on the couch.

Once exhaustion overtook you, you drifted off to sleep, leaning against him, your fingers curled loosely in his shirt.

And only when he was certain, that you were fast asleep, your breathing steady, did Rafayel slowly and carefully remove himself from under you.

He made sure to tuck you in properly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then his expression hardened into something sharp and dangerous as he picked up his phone again.

No one would hurt you and walk away.

He’d make sure of that.

By morning, that man would regret ever laying a hand on you.

Sylus

Sylus was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while the meeting was dragging on.

The men sitting across from him kept talking and talking about things he could easily fix in his sleep.

His mind was elsewhere, with you.

He couldn’t wait until this was done and he could get home, grab a bottle of something decent and have you curl up against him, just as you had planned.

Thinking about you, waiting for him, a sleepy smile grazing your lips, was the only thing keeping him from snapping at the idiots in the room.

Then his phone vibrated in his jacket’s pocket.

He knew it was you but that thought didn’t exactly excite him.

As he read your name on his phone, he straightened.

You never called him while you knew he was working, not unless something was wrong.

Sylus quickly lifted his hand, silencing the man who was mid sentence.

He stood up casually, answering the call with his usual teasing charm.

"What's up, kitten?"

The moment your broken sobs reached his ears, his expression shifted.

You were crying so hard you could barely breathe.

He didn’t care about anything else but you, didn’t care for the men hearing the desperation in his voice,

“Talk to me, love. Breathe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

It took you a few seconds, your voice shaking but you finally managed to gasp out,

“Can you please come pick me up?”

He stalked out of the room, offering no explanation.

“I’m coming.”

There was no need for Sylus to ask where you were, you had stayed late at the Hunter’s Association to finish some reports.

He was familiar with your routine.

He quickly send Mephisto to your location.

On his way, he broke more than enough traffic laws as he ripped from the N109 Zone to Linkon City.

Your broken sobs kept replaying in his head and it caused him to lose focus multiple times, you were the only thought running through his mind.

When he finally screeched into a street near the Association, his gaze locked onto you immediately.

You were sitting on the sidewalk, looking so small.

Mephisto was protectively perched near you.

Luke and Kieran look out from the car, feeling bad seeing you like this.

Sylus moved without thinking.

He dropped to his knees right in front of you, the expression he was wearing was heartbreakingly soft.

One of his hands landed on your leg.

You looked up at him with tired and red rimmed eyes, a weak smile tugging at your lips,

“Hi.”

You whispered hoarsely, voice weak.

His chest tightened as he looked at you.

The desire to tear the city apart burning inside of him.

He controlled himself,

“Ready to go home, kitten?”

You nodded, lips trembling.

Sylus helped you up, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you as if you were made of glass.

Once you were standing again, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand and started sobbing again.

Sylus was hurting with you.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, whispering calming things, trying anything to ease your pain.

You clung onto him as he lead you to the car.

Once you were both settled in, Luke took off, driving back to the N109 Zone, while Kieran was glaring daggers out of the window.

You two were sitting in the back together and he was cradling you against his side.

His fingers brushed through your hair.

When you gained the strength to open up, you did.

While your voice was hitching here and there, you told him about the man, some guy you only knew through mutual friends, who ended up cornering you once you left the association’s building.

You told about how he kept pestering you, making disgusting comments, refusing to leave you alone.

How, when you finally turned him down firmly, he got violent.

Sylus listened to every word, not interrupting you once.

He didn’t ask for the guy’s name.

He didn’t need to.

He already had everything he needed.

For now, you were all that mattered.

Arriving at the base, Sylus carried you inside like you weighed nothing.

He set you down on his bed, covering you with the soft blanket.

He cleaned your wounds with a patience he wasn’t known for.

His touch never hurt.

Every single one of his movements was an unspoken promise,

“No one will ever hurt you again.”

He stayed close all night.

Held you until you felt better.

Ran his fingers through your hair until morning came and you fell asleep, curled up in his arms.

And once he was sure, absolutely sure, you were truly asleep, did he slowly pull away.

He softly kissed you on the lips.

Then, he straightened.

Rolling his shoulders, his eyes turned dark.

He wasn't going to leave this to his men.

No, Sylus was going to personally make sure that bastard understood exactly what it meant to touch what belonged to him.

By morning, the world would be free of one more pest.

And Sylus would be back before you had even woken up.

Caleb

Night was just starting to roll around when Caleb finally returned home.

His uniform felt suffocating after such a long day.

He was halfway through unbuttoning his coat, when his phone buzzed.

Your name lit up his screen.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He figured you and your friends must've wrapped up earlier than expected, and you needed him to come pick you up.

He picked up immediately.

But the moment he heard your voice, that smile crumbled.

You were crying, not the usual soft sniffles from watching a sad movie or dropping your snack.

This was gut wrenching, helpless sobbing.

Caleb stilled, his body tensed, something deep inside of him breaking at the sound of your pain.

“Hey, hey,”

He quickly said, voice gentle.

“What wrongs, pips? I’m here.”

You were stumbling over your words, hiccuping,

“Do you think you could pick me up now?”

You sounded so small, so weak.

“Of course.”

He answered without hesitation,

“Stay where you are and keep your location on.”

Not that he needed it.

He already knew where you were.

Near the old library.

He always kept tabs, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he needed to make sure you were safe in a world that wasn’t always.

Caleb wasted not time, not even bothering to change out of his uniform.

The streets were relatively empty but even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

Caleb wanted to get to you as quickly as he possibly could, that meant ignoring speed limits and red lights.

When he spotted you, his heart broke.

You were sitting on a pair of steps, rubbing your eyes sore.

You looked up when you heard the screech of his tires and the slam of his car door.

Caleb was running towards you.

He stopped a few steps away.

His purple eyes roamed over you quickly, taking in the bruises that were forming and how disheveled you looked, the way you were shrinking in on yourself.

His eyes darkened, hands balled into fists at his sides and his muscles were flexing under his uniform.

“Who did this?”

Voice rough, barely a restrained growl.

His whole body was screaming for violence, to hurt someone back, inflict what they had done to you.

You shook your head, tears spilling again.

Caleb instantly softened.

The fury on his face was replaced by a loving look.

"Come here."

He murmured, stepping forward.

His arms pulled you into an embrace, so carefully that it made you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

And to him, you were.

You leaned into him, your sobs were muffled and he was whispering sweet nothings against the crown of your head.

You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice trembling.

You started explaining,

how your two friends had to leave early and how the guy one of them had brought along, had stayed behind.

At first, it wasn’t too weird.

A few uncomfortable jokes, some flirting you politely brushed off.

But it didn’t stop, even when you mentioned Caleb, your boyfriend.

He just became more aggressive, more persistent.

Until you tried to leave, that’s when he became physical.

Caleb didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

You knew what he felt through his arms tightening around you.

Showing his anger, how he was hurt for you, telling that no one would touch what’s his.

The kiss he pressed to your forehead was grounding.

He lead you into the car, buckling you in himself.

Once you two were back in his apartment, he ran you a warm bath.

He was staying close, helping you clean up if you as much as asked.

He fetched you some soft towels, your favourite hoodie of his, anything that he knew would comfort you.

He was sitting right outside of the bathroom door while you soaked, close for you to call his name so he could be there in an instant.

Later, as you were curled up in his bed, wearing his hoodie, lying under a mountain of blankets, Caleb sat beside you.

He was reassuring you, squeezing your hand that was holding onto his.

He kissed your knuckles, he lingered, murmured promises against your skin.

He whispered,

“I won't let anyone touch you ever again."

You eventually drifted off to sleep, coaxing you to.

And once he was sure, Caleb stood from the bed quietly, moving like a ghost.

He headed straight for his office.

He overlooked his screens, fingers flying over the controls, looking into camera footage, facial recognition, movement trackers.

It didn’t take long to find that bastard.

Caleb’s eyes were cold as he tapped a finger against his cheek, calculating.

Joining the fleet and ever had taught him how to fight in ways that left no witnesses, no survivors, no traces.

The man who hurt you would find his life dismantled piece by piece.

His reputation, his finances, his freedom, all gone in the blink of an eye.

No one could protect him from Caleb’s wrath now.

And when Caleb finally returned to bed, slipping under the covers and pulling you close to him, he softened once again.

He held you, trying to make you feel his silent promise.

The promise that no one would ever hurt you again.

Not while Caleb was still breathing.

[thepitlanepress]

BREAK DOWN –

↳ oscar piastri + gf!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: coming out of the aus gp with no will to live and an idea for a fic is probably the worst thing ever but here we are...

oscar was devastated.

you knew it, from the moment he spun out of the race, you knew he was crushed. his words on the radio were filled with so much sadness and you had to fight the urge to run out of the garage and hug him as soon as he finished.

you could see it in the way he got out of the car, you could see it in the way he held himself during interviews, you could see it in the way he was walking.

you had always been able to read oscar like a book, and it was moments like these when you were grateful you were so fluent in him. because you can see his hurt and the disappointment coursing through him. he puts on a brave face that falters every so often and fans catch onto that but you can see past it.

it crushes your soul when you watch the post race interview through a screen tucked away in a corner of his drivers room. you so badly want to comfort him, to assure him everything will be okay.

when he does walk through the door, he's quiet and hard cleaning up his things and ignoring you, sitting down and just resting there in silence. you don't take it personally though, and wait for him to let you in.

after about half an hour of quiet he shuffles over and offers you his hand, you take it, instantly offering support in whatever way you can, gently rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand.

you sit like that for a long while you playing gently with his hand while he holds onto your tightly, staying in the private bubble of his drivers room, politely declining all of the people who stop by trying to talk to him.

and eventually when its time to go home, he stands in silence, still gripping your hand as if its the only thing tethering him to earth. you walk out of the paddock together ignoring the reporters and cameras shoved in your faces with you leading the way back to your car.

he's silent all the way back home, not saying anything but still holding onto your hand. its the only thing that tells you that he's still here with you- that he still wants you with him.

you walk into the apartment together, dropping your bags on the kitchen counter and watching as he lets go of your hand and makes his way into the bedroom, you hear shuffling for a bit and then the shower starts running.

deciding to keep yourself busy while he's in there you walk over to the couch and flick through some of his favourite shows, settling on one and pressing pause as you wait for him to emerge from the shower.

oscar's soft footsteps announce his arrival and when you look up you can see the last cracks in his amor shatter. he collapses into your arms sobbing violently, his body wracked with tremors as he loses his composure.

your arms instantly come around him wrapping him and a fierce hug and rubbing his back trying to soothe him in anyway you can.

his tears break your heart clean open and he tightly wraps his arms around you, refusing to let go. you gently run your hands through his hand pressing kisses to his head and whispering soft assurances in his ear.

"its my fault," he says through cries. "i fucked over the win."

"shhh," you whisper into his hair. "it's okay, its okay, its okay."

"i could've won. i could've won and i fucked myself over. i'm so worthless, whats the point if i can't even keep myself from spinning out?"

"you listen to me oscar piastri," you say your voice soft but fierce. "you are not worthless, and it was not your fault, it was the weather the track was wet you hit the gravel and you accidentally spun out. you are so talented. you wouldn't be here if you weren't."

"i should've anticipated the wet track though, i should've been better," he says into your lap.

"you forget how amazing you are baby," you say quietly pressing another kiss to his head and playing with his hair, "you are so extremely talented, i wish you could see that."

you fall back into silence after that, the only sound filling the apartment is oscar's quiet sobs and your murmurs as you calm him down.

soon he stops crying his body no longer shaking with sobs and tears no longer falling down his face. he still has a death grip on you and he nestles in closer to you, sighing softly when he registers your hands running though his hair.

you stay together like that for half of the night. and no matter how many nights over time that end up like this - not that you hoped these types of days happened ever again - you would stick by oscar's side.

for all the times he felt crushed, you would be there to build him back up, you would be there for the days he felt like shit, you would be there for all of it.

especially when he won.

because oscar was worth it.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[noorpersona]

Favourite Positions: Sakusa

Sakusa Kiyoomi had never liked mess.

He wasn’t fond of anything sticky, anything uncontrolled, anything that demanded he surrender to chaos.

And sex, by nature, was a little chaotic.

But with you—it wasn’t. With you, it was something else. Something he could control, savor, memorize.

And when you sat on his face?

It became his favorite thing in the world.

You’d asked him, once—quietly, maybe even shyly—if he wanted to try it. You’d been hesitant, even as you knelt over him on the bed, thighs trembling with anticipation. But Sakusa hadn’t hesitated.

He had only looked up at you with those dark, focused eyes and said, “Sit.”

And now?

Now, your thighs were trembling around his head.

His hands were firm around them, fingers digging into your skin, guiding your hips as you rocked against his mouth. His curls were damp with sweat and slick. His jaw worked with slow, punishing precision.

Every time his tongue dragged up between your folds, he flattened it against your clit and flicked—just once, just enough to make your body twitch—and then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Your hands were buried in the sheets behind you, hips tilted forward as he held you steady, held you still, held you open.

"Kiyoomi—" you gasped, but it was barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His mouth was too busy—working you apart, slow and relentless, tongue curling, lips sealing around you with devastating pressure. He sucked you down, drew another sharp moan from your throat, and when you twitched above him, tried to lift off just a little—

His grip tightened.

“Don’t move,” he rasped against you, voice low, strained, and muffled by the heat of your cunt. "I’m not done yet."

Your breath caught.

You could barely hold yourself up. Your legs were shaking violently, muscles screaming, your entire body flushed with heat. You were soaked. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, clinging to his cheeks, smearing against his lips.

And he was loving it.

He groaned into you, hands pulling you down harder, deeper, locking you into place as his tongue fucked into you—slow, deep, precise. He was savoring you.

You sobbed. Loud, wrecked, desperate.

“I—I can’t—Kiyoomi—”

His only response was a low moan, like he was addicted to the taste of you, to the way you sounded. His nose was pressed against your clit, tongue working deeper, messier now, grinding slow and firm until your thighs were twitching with every stroke.

Your vision blurred. The knot in your stomach pulled tighter, tighter, too tight.

And then—

You broke.

You came with a scream, hips jerking, grinding into his face as your orgasm crashed through you in one white-hot wave. Your whole body locked up, the pleasure too intense, too much, almost unbearable.

But Sakusa didn’t stop.

Not even when your thighs started to shake uncontrollably.

Not even when you whimpered, “Please,” so softly it was barely sound.

He shifted the angle of his mouth, focused entirely on your clit now, his tongue flicking rapidly, pressure sharp and steady. His hands held you down as your entire body jolted with overstimulation.

You cried out again, voice cracking, hands flying forward to claw at his hair, at the headboard, anything you could reach.

He was going to make you come again.

And he did.

The second orgasm was worse. Sharper. It tore through you like lightning, and you couldn’t even scream this time—you just gasped, mouth open, eyes wide, legs clamping tight around his head as you sobbed through it.

And still—he didn’t stop.

Your body shook. Collapsed. Melted into his mouth.

Only when your hips bucked too hard—when your voice gave out entirely, when your whole body spasmed in his hold—did he finally relent.

He kissed your inner thigh once, slow and deliberate, then another kiss to your slick, swollen folds, almost reverent. You slumped forward, collapsing onto the bed, shaking.

Sakusa pushed himself up slowly, eyes dark and unreadable, curls stuck to his forehead. His face was soaked. His lips were flushed, chin wet with you, and he looked completely ruined.

And satisfied.

He crawled up beside you, his hand gentle on your hip.

“Still breathing?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You could only nod, barely.

He leaned down and kissed your shoulder, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your spine.

“You’re going to do that again,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a question.

And in that moment, you knew he’d found his favorite position.

[crushmeeren]

Hiii I hope you’re doing well!! I was wondering if you could write Hitoshi shinsou x reader of him absolutely destroying our guts 😊

Thank you!!!

-🐞

♡ Master List Link

♡ Everyone is 18+/aged up — scroll or block if that bothers you.

﴿ Note ⇢ Hello friend! I am doing well and I can definitely write this. I hope you enjoy!

﴿ Another note ⇢ P.S. I write it as ꙳ ﹡ FEM READER ꙳ ﹡ unless specified, but I did try to refrain from using things like good girl, pretty girl, etc. because I wasn’t sure. I did however use female anatomy.

You slam the front door shut so violently the frame rattles, threatening to crack under pressure.

“Everything alright baby?” Hitoshi’s smokey timbre calls out cautiously from the kitchen. He was forewarned about your god awful day out on patrol, so he’s treading carefully.

Your fingernails sink into your palms, teeth creaking as you round the corner to your kitchen. There’s a fury boiling in your chest that’s about to overflow.

“What the fuck do you think? You know how to read, don’t you? Because I already texted you what happened.” There’s a nasty bite to your words, eyes narrowing as your lip curls upwards.

Silence hangs heavily in the air for a few beats.

Hitoshi’s face remains impassive as he stands across the island from you. Casually, he folds his arms over his chest, arching one singular eyebrow at your bitchy tone.

Hitoshi may as well exhale frost when he replies.

“Do you really want to walk down this road tonight?”

Apparently, you do.

When Hitoshi bends you over the side of your bed five minutes later, you’re entirely naked.

He’s got your arms bent and twisted behind your back in the most uncomfortable position as Hitoshi ties your wrists together with part of his capture weapon.

It’s tight — you can barely wiggle your fingers, heartbeat thudding in your fingertips.

A brutal swirl of exasperation and anticipation churns in your stomach. When the underground hero yanks the material even tighter, a layer of sticky sweat gathers in the valley between your tits, and you spasm against the blankets.

“Hitoshi!” You squeak, sucking in air through your teeth. “That hurts, you jerk!” You rise up on your tip toes to try and pull away from his grip, but your shoulders only twinge in protest. Hitoshi looms behind you, snickering as he wrenches your bound wrists upwards and forces you to still.

“Too late sweetheart, you’ve been way too much of a brat tonight for me to care about your comfort. Now, I’m gonna teach you a lesson and fuck that shitty attitude out of you,” he says hotly, confirming what you already knew he was going to do.

A calloused palm presses down in between your shoulder blades, shoving you further down into the bed.

You don’t speak, clenching your jaw in frustration when a hot flush pours over your cheeks. The material of your current restraints dig annoyingly into your skin each time you flex your wrists.

Hitoshi’s hand rains down on your ass, a sharp sting radiating up to your tailbone. He made it his mission for that one to hurt.

A muffled scream of his name punches out of you into the sheets below.

“What is it sweetheart?” He snarls, teasing the soft tip of his cock between the lips of your pussy. “Can’t handle the punishment for being so fucking rude to me?”

Your breath catches, goosebumps taking over your arms. Your clit pulses, pussy eager to swallow his cock whole.

“Well?” He urges, yanking your forearms backwards until your spine arches, lifting your face from the blankets.

Your shoulders ache, throbbing dully and then suddenly a switch flips, all traces of your previous rage draining from your veins.

“I’m sorry Hitoshi!” You sob, voice scratchy and breaking. You shove your hips backwards, trying to get him inside you.

“That’s it pretty baby, good job,” he purrs, gifting you mercy and sliding his cock inside with one effortless motion.

Hitoshi starts fucking you as if he’s attempting to carve a space out inside your guts just for himself. Hips bouncing off your ass until your muscles are going taut, slick pussy suffocating his cock.

He fucks you until you’re a gooey, brain melted mess beneath him. Encouraging you to keep cumming for him, his husky moans dancing in the air when you curse his name.

Afterwards, once your chest stops heaving and your soul has returned to your body, you’re infinitely grateful for a boyfriend like Hitoshi.

“Hitoshi, thank you. I really needed that,” you mumble, throat raw as sandpaper. Hitoshi hums as he swiftly works to free your hands.

“No worries baby. I’ll fuck you into your place anytime you need it,” he teases, tilting his head back in laughter as you punch his shoulder halfheartedly.

Your wretched day is entirely forgotten as you climb into bed that night.

[narcoticv3nus]

Pretty When You Cry 𝜗ৎ König

Kinktober Day XXV: Crying

summary: hubby fucks you so good you cry tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, p in v, crying, degradation, praise, rough sex, dacryphilia, mean!könig, but also sweet?könig, dom!könig, sub!reader, author tries really hard at accents wc: 1.3k

MASTERLIST

König loomed over you, his hands perched on your hips, pulling you backward to meet his brutal thrusts. Your pussy was stretched painfully wide to accommodate his girth, his length spearing in and out of you at a ruthless speed. His hand found its way into your hair, pushing your cheek into your pillow. His grip tightened, his growls deepening, his balls smacking lewdly against your clit as he used you for his pleasure.

König perched his leg upwards, now kneeling behind your more diminutive form as he fucked into you at a new angle that made your vision go white with pure ecstasy.

A choked sob escaped your lips, heavy and caught in your throat, as an overwhelming pressure surged deep within your chest. Your heart raced, your chest heaving with every breath you took, and tears cascaded down your cheeks, warm and relentless.

"Ahh, you feel so good, meine Kleine..." he groaned, his voice strained and husky. He reveled in the feeling of your tightness around him, your body quivering beneath his powerful thrusts. His fingers flexed in your hair, guiding your head further into the pillow as he leaned over you, his muscular chest pressing against your back.

He paused momentarily, allowing you to adjust to the new angle, then began moving again—this time harder, faster. His hips rocked against yours, his heavy breaths hot against your neck. He could feel your tears wetting the pillowcase beneath your face, but his arousal was too great to care about any emotional turmoil you might be experiencing. He needed to claim you, to mark you as his own. His cock swelled inside you, and his tempo increased.

His hand trailed down your spine, resting at the base of your back, holding you firmly against him. His thrusts grew more forceful, almost violent in nature. He knew you could take it—he'd seen you do it before.

With every one of your sobs, König's thrusts became more powerful, his grip on your hip tightening as he continued to ravage you. His teeth sank into your shoulder, eliciting a muffled cry from your lips, the pain adding fuel to the fire of his lust.

He pulled almost completely out before slamming back into you, the impact making your whole body jolt forward. His breathing grew ragged as his orgasm loomed near, his muscles tensing with anticipation. His fingers dug into your skin as he began to pound into you mercilessly, his hips moving with a wild abandon.

He leaned close to your ear, whispering, "Vhat are you? Mine, yes?" He sought validation, needed it, as his control started to slip. He wanted to hear you admit it, to acknowledge that you belonged to him and no one else. The room was filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, punctuated by your cries and his harsh breaths. "Say it..." he demanded, his voice strained, as he continued his relentless assault.

König's thrusts intensified, each one hitting deep inside you, causing waves of pleasure mixed with pain that sent your senses spiraling. His teeth grazed your neck, sending shivers down your spine, as he sought to regain control of the situation. His cock throbbed inside you, his climax approaching rapidly.

"Vhat are you?" he asked again, more insistent this time. "Mine, aren't you?" He needed to hear it, to know that he had complete dominance over your being. He reached around with one hand, finding your clit and beginning to rub it roughly, ignoring any signs of protest or pain.

"Answer me!" His fingers worked furiously, pushing you closer to the edge. His breaths came in short, and staccato burst against your neck.

“M’yours!” You sobbed, crying out as he landed sharp blows to your ass, the smacks ricocheting off the walls and into your ears.

"Ja, meine Kleine..." he growled in approval, feeling his orgasm build further at your submission. His thrusts became erratic, each one more powerful than the last.

He continued to spank you, each slap echoing through the room as he drove deeper inside you. His grip on your hip tightened, leaving bruises that would bloom later. He wanted you to remember this moment—to recall who owned you every time you sat down or moved. The thought sent another surge of desire coursing through his veins.

"Scream for me..." he commanded, his voice low and guttural. His fingers circled your clit relentlessly, applying pressure until you cried out again, your body tensing beneath him. He knew you were close—he could feel how your muscles contracted around him. With one final, brutal thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

König followed suit, his release exploding with a primal roar that shook the very foundations of the building. His cock pulsed inside you, filling you with hot semen.

"Mine," he growled triumphantly as he rode out the last waves of pleasure before collapsing onto the bed beside you, his breaths heavy and labored.

König gripped your face in his rough hand, squishing your cheeks together until your lips puckered childishly. He pulled you toward him, ignoring your whimper in pain. He lowered his hand to your upper neck, controlling your head movements before leaning forward and dragging his tongue over your damp skin, collecting the salty tears into his mouth, drinking your essence with a groan of pleasure. “So pretty,”

"Shh... it's okay, meine Schatz..." he said soothingly, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to your temple. He didn't enjoy causing you pain—it merely served to heighten his pleasure. He wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you securely against his broad chest as your sobs subsided into quiet whimpers.

He could feel your rapid heartbeat slowing, your breathing evening out. His gaze shifted to your reddened ass, where his handprints still lingered. A sense of pride swelled within him—a reminder of his possession. He pulled the covers over you both, his cock still semi-hard inside you.

"Get some rest..." he murmured, his voice gruff with satisfaction. König stroked your hair gently, his eyes never leaving your face as you slept.

main masterlist, rules

[pjmxtra]

what if nk × fem reader in wax play? Remember the chrome hearts candle ni-ki has in his dorm✨️

pain is pleasure ‧₊˚ ⋅

paring: 니키 x fmr

warning: smut! Reader is describe skinny (if that makes you uncomfortable block me!) wax play, burning, dom!niki, sub! reader, oral sex (f), fingering, p in v, to lazy to put more

an: it's getting freaky out here with these requests hope I did good I've never experienced doing wax play so I didn't really know what to write but!!

Niki stood at the edge of the bed, gaze dark and hungry as it roamed over your slight, trembling body. You looked so small wrapped in blush-pink lace, wrists bound and pinned above your head with silk ties.

The fabric barely covered you, clinging to your sharp hips, your narrow chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. He could see the way your ribs pressed gently against your skin, the lace hugging the curve of your flat chest like a whisper.

Your thighs quivered against the soft bedding, legs parted just slightly, as if you were inviting him in despite yourself.

Those big doe eyes of yours blinked up at him from beneath your lashes, wide and glossy, filled with that familiar mixture of anticipation and fear. The cloth in your mouth muffled your little whines, but he could still hear you — could feel every sound you made echoing in his bones.

“You look like a gift someone left just for me,” Niki murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple. His voice was low, almost tender, but there was nothing soft about the heat in his eyes. “All wrapped up. Helpless.”

His fingers trailed slowly down your chest, grazing over the delicate bones beneath your skin — the sharp edge of your sternum, the small mounds of your breasts barely filling his palm. He brushed his thumbs over your nipples, already peaked through the lace, and smiled when you arched into the touch like it hurt.

And then he reached for the candle.

You whimpered instantly when you saw it — the thick, cream-colored wax already softening near the flame. Niki tilted the candle just enough for you to watch the first drop fall, slow and deliberate.

He didn’t say a word as he held it over your belly, right above your navel, and let a single drop hit your skin.

You jumped violently, breath catching. The pain was sharp, immediate, but fleeting — quickly replaced by a burn that pulsed low in your belly. You thrashed lightly against the ties, a muffled sob pressed into the gag.

Niki chuckled, warm and cruel. “We haven’t even started, baby.”

He kissed your forehead again, soft like he was soothing you — but the glint in his eye said otherwise. With calculated precision, he tipped the candle again, letting the wax drip slowly down your stomach in uneven trails, branding you.

Your hips bucked, desperate and helpless. He let it happen, admired the way your body danced under his control, your thighs twitching as you tried to stay still. “Look at you. Trying to take it. You’re doing so good.”

When the wax began to cool, forming little splashes on your skin like a twisted artist’s canvas, he finally set the candle down. But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

His large hand trailed lower, fingers sliding over the front of your lace panties. You were soaked, the fabric darkened with your need. He pressed his fingers in slow circles against your clit, watching your hips twitch in response, your thighs squeezing together in instinctive need. You were trembling now, entirely at his mercy.

He slipped his hand into your waistband and ran a thick finger through your wet folds, collecting the slick mess you’d made for him. You tried to hold his gaze, but your eyes fluttered shut when he pushed a finger in — then another — rough and fast from the start.

You moaned behind the cloth, the sound high-pitched and desperate.

“That’s it,” Niki growled. “Let me hear you"

He pumped his fingers into you harder, curling them just right, the wet sounds of your cunt filling the room, obscene and beautiful. Your whole body strained against the ties, hips rocking helplessly, thighs tensing as that sharp edge of release built like a storm inside you.

But just as your breath hitched, just as you were ready to fall over the edge— He stopped.

His fingers slipped free, glistening with your arousal, and he looked down at you with a smirk that made your whole body ache.

Your hips jerked in frustration, eyes pleading. But Niki just leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Not yet, little thing,” he whispered. “I haven’t finished painting you.”

Your breath came in ragged little gasps around the gag, your eyes glassy with desperation. Every part of you throbbed—your skin, your cunt, your mind overwhelmed and trembling on the edge. And Niki watched you, eyes dark with possession, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful than your suffering.

He picked up the candle again.

Your eyes widened. You tried to shake your head, a soft sound of protest slipping from your throat. But he only smiled, calm and cruel, tipping your chin up with two fingers.

“You can take it,” he murmured. “You want to, don’t you? Want to be marked for me. Even here.”

He dragged the candle lower, just above your pelvis now. You felt the heat of it before the wax even touched you, your whole body clenching in anticipation. He tilted it—slowly, deliberately—and a drop fell just at the edge of your lace panties, so close to your clit you jerked like you’d been shocked.

Another drop, lower this time. Right on the tender crease where your thigh met your hipbone.

You choked on a whimper, back arching. The burn was sharp, bright, then dulled into a pulsing ache that only made the need between your legs worse.

Niki looked mesmerized, watching the wax trail over your skin like he was painting a masterpiece. His fingers gently pulled your panties aside, exposing the slick, trembling mess beneath.

“You’re soaked,” he said, almost in awe.

He dropped the candle on the nightstand, finally, and then sank down between your thighs. His big hands slid under your legs, lifting them easily, spreading you open. The cool air hit your dripping cunt, and then. His tongue.

Hot and broad and slow at first, licking one long stripe from your entrance up to your clit. You cried out behind the gag, hips bucking into his face, desperate for more. Niki groaned like he was starving, like your taste ruined him.

He wrapped his arms under your thighs, locking you in place, and started to devour you.

His tongue flicked and curled around your clit, fast and relentless, while his mouth sucked just enough to make you see stars. Every sound you made only pushed him harder, deeper—he licked you like he was trying to make you fall apart with just his mouth.

Your legs trembled in his hold, your whole body tensed as your orgasm started to crest again, harder and hotter this time. Your eyes rolled back, every nerve ending screaming for release.

Niki felt it, the way your cunt clenched and pulsed under his tongue. He moaned into you, sending vibrations through your swollen clit, and your body jerked in response. You were so close. Right there.

Then he slipped two fingers inside you again. He curled them just right, fucking you with the same rhythm his tongue worked over your clit, and that was it.

You shattered.

Your body convulsed, thighs shaking in his grip, your mouth open around the gag as a raw, broken sob of pleasure escaped. He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, tongue and fingers working you harder as your orgasm tore through you like a wave crashing over your fragile body.

Only when your legs started twitching, your cunt still fluttering around his fingers, did he finally pull away. He kissed your inner thigh, then the spot where the wax had hardened into glossy shapes—his signature, sealed on your skin.

You lay there, boneless and buzzing, chest heaving as he moved up your body and whispered into your ear.

“Now you’re ready for me.”

Your body was limp beneath him, ruined and trembling, every inch of your skin flushed and marked. The wax had cooled into hardened trails down your stomach and thighs, a pattern of pain and devotion. Your breath came in soft, choked sobs around the gag, but your eyes stayed on him—hazy and pleading.

Niki watched you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling as he slid his hands down your sides. He leaned in, brushing his lips along your cheek, your jaw, whispering against your ear.

“You look like a little canvas,” he murmured. “So delicate. So perfect. All mine.”

You whined, hips shifting, seeking friction against his thigh. He chuckled softly, sitting back on his heels as he finally undid the button of his pants, freeing his cock—thick, flushed, already dripping for you. He pumped it slowly, deliberately, letting you watch.

And then, he picked up the candle again.

You moaned helplessly, the sound swallowed by the cloth in your mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he crawled back between your legs. “I’ll give you what you need. But I’m going to keep painting you while I do it.”

He lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing. You tried to move your hips, to pull him in, but he gripped your thighs hard and held you down.

The first drop of wax hit your ribcage, just under your breast. You cried out, hips jolting—and that was when he pushed into you.

One slow, brutal thrust.

You felt every inch of him stretch you open, your small, fragile body clenching around him instinctively. He filled you completely, thick and overwhelming, and your body tried to both escape and hold him in all at once.

“Oh, fuck,” Niki groaned. “You feel even tighter when you’re fighting it.”

He started to move—slow at first, dragging every thrust out so you could feel it, feel how deeply he owned you. His cock filled you again and again, his pace just on the edge of merciless.

And the wax didn’t stop.

Another drop, just above your hip. Then lower, near your navel, in between thrusts.

You whimpered and writhed under him, the combination of the hot wax and the thick, punishing rhythm of his cock keeping your nerves on fire. Your cunt fluttered around him, slick and needy and impossibly sensitive.

He looked down at you, breathless, watching the way your body jerked with each drop, how your face twisted in pain and pleasure.

“Look at this mess,” he rasped, dragging his fingers through the wax trail just beneath your breasts. “So pretty like this. All marked up. All mine.”

He reached up and yanked the gag from your mouth.

You gasped, drool slipping from your lip, voice cracking as you moaned, “Please—please, I need to come—”

Niki’s pace quickened, his hips snapping forward with raw force, slamming into you again and again. His free hand came down between your legs, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit, now swollen and aching from the teasing.

Another drop of wax, this time closer to your cunt, right on your mound.

You screamed.

And then you came.

It ripped through you violently—your whole body convulsing, your voice breaking as your climax took you like a wave drowning a drowning girl. Your cunt clamped down around him, milking him, and he groaned low and deep, thrusts growing erratic.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he growled, bending down over you, burying his face in your neck. “Take it. Take everything.”

And with one final thrust, he came hard inside you—filling you up so deep it made you shudder all over again. You felt him pulse inside you, his cock twitching as he poured himself into your trembling, wax-covered body.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his chest pressed to yours, lips brushing your ear.

“You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made to take everything I give you.”

[redvexillum]

Listen @nyx91 I'm not well versed in the realm of writing a threesome. So, I did my best.

TAGS/WARNING: AFAB!reader, threes♡me, d♡uble penetrati♡n, rough ♡ral s♡x, rough cunniling♡s, hair pulling, an♡l sex, p in v, d♡cryphilia, multiple ♡rgasm (f!receiving), over-stimulation, sobbing, begging, d♡m/sub, sub!reader, sq♡irting, reader gets their brain f♡cked out, rough s♡x, b♡ndage

The tendrils of shadows coiled around your wrists like snakes, slithering up your arms until they pinned you helplessly to the bed. Their grip was firm, almost possessive. Your breath caught in your throat, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, as your gaze darted between the eerie glow of Vox’s blue screen and Alastor’s piercing red eyes, watching you hungrily from the darkness.  

A sudden chill prickled across your skin as thin, metallic wires wrapped around your ankles, cool and unyielding, spreading your legs apart with deliberate slowness. Your body trembled, nipples hardening from both the icy air and the rush of sensation flooding through you. The slickness between your thighs grew shamefully, your cunt betraying you as it throbbed, anticipating what was to come.  

Footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, sharp and calculated, until the familiar weight of claws dug into your cheeks. Alastor’s grasp was commanding as he tilted your head back, forcing your eyes to meet his. The ticking radio dials were a cruel rhythm that matched the sinister gleam in his gaze.  

“What was that, dear?” he hissed, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He tugged your face towards him, making your shoulders strain from where your wrists were bound above you.  

“I...I just wanted...” your voice faltered, breath catching once more as Vox’s fingers slid inside you unexpectedly, stretching your aching core with a rhythm that was both torturous and electrifying. Each plunge was punctuated by the wet, obscene sound of your slick, the noise amplifying in the oppressive quiet of the room.  

Alastor’s smile widened, mocking. “Eugh, Vox, must you really reward her insolence?” 

“Reward?” Vox’s chuckle was low and dangerous, his thumb pressing hard against your swollen clit, making you jolt violently, your body unable to contain the sharp spike of pleasure that shot through you. “Oh, I don’t think she’s seeing this as much as a reward, do you?” His voice dropped to a whisper as he circled your sensitive bud again, dragging another strangled cry from your lips.  

It was too much – pleasure and pain, an exquisite blend that left your body trembling, every nerve bursting to life with sensation. “Ngh - pl – pl-” you stammered, hips twitching, desperate to escape and yet needing more at the same time. Your cry was swallowed as your body arched, caught in the maddening whirl of overstimulation.  

Alastor hummed thoughtfully, his sharp claws ghosting down the length of your neck, trailing over your collarbone before pinching one of your nipples with cruel precision. You gasped, the pain sharp but twisting into something delicious as it mingled with Vox’s relentless thrusts and the pressure on your clit.  

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, your vision blurring as your mind struggled to keep up with the overwhelming assault of your senses. Alastor’s hands worked your breasts mercilessly, squeezing and twisting your nipples, while Vox curled his fingers inside you, hitting that spot deep within that made you see stars.  

Your body couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure building inside snapped like a tightly wound coil, your back arching violently as your mouth opened in a silent scream. Your release crashed over you in waves, your body spasming helplessly under their touch.  

But as the tremors of your orgasm subsided, Vox withdrew his fingers abruptly, leaving you gasping, your slick clinging to him as he pulled away. His voice was a low growl, vibrating with dark satisfaction. “Now you’ve done it...who gave you permission to come?” 

“You mean my permission,” Alastor scoffed, his dark grin widening as his gaze bore into you, predatory and gleaming with amusement. That familiar shiver coursed through you, his sinister energy wrapping around your body like a vice.  

You rolled your eyes in defiance. “There you guys go again,” you muttered under your breath, regretting it almost instantly when you felt the sharp intensity of Alastor's red eyes fixating on you, the weight of his anger palpable.  

“Is that why you’ve been such a brat lately, my dear?” His voice shifted, higher, mocking. The sound of zippers slowly undoing cut through the room, a tell-tale sign of what was to come. “You sent letters to both of us, didn’t you? Now, what was is that you wrote?” His smile turned menacing, his grin cutting through his cheeks.  

Vox’s voice chimed in, repeating your words like they were the punchline of a joke. “Why don’t you fuck and make up, you old farts,” he drawled, his deep tone laced with amusement.  

A wave of heat surged through your body, the embarrassment spreading from your flushed cheeks down to your chest. It had sounded so much better in your head when you wrote it. Now, in front of them, if felt immature. You shot a pleading look toward Vox, hoping for some reprieve. He was always softer with you compared to Alastor, more indulgent when Alastor revelled in pushing you to the brink.  

“That’s because you two were having a pissing match, and I didn’t want to be in the middle anymore!” you exclaimed, squirming against the binds that held you captive. Your plea hung in the air, but you could see from Alastor’s expression that he was far from convinced.  

“Oh? So, you thought it wise to snub me when I specifically asked you to come to my bedroom last night?” Alastor’s voice dripped with disdain, his tentacles undulating as they slithered across your body, binding your wrists behind your back. With a firm shove, he pushed you upright, his cock now in full view – thick, rigid, and the angry tip already slick with pre-cum. It pressed insistently against your cheek, hot and demanding.  

“I asked Vox to go instead,” you mumbled, the words barely leaving your mouth before Alastor’s fingers curled tightly into your hair. He yanked your head forward, forcing you to face him, his cock brushing against your lips.  

“Suck,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.  

“Hmph.” You closed your mouth defiantly, turning your head away with a stubborn pout. “No.” 

Alastor’s eyes darkened dangerously at your rebellion, and you could feel the tension rising between the two of them. You knew you were playing with fire, but the constant feud between them – the passive-aggressive digs, the battle for dominance – was exhausting. You wanted them to stop. “Not until you two make up with each other. Maybe fuck out all that frustration.” 

A screech of static and white noise filled the room, both Alastor’s and Vox’s displeasure evident. You winced at the sound, realizing just how much you’d overstepped. Perhaps discussing this in the middle of the bedroom, bound and at their mercy, wasn’t your wisest choice. But before you could even begin to back track, Vox’s voice cut through the air, dark and teasing.  

“Oh, baby doll,” he cooed, his tone dripping with danger. “It sounds like you’re asking for a punishment from the both of us.” 

Before you could protest, his long, serpentine tongue slid up your swollen cunt, the sensation jolting through your already sensitive body like a lightning bolt. You yelped, the sound muffled as Alastor took the opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth. The heady, intoxicating scent of him filled your senses as you instinctively began to suck, the weight of him pressing against your tongue, thick and unrelenting.  

"Any drama I have with Vox is none of your concern,” Alastor growled, his words vibrating against your skin as he pushed further into your mouth, making you take every inch. “I’m sure my old pal agrees with me,” 

Vox’s wet, obscene slurp echoed from between your legs, his tongue devouring your slick heat with fervour. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a wicked gleam. “That’s right, baby. You just need to be a good little girl for us,” he rasped, his breath hot against your thighs. “Let us fuck you whenever we want, and open that pretty pussy for me.” His clawed fingers stretched you open, the sharp edges of them making you shudder as you felt the pain and pleasure mingling together.  

Alastor’s breath hitched as your tongue expertly swirled around the head of his cock, your mouth working him with practised ease. “In less...crude terms,” he grunted, pulling back only to thrust deeper, the tight space of your throat accommodating him as you gagged, “we fulfill each other’s desires. That’s all that matters.” 

His hips snapped forward, his balls slapping against your chin as he filled your mouth completely, the sensation overwhelming as you struggled to keep up. Every thrust pushed you further, your mind spinning from the sensory overload – Vox's tongue dragging you toward another orgasm, Alastor’s cock hitting the back of your throat with precision, the two of them taking control of every part of you.  

You moaned around Alastor’s length, the sound vibrating through your throat as your body convulsed, teetering on the edge of another release, knowing you were completely at their mercy.  

You had always known where you stood with them, perfectly slotting into the role they craved – a partner who could resist just enough to make the submission sweeter, but ultimately, their good little cock sleeve. The arrangement worked, and lately, you couldn’t help but notice the shift in their dynamic. Maybe this new obsession with taking you together was their way of rebuilding their bond, using your body as the bridge between their fractured relationship.  

Alastor’s hand tangled in your hair, pulling you back as his cock slipped free from your lips, slick with your spit. You barely had time to catch your breath before Vox’s thick, wet tongue plunged into your aching cunt, delving deep and curling inside you, exploring every inch of your soaked core. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, your shoulders burning from being tied together, your legs trembling as they spread wide to accommodate him.  

Alastor’s voice slithered through the haze of pleasure, teasing. “Are you going to cum again, dear?” His hand stroked his length, the heavy head of his cock tapping against your lips, demanding entrance. “Are you going to cry and cum all over Vox’s tongue?” 

Your breathing was ragged, your chest rising and falling as the pressure built inside, another orgasm so close on the heels of the first. The edges of your vision blurred, your mind growing fuzzy, consumed by the sensations flooding your body. You nodded weakly, unable to speak, knowing you were on the verge of tipping over the edge.  

As the peak hit, your cry turned into a scream, your body convulsed, desperate to curl way from the relentless assault of Vox’s tongue, but Alastor was quicker. His cock thrust into your mouth with a rough shove, silencing your scream as the orgasm ripped through you. Your moans were muffled around his thick shaft, your saliva dripping messily from your lips as you gagged and swallowed, the raw intensity of pleasure overwhelming.  

When Alastor finally eased his grip on your hair, you collapsed back onto the bed, the mattress creaking beneath your weight. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, hips jerking with the aftershocks of pleasure that still pulsed through your body. Tears mixed with the saliva on your face, your eyes rolling back as you struggled to steady your breath.  

But there was no reprieve. You were barely aware of your body being shifted until you felt the solid warmth of Alastor’s chest pressing against your back. His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, the curve of his smile unmistakable as he whispered, “It seems it’s my turn to punish your ass today, dear.” 

A hot breath ghosted across your neck, and then you felt it – the blunt tip of Alastor’s cock pressing insistently against your tight ring. Your eyes widened in panic, your body instinctively tensing as a high-pitched whine escaped your lips. “T-too much,” you gasped, even though you knew what was coming. They had done this countless times, and every time, they left you wrecked – completely soaked by both their release and your own.  

“Oh, we know,” Vox’s deep voice rumbled from above, his hands bracketing either side of you and Alastor as he hovered over you. He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, his thick cock drove into your slick, waiting pussy, stretching you wide with a sudden, powerful thrust. Your head fell back in a cry of agonizing pleasure, your body already trembling from the heat of it, your nerves tingling from the sheer fullness.  

“Ah, that’s it, baby,” Vox groaned, sinking into you to the hilt, his cock throbbing inside your tight walls. “You squeeze me so fucking good.” His voice was a dark, satisfied purr, every word dripping with lust.  

Bound and helpless, your wrists tied behind your back and pressed against Alastor’s stomach, you squirmed between them. Alastor’s voice was a low, dangerous murmur in your ear, his cock now teasing your other entrance. “We’re not stopping, dear, not until you’ve learned to be a good...” His tip pressed against your tight opening, pushing just inside, the pressure maddening. “Obedient...” His breath hitched as he thrust deeper, sliding into your ass in one swift, brutal motion. “Girl.” 

You screamed, the sound raw and desperate, your body overwhelmed by the twin sensations of being filled to the brim. The stretch was almost too much, but at the same time, it felt so unbearably good. Your cunt clenched tight around Vox’s cock as Alastor’s length pushed deeper into you, the two of them moving in tandem, leaving no space for you to catch your breath.  

Vox let out a guttural groan, his eyes rolling back as he revelled in the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him, the thin wall separating him from Alastor’s cock rubbing against his own. “Fuck, that’s right, baby. So, fucking tight, so fucking perfect.” He thrust harder, deeper, his hips slamming against yours as you writhed beneath them.  

Alastor’s curses were hot against your ear, his body trembling with the force of his restraint, both moving in sync as they claimed you together. You could barely think, barely breathe, your mind reduced to nothing but the overwhelming sensations of being filled, completely owned by the two Overlords who had you at their mercy.  

Every thrust, every movement drove you closer to the brink, your body unable to hold back as another orgasm built within you, threatening to shatter you all over again. They didn’t stop, didn’t slow, driving you higher and higher until there was nothing left but the raw, aching pleasure of being utterly devoured by them both.  

Vox leaned down, hips lips capturing yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The heat of it, the slick, possessive way his tongue curled against yours, muffled your moans as his cock, along with Alastor’s, continued to ravage you.  

Their relentless thrusts filled you to the brink, stretching you in ways that had you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Alastor’s hot breath tickled your ear, tiny, almost imperceptible moans escaping him as he pumped into you from behind.  

Your body trembled, overwhelmed. You knew you wouldn’t last long – not with the way they were fucking you, both cocks hammering against every sensitive spot inside you. The remnants of your previous orgasms still echoed through your core, heightening every sensation, making it impossible to hold back as another wave of pleasure crashed over you.  

Vox’s pace quickened, his balls slapping against you and Alastor. The rhythm between the two men dissolved into chaos, each thrust growing more frantic. Sometimes they filled you at the same time, their thick cocks stretching your pussy and ass simultaneously, and other times they alternated, the sensation driving you wild.  

Vox pulled back from the kiss, panting heavily, his lips wet with your shared saliva. His head fell back as he continued to pound into you like a man possessed. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” he moaned, his voice low and breathless. “So fucking right, both of you...feels so fucking good.” 

Alastor let out a rare, soft moan in response, his usually composed demeanour slipping. The wet, lewd sounds of your soaked pussy and their hard cocks slamming into you filled the room, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat.  

Your head fell back, resting against Alastor’s shoulder as the orgasm built inside you, threatening to consume you whole. You screamed as it hit, your voice raw and hoarse, your body convulsing weakly this time around.  

The intensity of it shattered you, warm liquid spraying from your cunt, drenching Vox and dripping down onto Alastor’s cock. Your heart pounded, your chest heaving as the pleasure tore through you, leaving you trembling and slick with sweat, your back sliding against Alastor’s chest.  

Vox grunted, still thrusting through your orgasm, the wet sound of his cock fucking into you louder now. “Oh, fuck, baby doll, is that for us?” His voice was rough, teasing, as he continued to drive into you. “You squirting just for us?” His words sent another ripple of pleasure through you, the sensation overbearing, overwhelming.  

“Heh, Alastor, come on, I know you want to blow your load,” Vox taunted, his voice strained as he fought to hold back.  

Alastor’s breath hitched, his hips slamming into you harder, his cock stretching your ass with every thrust. “Why don’t you come first?” he rasped, his voice dark with lust. “I can smell how close you are.” 

Your body was limp, utterly spent, but they didn’t stop. Both of them pushed you further, Vox’s hips snapping against you, his movements sending delicious jolts of pleasure through your overstimulated body. The pressure on your clit, the friction, was too much, too good. You were already nearing the edge again.  

“Pl-please, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks, your body shaking with exhaustion and pleasure.  

Vox chuckled darkly, leaning in to whisper, “Oh, baby doll, you just sealed your fate.” 

Alastor’s tongue flicked out, tracing along your cheek to collect your tears, his hum of approval sending shivers down your spine. A low, feral growl rumbled deep in his chest, and you felt him swell inside you. Your ass stretched further as Alastor’s cock grew, his control slipping as the sheer size of him pushed you to your limits.  

That was Vox’s undoing. With a strangled curse, he came firm, his hot release flooding your pussy, filling you with a deep, satisfying warmth, Alastor’s hips slammed into you with a final, brutal thrust, his cock pulsing as he followed suit, spilling his thick cum into your ass with the same ferocity. The two men groaned, their bodies trembling against yours, their cocks twitching as they emptied themselves inside you. 

The sensation of being so full, of both of them throbbing within you, sent another shiver of pleasure through your body. Your breathing was ragged, harsh, as you tried to come down from the high, but they didn’t give you a moment to recover. Their cocks softened, slipping from you, and you let out a small, breathy moan as the sensation of their hot cum spilling from both holes sent one last wave of pleasure rippling through you.  

You barely registered the binds around your wrists loosening, your body too spent to move. All you could feel was the heat of their cum dripping from you, your holes convulsing weakly as they expelled the remnants of their release. Your mind was foggy, lost in the haze of exhaustion and pleasure, the only thing anchoring you to reality being the sight of their satisfied, devilish, smirking faces.  

You were completely spent, utterly wrecked, your body trembling and slick with sweat and cum. Every muscle ached, and your mind was swimming in a fog of pleasure and exhaustion. Yet, as you lay there, barely able to catch your breath, it was clear from the gleam in their eyes—they weren’t done with you yet. 

Alastor's fingers brushed against your cheek, deceptively gentle for someone who had just ravaged you so thoroughly. His grin widened, a dark promise lingering in the curve of his lips. “Oh, darling," he cooed, voice dripping with dangerous sweetness, "you didn’t think we were finished, did you?” 

Vox’s chuckle rumbled from somewhere behind you, and you felt the bed shift as he moved, his presence hovering close. “You see,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “we still need to teach you a little lesson about what happens when you decide to act like a brat.” 

And as Alastor’s hand curled possessively around your throat, and Vox’s lips pressed against your shoulder, you realized you weren’t just at their mercy—you were craving it. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[devourable]

yandere gym bunny x gn reader smut ;; dom yan/sub reader, risky/public setting, use of sex toys (app controlled vibrator), praise, dacryphilia, mommy kink? (only said once), reader referred to as baby and doll

the buzzing is so fucking loud. people had to know what was going on, right?

you trembled violently as you tried to finish your reps, staring daggers at valentina as she chatted with someone across the gym. it had became a habit of hers, to pretend to be busy elsewhere simply so she could watch you struggle as she toyed with you from afar. the sight of her on her phone, no doubt messing with the app that controlled the vibrator she had stuffed you with, all while chatting away with her friend made your skin burn.

an excruciating jolt of pleasure buckled your knees and nearly sent you to the ground, involuntarily gritting your teeth to keep yourself from crying out — a punishment from tina for pausing during your workout for too long. you managed to just barely choke down your moans, but the noises that you couldn't keep from slipping past your lips still drew concerned glances from other patrons. you were making a scene! it was so humiliating!

you could hear your girlfriend's sadistic giggle from across the gym when she amped up the bullet's power. you couldn't move, could barely breathe — the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of your painfully sensitive walls being assaulted by waves of intense vibrations. all you could do was lean and squirm against the lifting equipment you were sat on, silently praying that you wouldn't make a mess in your shorts in front of everyone.

it felt like hours had passed before she finally returned to your side. you could barely focus on her words, but you could pick up that she was feigning worry and gently tutting at you for 'pushing yourself too hard'. just loud enough to keep the few that had picked up on your odd behavior from bothering you. she gathered you up in her arms and led you away from the main part of the gym.

thank god the pool room was empty. the second valentina had closed and locked the door behind the two of you, you had to hold onto her, unable to stop the tears from cascading down your face.

"m-mmommy," you sobbed, curling up against tina's chest. "'s too much! please make it stop, i-i can't—"

you cried and cried, whimpering against your girlfriend as she held you close. your pleas mostly fell on deaf ears — she was listening to you, of course, but she just couldn't bring herself to act on your needs. you were just so cute when you cried for her.

valentina gently held your face in her hands, drinking in your ruined form.

"you're doing so good, baby," she cooed, leaning down to your ear to give you a playful nip. "sweet lil' thing. want me to make it stop?"

she was already stooping down to her knees in front of you when you rapidly nodded, unable to stop yourself from panting in anticipation as tina left a trail of sticky, lip gloss laden kisses down your neck, collar, any exposed skin her lips could find on her way down. her hands slid beneath your shorts. the way you trembled as you stood, desperately pressing you thighs together to try and keep the unrelenting pleasure from overwhelming you was enough to get valentina biting her bottom lip.

"look at you, dripping for me~" she purred, her gaze hungrily running over your newly exposed flesh as she pulled your shorts down to your knees. "fuck, you're soaking. you like it when people watch, don't you? didn't know i was dating a little perv."

you couldn't hold back the choked moan she pulled from you as her fingers gently worked their way into you, that overwhelming heat burning in your stomach once again when she prodded at and pulled the vibrating black bullet out of you at a painstakingly slow pace. she savored the way you involuntarily bucked your hips, watching you watch her with that desperate look in your eye, fighting so hard to stop from getting too loud and alerting anyone as to what the two of you were up to.

you tried to speak again, but the feeling of valentina gently nipping the skin of your inner thigh made you gasp.

"be quiet for me," she muttered, the feeling of her breath between your legs making you tremble. "you're so perfect. you can keep it up a bit longer, can't you?"

you honestly didn't think you had much of a choice in the matter. but you couldn't help the small flush of satisfaction that her pleased smile brought you when you nodded.

"that's my doll," she purred, her tongue coming out to meet your wet, sensitive flesh. "let me make you feel real good."

[kenjakusbraincum]

Feathers

Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: Master Sukuna establishes a safe word with his favorite pet, to prevent hurting them again!

Word count: 0.8k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, fluff, mentions of violence, hurt/comfort, mentions and implied nsfw

Author’s note: Another in a compilation of drabbles with pet reader and Master Sukuna <3 This is basically a bunch of scenes I want to eventually incorporate into my bigger fic/series Reverence!

There was a time when soft moments with Sukuna scared you as much as they excited you. You were so used to rough handling and bruises that as little as gentle touch would come as a surprise. It was a completely new territory with no clearly set rules. So many times you'd hold your breath or avoid moving in fear of angering him. But Sukuna warmed up to you. Little by little he would silently expand the things he'd allow you to do without consequences. It started with you being forbidden from touching him at all. Then he'd let you feel him up during your nightly encounters, snuggle up to him afterwards, sleep in his bed... All the while mumbling vague threats and giving you scary looks. "Careful with your hands.", he'd say when you'd run them from his chest to his stomach, feeling his muscles and stumbling upon his belly mouth. You pulled your hand back and opened your mouth to apologize. But he just gave you a look you couldn't read and put your hand back to his belly.

With time you've come to understand that there were some things Sukuna would never say out loud. "Keep caressing me", was one of them. "Sorry", was another. And a big one.

Sukuna was violent, it was simply in his nature. He's pushed your bounds before, he enjoyed it, but he wanted to see how far he can take things too. Naturally, slip ups happened. Hell, the first time you remember him ever being nice to you was one night when he roughed you up particularly bad. He would always leave to get dressed or refreshed, and expect you to be gone by the time he's back. But this time, you were still there, with your head in the pillow, muffling sobs.

Your heart nearly stopped when you felt the mattress dip with his weight by your side, thinking finally you have met your end. You didn't expect him to gently brush sweaty strands of hair out of your face, and look at you with brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why are you crying?", he asked, and you thought that he was mocking you. He's never shown you kindness, beyond providing you with bare necessities in life. So why would he be concerned with you now?

"H-hurts...", you say quietly, and try your best to stop sobbing. You spend so much time keeping Sukuna company at his throne. You know how quickly (and brutally) he deals with people who annoy him. You were so sure you were going to share their fate. Any second now, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Where?", he asked. When you opened your eyes, he looked as docile as you'd ever seen him. And then his hand was in your face, and the back of his finger brushed your tears away. You blinked at him a couple times just to make sure you were processing the situation right. Then you shuffled around to touch the places that ached on your body.

And on his side, Sukuna was quite shocked to see how untrusting you were of him. For once he thought that he striked too much fear into you. Or maybe he was just under the impression, because his most obedient pet was crying. Either way, his hand followed yours, light against your sensitive skin. Careful not to cause any more pain for the night. You were stiff under his fingertips at first, still anticipating violence, but slowly relaxed as you felt the pain subside.

"There.", he says, instead of "Sorry". But he felt sorry.

The next time he brings you to his chambers, he stops you in front of the bed. "Pick a word. Any word.". You stop and think, not knowing where he's going with this.

"Feathers.", you say. Angels. His hands on your waist urge you to turn around, facing your back to him. He brushes your hair over your shoulder and kisses you, from the back of your ear trailing down. Your hand meets his and you think you'll melt into him. You've never experienced such tenderness, and to know it's coming from him...

"Only use it when you can't take it anymore. I'll stop.", he whispers against your skin. And just as you thought of how suspiciously nice he was starting to sound..."I wouldn't want to break my favorite toy".

Then he nudges you onto the bed and joins you. You don't have enough time to process the words, before he's on top of you and your focus is shifted back to him. And you don't think you've ever been so relaxed laying in bed with a monster. Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you felt butterflies at the thought of being his favorite. Even if you were nothing but a toy. Even if tomorrow when you stumble upon him in the hallway, or when he calls for you to make him company in his throne room, he'll be as distant and cold as the moon.

[riddlesrizzler]

Best of Both Worlds

summary: "Who would have thought that a girl like me, would double as a superstar." characters: pop star! reader. theo nott (brother). enzo berkshire (best friend). draco malfoy (manager). blaise zabini (enzo's friend) warnings: this does not have mattheo in it yet! word count: 6.7k a/n- this is strictly based off hannah montana the movie. so the plot will be heavily similar to the movie.

The bass of the crowd’s anticipation thudded under your feet, a living heartbeat rumbling through the cracked pavement outside the stadium. You tugged your hoodie lower over your face, the oversized fabric swallowing you whole, while the laminated backstage pass around your neck slapped against your chest uselessly.

“This is a nightmare,” you hissed under your breath, shifting your weight from foot to foot as the line of burly security guards eyed you with growing suspicion. "I am her," you tried again, voice sharp with panic, flashing your ID, your pass - hell, your entire face. But without the heavy eyeliner, the rhinestone costumes, the towering heels, you looked nothing like the glittering popstar plastered on the posters outside.

Beside you, Enzo was pacing in tight, agitated circles, the hem of his designer jacket fluttering with every furious turn. His brown hair was disheveled, his sunglasses shoved up into the messy tangle, and his cheeks flushed an agitated pink. Every so often, he checked his watch with a dramatic groan, looking like he was about to combust.

“You’re supposed to be on stage in fifteen minutes," he snapped, voice low but urgent. "Fifteen, babe. They’re gonna start thinking you died or something."

"I didn't think it would be this hard to sneak in to my own concert," you muttered, pulling the hoodie tighter, your fingers trembling slightly.

Enzo’s wild gaze darted across the lot - and then he froze. Following his line of sight, you spotted it: a rickety maintenance golf cart, parked lazily by a side service gate. Keys dangling from the ignition like an invitation.

"No," you said flatly, already reading the chaos in his eyes.

"Oh, absolutely yes," Enzo grinned, looking like a boy about to jump off a cliff. "Come on, superstar - time to get criminal."

Before you could protest, he grabbed your wrist and took off, dragging you across the asphalt. Gravel crunched underfoot as you sprinted, half laughing, half sobbing, adrenaline clawing up your throat. Enzo vaulted into the driver’s seat, his long legs awkwardly jammed under the tiny steering wheel. You barely managed to clamber onto the passenger side before he twisted the key.

The cart jolted forward with a violent lurch, tires squealing. Security guards shouted in the distance, but their voices dissolved into the roar of the wind as Enzo gunned it, weaving through catering trucks, tangled wires, and startled roadies. You held onto the roof with one hand and your hat with the other, heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"THIS ISN'T LEGAL!" you shrieked over the rush of air.

"Neither is locking the main act outside," Enzo called back gleefully, swerving so sharply you slammed into his side.

He barrelled straight toward the service entrance, jerking the golf cart to a screeching halt just short of the emergency doors. Without missing a beat, Enzo jumped out and slammed his shoulder into the metal bar, forcing the door open with a bang that echoed down the empty corridors.

Breathless, giggling uncontrollably, you stumbled inside, sneakers squeaking against the polished concrete. The smell of sweat, hairspray, and adrenaline wrapped around you like a second skin - home.

Enzo grabbed your hand again, tugging you past dressing rooms and chaotic stagehands, ignoring the shouts of protest that chased after you. Finally, he skidded to a stop in front of your dressing room door, throwing it open with a triumphant grin.

"See?" he panted, chest heaving with laughter. "Nothing to worry about, superstar."

You leaned against the doorframe, laughing so hard your sides ached, the thrill of it all sparking in your blood. “Nothing to worry about?” you gasped. “We just committed grand theft golf cart!”

Enzo just winked, already rifling through your costume rack like it was another ordinary Tuesday. “All in the name of stardom, babe. Now move - you’ve got a crowd to set on fire.”

The moment you stumbled into your dressing room, the California heat and chaos slammed into you like a second skin - the thick scent of hairspray, warm leather, and melting stage lights already clinging to the air.

Every surface glittered under the vanity bulbs: rhinestone-studded jackets hung in messy rows, heeled boots toppled in piles, and a kaleidoscope of makeup cases exploded across the counter like a war zone of glam. You yanked off your hoodie and cap, tossing them aside as your heartbeat pounded against your ribs like a drumline.

“We have, like, five minutes to make you famous again," Enzo huffed, shoving a silver makeup case into your arms like it was a lifeline.

You dropped into the vanity chair, the cracked leather squeaking beneath you. In the mirror’s harsh fluorescent light, your real face stared back - flushed, breathless, still halfway a girl from Tennessee who hadn’t fully grown into the glittering myth she'd created here on the West Coast.

No time for hesitation. You grabbed the eyeliner with shaking fingers, dragging dark, dramatic wings over your lids, transforming your sleepy eyes into something fierce. Layers of shimmer dusted your cheekbones, catching the backstage lights with every tiny movement. Lip gloss, thick and sticky, made your mouth look movie-star perfect. Beside you, Enzo hovered like a frantic stylist, wordlessly handing you brushes, hairpins, shimmer powders, working in perfect sync without needing to speak.

The door slammed open with a bang, and Draco swept in like a summer storm, all stiff posture and pressed linen, clipboard tucked tight against his chest.

"You’re late," he snapped, striding into the room like he owned it. His sharp, platinum-blond hair was practically glowing under the vanity bulbs, the fitted charcoal suit he wore screaming Hollywood agent in every thread.

“Technical difficulties,” Enzo muttered, winking at you through the mirror.

"You’re lucky the stage manager got food poisoning, or you’d be done," Draco gritted out, tapping his pen against his clipboard like a ticking bomb. "Set list’s changed. No ad-libbing. No real names. Smile, sparkle, sell the dream - you know the drill."

You didn't answer. You were too busy slipping into your armor - your blonde wig, thick and glossy, the curls cascading around your shoulders like a halo. You tugged it snug against your scalp, fingers securing it with dozens of tiny, practiced pins. The moment it settled, you barely recognized the girl staring back. She was shiny, untouchable. She belonged on Sunset Boulevard, on red carpets, splashed across magazine covers. She wasn’t real -and that was the point.

The door cracked open again and Theo ducked inside, cheeks pink from the sun and the fight he must’ve just had with security. He looked like he belonged in California - casual ripped jeans, worn sneakers, tan skin from afternoons at Venice Beach. His brown hair was a mess, and there was still a faint flush of irritation on his cheeks.

“Security almost tackled Enzo," Theo said dryly, flashing his backstage pass to Draco, who just pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. "You're welcome, by the way."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the tension bleeding from your shoulders. Theo crossed the chaotic room to you, smirking as he extended his fist - a silent, familiar invitation. You met it instantly, the secret handshake snapping into place: fist bump, snap, clap, twist, point. You’d made it up as kids back in Tennessee, long before stages and spotlights had gotten between you.

After the final point, Theo leaned close, dropping his voice to a lazy drawl only you could hear: “When you get home, it’s your turn to do the dishes.”

You rolled your eyes so hard Enzo barked a laugh from across the room, but you couldn't stop the smile that curved your lips - real, unpolished, yours.

The three of you moved toward the stage wings, sneakers scuffing across the industrial concrete floors slick with heat and excitement. The roar of the crowd leaked through the heavy curtains, wild and alive, a chaotic storm made of noise and neon lights.

Draco walked briskly beside you, rattling off last-minute instructions like an auctioneer. Enzo kept checking your costume, smoothing your glittery jacket, adjusting your mic pack. And Theo stayed just a step behind, casual but steady, the way he always had.

The music swelled through the walls, a beat that vibrated right through your chest. The first chord of your opening song struck like lightning, and the screaming crowd exploded, filling the backstage tunnels with electricity.

You tugged your headset into place, heart thundering, nerves fizzing through your veins like soda bubbles.

One last breath. One last look back at Theo, Enzo, and Draco - all of them giving you a nod, a flash of encouragement in different forms.

You took one last breath, tugged your mic into place - and let your double life take over.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your bones when you finally slipped offstage, your glittering heels clicking against the slick concrete of the backstage halls. The buzz of adrenaline clung to your skin like the warm humidity outside, but the moment the heavy stage door swung shut behind you, silence crashed in - thick, sterile, and oddly lonely.

Your dressing room sat at the end of a long, narrow hallway, tucked away from the chaos. You pushed the door open and let it close behind you with a soft click, sealing yourself in a bubble of flickering fluorescent light and fading perfume. The room was a wreck - makeup smeared across the vanity, costume pieces abandoned like shed skins - but right now, none of it mattered.

The light caught the sequins of your outfit, and for a moment, you barely recognized the person staring back. It wasn’t you anymore; it was the carefully crafted illusion, the popstar that was adored and worshiped by millions. That was the part of you that the world saw, the part they wanted to believe in. The real you? That girl was hidden under layers of wigs, makeup, and costume.

You let out a long breath as you leaned closer to the mirror, smoothing down the edges of your wig, ensuring it stayed perfectly in place. You weren’t ready to reveal yourself just yet. Not until the cameras were gone, until you could slip back into the shadows of your private life.

But then, the door to your dressing room creaked open, and the figure who stepped inside was no one you’d expected.

A man, tall and dressed sharply, slipped into the room with the subtlety of someone who thought they were untouchable. A camera bag was slung over one shoulder, and he flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was too practiced, too knowing.

"Hey, there," he said smoothly, voice low and almost coaxing. "What a performance tonight. Absolutely spectacular. I’m with Pulse Weekly - big fan of yours. Thought we could chat for a minute? You know, get a peek behind the curtain? The fans would eat it up."

You stiffened immediately, every alarm in your head going off. You didn’t let your guard down for a second, especially not with someone like this. Press, paparazzi, they always thought they had the right to pry - to invade the carefully constructed walls you had built around your identity. You tightened your grip on the edge of the vanity, eyes narrowing as you looked him up and down.

"I think you’ve got the wrong room," you said coolly, trying to dismiss him with a quick, firm tone, your voice still carrying the gloss of your popstar persona.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

"I’m not trying to cause trouble," he said, taking a small step closer. "Just thought I could get a real interview. You know, the girl behind the music. Fans want to see the real you, not just the glitter and glam."

The comment hit too close to home. It was the truth that only you and your closest friends knew, but the world? The world didn’t get to see the real you. Not yet.

Before you could respond, the door swung open again with a force that made you jump.

Draco strode in like a storm cloud - sharp, imposing, his eyes blazing with authority as he looked straight at the intruder. He didn't even glance at you, his attention fully on the man standing in your dressing room.

"You need to leave," Draco said, voice low but commanding, his tone making it clear that there was no room for negotiation.

The man blinked, startled for a moment, and then quickly put his hands up in a mock surrender. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just trying to do my job.”

“Your job,” Draco said, stepping forward, his gaze never wavering, “ends when her privacy starts. Now, get out.”

The man hesitated for a second longer, then grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before turning on his heel and disappearing through the door, leaving you with a cold, lingering sense of unease.

You let out the breath you’d been holding, but the tension didn’t leave your body. You looked at Draco, who now stood across from you, his posture stiff but his expression softening slightly.

Theo entered right behind Draco, his casual demeanor a sharp contrast to Draco’s rigid formality. He took in the scene with a slow shake of his head, one brow raised. "Is this getting to be too much?" he asked quietly, eyes scanning your face for any sign of distress.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you just stood there for a moment, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The woman in the glass was still you, but she felt like someone else, someone distant. You reached up, brushing your fingers through your hair, your thumb grazing the edges of your wig, the last thing that separated you from the life you were trying to keep hidden.

"No," you said softly, your voice steady but tinged with the weight of experience. "This is just the reality of being famous."

Theo nodded, his eyes still searching yours, but he didn’t push. He crossed the room and reached out to touch your shoulder gently - a quiet gesture of reassurance, a reminder that no matter how many strangers tried to tear down your walls, you had people who would stand between you and the chaos.

-

The sun was bright in California, spilling through the tinted windows of the sleek black SUV that carried you and Draco from one location to the next. The car was moving through the city’s hectic streets, its engine purring as it wove effortlessly through traffic, the world outside seemingly just as chaotic as the whirlwind of events that had already filled your day.

It had been one meeting after another - sponsors, agents, brand deals, and photoshoots. The music industry was relentless, demanding every ounce of your energy, every flicker of your attention, every carefully crafted smile. You wore your popstar persona like a second skin, the glittering mask that protected the true you from the world's incessant gaze.

But it wasn’t until Draco’s sharp voice cut through your thoughts that you remembered there was one thing you hadn’t done yet.

"Have you gotten Enzo's birthday gift yet?" Draco asked, the edge of his tone betraying a hint of concern. He was already adjusting his dark sunglasses, his posture always composed, never letting his guard down - just like you.

Enzo’s birthday. You froze, the weight of the question suddenly hitting you. It had slipped your mind completely. Enzo had been there for you when the world didn’t make sense, a friend in a world full of expectations. You hadn’t even thought about what to get him.

“Shit, no,” you muttered, rubbing your temples, trying to shake off the exhaustion that was still clinging to you. “I didn’t even think about it.”

Draco's lip twitched into a faint smile. "Well, you better figure it out. He’s your best friend. You can’t show up to his party empty-handed." His voice softened just a little. "I’ll handle the rest of the PR for today. You just need to get him something nice."

The thought of the party sent a strange mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your stomach. You hadn’t spent a lot of time with Enzo lately, caught up in the madness of your career. This gift would mean more than just a present; it would be a symbol of your friendship, your history, something real in a world that had begun to feel increasingly unreal.

"Okay," you said, determination settling over you. “Let’s go to a store. I’ll figure something out.”

The moment you stepped out of the car and into the bright, sun-soaked street, it felt like the world shifted. The buzzing sound of traffic, the hum of pedestrians, the street vendors all seemed to fall away as a hush fell over the crowd. Your presence in this world was no longer something that just happened-it was something people noticed.

The second you entered the boutique, a posh little store tucked away behind golden gates and designer windows, the atmosphere changed. The staff, dressed in high-end uniforms, perked up immediately at the sight of you. The manager rushed forward, smiling like she’d just seen a rare bird.

"Can I help you, Ms.?" she asked with a voice so sweet it almost stung. The manager's eyes flicked over to Draco for a split second, before returning to you, waiting for your next command.

You smiled, the practiced curve of your lips turning up just right. "I’m looking for a gift," you said, casually tossing your long hair over your shoulder, making sure the perfectly styled waves cascaded down just so. "Something for a friend. Something... personal."

The manager nodded eagerly, leading you to the back of the store where high-end gifts were displayed - everything from bespoke leather jackets to expensive jewelry. You strolled through the aisles, feeling the familiar weight of being watched hanging in the air. Eyes followed your every step, whispers drifting from the corners of the store as the staff did their best to remain discreet.

You could feel it - that intoxicating rush of being at the center of everything, the unquestioned star. You picked up a delicate silver necklace, its cool weight familiar in your hand, and let your fingers trace the smooth curves of the chain.

“Would you like to see some more exclusive pieces, Ms.?” the manager asked, her tone now buttery-smooth, offering a tempting smile. "We’ve just received a new shipment of jewelry. Some very special items, for a... special customer."

You nodded absentmindedly, feeling the rush take hold as more staff fluttered around you, offering suggestions, complimenting your choices, and waiting on your every whim. They all knew who you were, of course, and that made you feel powerful. Like you could have anything- everything- at your fingertips. The world was a stage, and you were the headliner.

As you strolled through the store, you realized how intoxicating it was. The way people looked at you like you were something larger than life, the way they offered you anything you wanted without hesitation. The fame felt like a drug, a rush you could never quite shake. You were being lavished in the finest things, and for a moment, you could almost forget the price tag of your every decision - the price of living a life where your every move was scrutinized.

Draco lingered in the back of the store, watching you with an amused, albeit slightly skeptical expression, but you hardly noticed. You were caught up in the heady feeling of adoration, the flashes of cameras from outside, the knowledge that all eyes were on you.

This was what it felt like to be someone - not just a person, but a legend in the making.

But you had to snap back.

"I think this will work," you said, picking up a sleek, black leather wallet that felt just right. It wasn’t flashy or over the top, but it was expensive, refined, and fitting for someone like Enzo.

"Perfect choice," the manager said, practically beaming. “We’ll wrap it for you. You deserve the best, Ms."

As the final transaction was made, you couldn’t help but feel a little too proud of yourself. You had just stepped into this boutique as if you owned it, and for a brief moment, the whole world felt like your playground.

As the manager took the wallet from your hands, wrapping it carefully with a layer of silk tissue paper, you felt a satisfied sense of accomplishment. You’d chosen the perfect gift for Enzo, and the excitement of the moment lingered in the air like an electric buzz. But that satisfaction was short-lived.

You turned toward Draco, ready to leave and continue the whirlwind of the day. But as you stepped toward the door, a voice cut through the air, smooth and condescending.

“Wait, hold on-that’s the one I wanted.”

You froze. The voice belonged to none other than Pansy Parkinson, a notoriously competitive pop star with a massive following and a penchant for creating headlines. She was standing by the display of accessories, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as her eyes locked onto the black leather wallet in the manager’s hand.

“That’s the exact one I wanted for my friend," Pansy continued, her tone dripping with feigned sweetness. “I saw it first.”

You blinked in disbelief, trying to process what had just been said. The nerve of her.

“I’m sorry, I already picked this out,” you said coolly, your composure still intact. The manager, caught between the two of you, looked like she might crumble under the tension.

“Oh, I know,” Pansy replied, stepping closer, her heels clicking with an exaggerated force as if she was trying to make her presence known. “But I think I should get it. You know, considering my friend is probably more important than your friend.”

The comment stung, and the air between you thickened. A subtle crackling of animosity sparked between you two. You were no stranger to competition, but Pansy had always rubbed you the wrong way with her smug attitude. It wasn’t about the wallet anymore; it was about her trying to undermine you.

“I don’t think you understand,” you said, your voice calm but ice-cold. “I was here first, and I’m getting it for someone who actually matters to me. Not to try and one-up anyone for attention.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, I understand,” she shot back, her voice just as icy. “It’s just that some people are willing to put others down to make themselves feel special. You know, I’ve heard it’s quite a thing in your circles.”

Draco stiffened behind you, stepping forward instinctively, but you held up a hand, telling him to hold back. The last thing you needed was another scene. But the words had already been thrown, and there was no taking them back.

“Are you really going to turn this into a public drama?” you snapped, feeling your patience wear thin.

“Oh, it’s already a drama,” Pansy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of competitiveness and sheer arrogance. “You just didn’t know it yet. But you’ll learn.”

And with that, she smiled again, the same smile that had made her famous - the one that made the paparazzi and the tabloids eat it up. You’d heard rumors that Pansy lived for moments like these, for the power of drawing attention, no matter how negative it was.

Just then, the sound of clicking cameras broke through the charged silence, and your heart sank. Flashing lights from outside the store made it clear that the paparazzi had caught wind of the confrontation. A few had slipped inside the boutique, snapping pictures of the exchange. The sound of shutters firing off echoed in your ears as the reality of the moment set in.

“Let’s just go,” Draco murmured, but it was already too late. Pansy’s name was already being shouted by a dozen cameras outside the boutique. The damage had been done.

You turned on your heel, storming toward the door, trying to leave the situation behind. But the paparazzi followed, blocking your path as they shouted questions at you.

“Is there tension between you and Pansy Parkinson?”

“Do you really think you’re better than her?”

“Are you jealous of Pansy’s success?”

The questions came fast and furious, each one hitting like a punch. You could feel the anger bubbling up inside you, but you kept your cool - just barely.

“I’m not engaging with this,” you snapped, keeping your chin high as you made your way to the SUV. Draco walked beside you, his arm outstretched to keep the photographers at bay.

When you finally slipped inside the car, the noise of the outside world faded, but the tension remained, thick and suffocating. You could still feel the flashes of the cameras, the whispers from the crowd, the raw bite of Pansy’s words ringing in your ears.

“Did you have to provoke her like that?” Draco asked once the door shut behind him, his tone less severe than you had expected, but still tinged with concern.

“Me?” You scoffed, leaning back in the seat, your head throbbing. “She’s the one who started it.”

Draco didn’t argue, but you could tell he was still on edge. He was always protective of you, especially when the world seemed to want a piece of you at every turn.

The rest of the ride was quiet, the only sounds the hum of the car’s engine and the muffled clicks of cameras following you as the SUV pulled away. You leaned back, staring out the window, wishing the world wasn’t always so dramatic.

But then, as the exhaustion from the day finally settled in, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction. You had just fought with one of the biggest stars in the business, and though it wasn’t ideal, you had managed to hold your own.

You just had to remember one thing: in this world, it was always going to be a battle for the spotlight.

The car sped through the streets, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows on the road. You sat in the back seat, your mind still spinning from the tension of the day. The encounter with Pansy, the flashes of cameras, and the constant pressure of maintaining this larger-than-life persona weighed heavily on you.

You were supposed to be at Enzo’s party by now. It was a much-needed break from the chaos of your career, a chance to let your guard down and just be yourself-yourself, not the pop star everyone adored. The car’s interior felt too tight, too suffocating, so when you glanced out the window at the unfamiliar streets, you suddenly wanted nothing more than to get out of the car, change into something comfortable, and head straight to the party.

"Draco," you sighed, rubbing your eyes. "Can we just get there already? I need to change."

Draco, who’d been silently navigating the streets next to you, shot you a concerned glance. "Not yet."

You blinked, a little thrown off. "What do you mean, not yet? I need to change out of this whole persona before we get to the party. This is too much, Draco."

He raised a hand to stop you from reaching for the zipper of your bag. "I know. But we’re not stopping here."

A jolt of surprise hit you. "What? Why?"

Draco’s sharp eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, his jaw tight. "We’re still being followed. I think that Pulse guy from the concert is onto us. He’s probably waiting for you to make a mistake."

Your stomach sank at the mention of Pulse. The man from the magazine who had been sniffing around your life, trying to dig up any kind of dirt he could find on pop stars like you. You hadn’t expected him to follow you all the way to the boutique, and now you felt the sting of his presence again.

"No way," you muttered, crossing your arms. "I’m not doing this anymore. Enzo is expecting me. I’m going as myself. Not this."

Draco’s eyes were steely, but there was a flicker of understanding in them. "You don’t have a choice, not right now. If you change, if you step out of this car without that persona on, Pulse will find a way to use it against you. Do you really want to risk everything for a party?"

The silence between you stretched, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You bit your lip, glancing out the window again. This wasn’t the life you wanted, constantly living under the microscope, constantly pretending. But you knew Draco was right. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down-at least, not until the risk was gone.

"I hate this," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone. "I just want to go to the party and enjoy it without all of this... drama."

"I know," Draco replied, his voice softer now, a quiet reassurance that cut through the tension. "But right now, you have to keep playing the game. We’ll get you to Enzo’s, and then you can have your moment. Just don’t give Pulse the satisfaction."

You sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. You had to stay in character. For the sake of everything you’d worked for. For the sake of protecting your friends, your career, your sanity.

"Fine," you said, your voice hollow. 

Draco gave you a small, understanding nod as you began to reach for the wig again. The familiar weight of the persona settled over you, and as much as you hated it, it was all you knew how to do. You quickly fixed your hair, pulling on the last piece of your disguise.

Draco threw a quick look at you, his eyes a little softer now. "You’re doing the right thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it."

You didn’t answer, but the truth was, you weren’t so sure. You had done this for so long, and the lines between the real you and the pop star were starting to blur. The reflection in the rearview mirror looked more and more like a stranger, but you didn’t have a choice. Not right now.

The car pulled into the driveway of the venue, and as you adjusted your makeup in the mirror, the door opened to reveal the flashing lights of the paparazzi once again. The weight of the disguise pressed down on you, but you stepped out of the car with your head held high, keeping your focus on what lay ahead.

Enzo’s party would be your escape, your chance to pretend, even if just for a few hours, that you were more than just the persona everyone expected.

And as Draco followed close behind, you couldn’t help but feel like you were playing a game that you might not win, but one you couldn’t stop playing either.

The moment the car doors opened, the world erupted into a blur of flashing lights and shouting voices. Paparazzi surged forward, their cameras aimed directly at you, their shouts blending into a chaotic hum. The questions came at you like a barrage-What are you wearing? Who are you with? What’s next for your career?

You froze for a second, the weight of your fame pressing down on you. You’d been here so many times before, but it never made it easier. The lights, the cameras, the constant demand for attention. You forced a smile, stepping out of the car and trying to push the panic down, but the feeling of being hunted was relentless.

"Hey! Over here!" a reporter called, thrusting a microphone toward you.

"Not tonight!" you called back, raising a hand as if that would stop them, but they only pushed harder, getting closer, as if they could smell your unease.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you scanned the crowd, your eyes desperate to find one familiar face. And there he was-Enzo. He stood off to the side, arms crossed tightly, his posture rigid. The birthday boy. The one person you’d been dying to focus on, to make this night all about him. But the cameras didn’t let that happen.

As the paparazzi’s eyes locked on you, Enzo’s shoulders slumped. His face was unreadable, but there was an unmistakable tightness around his jaw. For a moment, it felt like time had slowed, the flashing lights almost disappearing as your focus zeroed in on him.

But it was too late. You’d already stolen the spotlight.

You tried to make your way toward him, maneuvering through the crowd, but it felt like moving through molasses. Every step forward was met with a dozen questions, a dozen more cameras, all demanding attention you hadn’t asked for.

“Hey, come on, Enzo!” Blaise called out from behind him, trying to get Enzo to come forward. But Enzo didn’t move. His gaze remained on you, and the frustration in his eyes was clear.

“Enzo,” you murmured, finally closing the distance between you, your heart sinking with every inch. You reached out, lightly touching his arm, but he flinched away as if your touch burned.

"Don't," Enzo muttered, his voice tight, colder than you had ever heard it. He didn’t look at you directly, his gaze still locked on the ground.

You flinched, your stomach twisting painfully. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, the guilt flooding through you. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was supposed to be your night-”

“No,” Enzo cut you off, finally looking up at you, his eyes dark and full of pain. “You never get it, do you?” he spat, his words sharp like daggers. “You think this is all about you. Every damn time. You always steal the spotlight, even when it’s supposed to be my moment.”

You stood there, stunned, as his words landed like a punch. His voice shook with anger and hurt, and for the first time in all your years of being around him, you saw the wall go up. The one thing you had always relied on-his ability to push past his disappointment and keep things light-was gone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he continued, his voice low and filled with something you couldn’t place. “I don’t think I can keep pretending it doesn’t bother me. You... you never think about anyone else but yourself. Not even on my birthday. Just... just go inside. Have your moment.”

You wanted to say something, to fix it, to make it right, but the words wouldn’t come. What could you say to someone who felt so forgotten? Who had given up everything to keep you in the spotlight, only to be cast aside time and time again? You had failed him-again.

Blaise stepped forward, sensing the tension, but there was no easy way to fix this. Enzo wasn’t going to budge. Not this time.

“You’re not going to forgive me?” You barely managed the words as you reached out to him once more, but Enzo shook his head, a flicker of pain crossing his face.

"I don’t know how," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion, "I just... I need a break from it all. From you."

With that, he turned away, heading for the door with Blaise close behind. The crowd of photographers and fans continued to shout after you, but you couldn’t hear them anymore. You stood there, watching Enzo retreat into the house, the ache in your chest almost unbearable.

Draco appeared then, his eyes narrowing as he saw the scene unfold. "Everything okay?" he asked, though the way he looked at you told you he already knew the answer.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s not okay.”

“You’ve got to go inside. The show’s not over yet,” Draco said, his tone not unkind but firm. You knew it wasn’t really a suggestion.

But as you stepped forward, heading toward the door, the weight of Enzo’s words followed you like a shadow. The guilt gnawed at you, but it didn’t change the fact that you had to keep playing the game. Even if it meant losing someone you cared about.

And as you entered the party, the door shutting softly behind you, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever be able to repair the damage you had caused.

The noise from the party was deafening, the music still pulsing through the walls as laughter and chatter filled the air. You had tried to enjoy it, really-you had, but every time you glanced around the room, all you could think about was Enzo and the distance that had grown between the two of you. The pain in his eyes was seared into your mind, and no matter how many people surrounded you, no one could fill the emptiness you felt from your best friend slipping away.

Theo appeared by your side after what felt like an eternity. He didn’t speak immediately, his eyes scanning the crowd as if looking for some kind of sign that you hadn’t completely lost yourself. But when he finally looked at you, there was no mistaking the disappointment etched across his features.

“You’ve really messed this up, haven’t you?” His voice was low, but the anger simmered just beneath the surface. "I thought you were different, but now-" He shook his head, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. “What happened to you?”

The sting of his words cut through the haze of the night, and you tried to hold back the guilt welling up inside. “Theo-”

“No,” he interrupted, grabbing your arm firmly and pulling you out of the crowded room. “Don’t try to make excuses. Enzo’s your best friend, and you’ve been nothing but selfish. Selfish,” he repeated, his voice rising with each word. “You’ve turned your back on him, and for what? So you could play the part? So you could keep the attention?”

You let him lead you through the venue, your thoughts racing as his words hit harder than you expected. When you were outside, he stopped abruptly and faced you, his eyes dark with frustration. “I hardly recognize you anymore. You’ve become this person I don’t even know. This persona-it’s consuming you, and I don’t know if you even care about anyone else anymore.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought to keep them back. You couldn’t let Theo see you break down, not like this, not in front of him.

“I do care,” you murmured, your voice small and shaky. “But you don’t understand. This persona-it’s everything to me. If I lose it, I lose myself. This is the only thing that’s been real for me. I can’t just walk away from it.”

Theo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, his brow furrowing with concern. “And what about Enzo?” His voice cracked slightly, the hurt evident in his tone. “Does he not matter anymore? Because that’s what it looks like from where I’m standing.”

You swallowed hard, the words thick in your throat. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” you whispered. “But I... I don’t know how to stop. The fame, the lights, the rush-it’s like nothing else. It’s hard to pull away when it’s all you’ve got.”

Theo’s expression softened for a moment, but the frustration never fully left. “Maybe you need a break. A real one, away from all this,” he said quietly, his voice full of a gentle but firm concern. “You’re not the same person anymore, and I’m scared you’re losing yourself in it.”

You felt the weight of his words, but the thought of stepping away-of losing your identity-was something you couldn’t even begin to fathom. You shook your head vehemently. “I can’t. You don’t understand. This is who I am now. This persona is me. Without it, I... I don’t know who I’d be.”

Theo sighed heavily, his gaze softening but his resolve still firm. “I think you’re wrong,” he murmured, his voice quiet but serious. “Maybe you need to figure that out before you lose everything. Or worse, lose yourself.”

You stood there, staring at him, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the cool night air. But in the end, all you could do was nod-because deep down, you knew he was right, even if you weren’t ready to admit it.

[snazzynacho]

— Sick Side

Part 2/? Part 1 Read on ao3. Masterlist Words: 7k

Emperor Geta x female oc (x Caracalla (one-sided)

Warnings/tags: 18+ Mentions of STD, mental illness, disease, Forced proximity, forced kissing, referenced/implied past sexual abuse, violent urges, obsessive thoughts, delusions of a disordered mind. No non-con s3x, but it's close. She/her pronouns used. Slight canon divergence. OC is a bit naive and way too nice. Tags may change.

Florentia stumbles through the hallways, blinded by her tears and her own panic. Her legs carry her towards the place where she feels most secure, Geta’s room.

The imperial residence feels like a maze to her in her current state, the corridors twist and turn in meaningless patterns. But she knows the way, her feet instinctually carry her towards the path she has taken many times before.

Panting, she finally reaches the door. Its peaceful silence comforts her after the events of today. She shuts the door behind her. Allowing herself be taken by the feeling of being alone and safe, she leans against the door, a wave of relief washes over her as she is in the familiar surroundings of her beloved’s room. She concludes Geta must not be here since he would have noticed her by now. Damn, imperial duties.

Though, she imagines the prospect of him seeing her in this state and the questions that would follow, so maybe this is a good idea, that he is not here right this moment.

With a shuddering sigh, her body sinks to the floor. Her head drops into her hands and she lets out a sob. Tears roll down her rosy cheeks, staining her stola. She pulls her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible. But, then, the memories come flooding back…The unwanted and unwelcome sensation of Caracalla’s lips on hers, her own panicked reaction, and the way she fled. The image of Caracalla's face when he looked at her—stunned, confused, hurt—is forever burned into her mind. Despite Florentia’s own frenzy, she feels a sharp pang of guilt in her gut. She has never expected to be the cause of such hurt, especially to him, and it stings more than anything.

She has left Caracalla alone without any explanation, leaving him to brood over what happened between them. She knows he must be confused, hurt, and definitely angry. He will no doubt come looking for her, demanding answers. The thought both frightens and comforts her. She also cannot help but wonder how his own disease is betraying him once again as he tries to wrap his head around what happened. This is not to say she will pretend his non-consensual kiss never happened, or never hold him accountable. But she cannot help always having a soft spot for him. Dealing with such a disease with no cure must be awful and incoherent.

Regardless, for now, she needs time to process her own feelings. She needs to calm her racing heart, steady her breathing, and put some distance between herself and the events of the past few minutes. It all happened so quickly. Frighteningly quickly.

Closing her eyes, she tries to force out the image of Caracalla's dismayed expression, to shut out the memory of his lips on hers. As her thoughts continue to swirl around her head, she gradually becomes aware of another noise, besides her own heavy breathing—the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside.

She freezes, her heart rate immediately picking up. Part of her wants to hope that it is one of the servants, or guards, or even Geta, but the more realistic side of her knows it is likely Caracalla, searching for her.

The footsteps pause outside the door, and a familiar voice called out softly, "Florentia...?" Caracalla's voice is muffled through the door but unmistakable.

From the door behind her, she hears the door handle turn. She jumps up on her feet at the sound, out of the way of the incoming opening door, and sees his shadow peeking in from under it. Bracing herself for Caracalla and his unpredictable mood, her eyes seem to shut in anticipation. The door swings open. He stands in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before landing on her.

He does not speak, merely looks at her. His expression is one of confusion, anger, and a strange undercurrent of hurt. He takes a step towards her, his eyes never leaving her form. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles white. His frame is tense as if he is barely holding back a storm of emotions.

He looks dangerous, volatile. She suddenly feels very small under his gaze. This situation is all too sickeningly familiar to her. She wipes her cold tears on the back of her hand, attempting to compose herself.

This is when he notices the streaks of tears on her cheeks, the redness of her eyes…It softens him for a moment, but his confusion and hurt quickly win out over his concern. "Why did you run?" he asks, his voice rough.

Florentia opens her mouth to speak but fails to utter a single word.

His face darkens further at her silence. He takes another step towards her, the distance between them closing slowly.

"You ran away from me," he repeats, his tone hardening again. "Why?" His eyes bore into hers, searching for some answer, some explanation.

She gulps and her eyes look away from him.

He does not like this. He does not like that she is avoiding his gaze. He moves closer still, his movements almost predatory.

"Look at me," he growls, his voice low and commanding.

She warily obliges, meeting his blue eyes she is starting to not recognise. He closes the last remaining distance between them, standing so close that she can feel the heat radiating from his body. He lifts his hand, as if to touch her face, but pauses just millimetres from her skin, his hand frozen in mid-air, almost reminiscent of a marble sculpture.

He studies her, his eyes wandering over her face, noting every detail. The redness in her eyes, the tear stains on her cheeks, the way her lips are slightly parted. “Why did you run?" he asks for the third time, his voice gentler now, but still edged with irritation.

His hand still hovers next to her face, the urge to touch her is obvious but held in check. He cannot understand why she fled, why she looks at him now with a mixture of fear and...something else.

“Because…you don’t deserve me,” she says so quietly he can hardly hear.

His eyes widen at her words, and his brows crease, her response is unexpected. “What do you mean 'I don't deserve you'?" he demands, his voice rising again. "I am Emperor. I can have anything and anyone I want. So why do I not ‘deserve' you?"

“Because I do not love you!” Florentia’s voice is abruptly loud, frustration pouring out of her.

The words hit him like a bodily attack. His hand falls back to his side, all thought of touching her now disappearing in the wake of her declaration. His face darkens, bitterness and ache fighting for dominance on his features. But it's the hint of vulnerability in his eyes that gives him away.

She turns, leaning the side of her body against the wall, in fear her emotions will make her collapse. She gasps a sob, covering her mouth with her hand. He stands there, stuck, staring at her back as she leans against the wall. The sight of her weeping form, the sound of her stifled sob—it hits him like a punch to the gut. He wants to reach out, to comfort her, to force her to take back the words...but he cannot. He is too stunned, too hurt. He clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms, anchoring himself in the pain.

His mind is filled with a whirlwind of established emotions and a new, undesirable feeling: fear. Fear that maybe she is correct, that maybe he really does not deserve her. Instead, he forces himself to speak, his voice taut, “You…you do not love me?”

Florentia sobs even harder at his words. She tries to understand his disease. Is he asking this to taunt her or does he not remember or understand exactly what she was saying earlier?

He frowns, his mind whirling. Each one of her sobs are akin to a dagger to his heart. But he is still too confused to know how to react. He tries to make sense of her words, but his thoughts are like slippery eels, escaping his grasp.

“You do not love me," he repeats again, his words are more of a statement than a question now.

He wants to know why.

Why does she not love me?

Why does she not want me?

“I do, Caracalla. I do.” Florentia takes a deep breath. “But not romantically. You are my brother-in-law!”

His frown deepens further. He shakes his head, as if trying to clear the fog that is clouding his mind. “No," he murmurs, shaking his head again. “No, you...you love me, I know it..." His words are more a plea than a statement. He's struggling now, his mind trying to reconcile his memories with her words. “That is why you are always with me! He is never around! He does not care about you like I do!” his words are a disjointed mess again.

“That is because Geta is participating in his imperial duties!” she cries, waving her arms in frustration. She then mutters under her breath, “Unlike you,”

He stands there squirming, face contorting, like a petulant child.

“I love Geta. I am promised to him. In a week, I will be married to him. The man I love.” she continues, looking him dead in the eyes.

Each word lands like a hammer blow. He wants to deny it, to argue with her, but deep down he knows she is telling the truth. He feels his world crumbling around him. The woman he loves, the woman he believes loved him too, is going to be married to his brother.

The thought makes him feel nauseous.

He steps back, needing space suddenly. His eyes search the room, looking anywhere but at her. He finds himself staring at a vase of flowers on a table by the wall. Such an ordinary thing, yet it seems so foreign to him in this moment of chaos. He fixates on the petals, the delicate shape, the colour. Purple, the same colour as Florentia’s stola.

His stomach flips. Why must everything remind me of Florentia?

He reaches out, absently runs his finger along a petal of one of the flowers, his touch gentle, almost respectful. But the moment his finger brushes against the delicate bloom, the fragile petal crumbles, floating to the ground like a sigh. He stares down at the petal, his mind and heart in unrest. The sight is too much of a metaphor. His own world, his own heart, also in shards around him.

“I do not mean to hurt you, Caracalla. I wish I did love you, then it would make this so easy.” She speaks after a beat, thinking he has calmed down a little but he looks up at her then, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since her confession. Her words have struck a nerve, stirring his anger and his wounded pride.

“You wished you loved me? How generous of you,” he replies, his voice laced bitterly with sarcasm. "It is the fact that you do not love me that hurts, do you not understand that?"

“I am sorry,” she says just above a whisper, looking down in shame.

He scoffs, the gesture an expression of mockery. “Sorry," he repeats, his face showing true disdain. “You are sorry. Is that supposed to make it better? Is that supposed to erase the fact that you are marrying my brother and not me? That you are going to be wed to him, bear his children, share his bed...not mine."

“Please, stop—” she begs, covering her ears with shaking hands.

“NO!” he roars, his voice rising in volume and in anger. "I will not stop! I want to hear you say it! Say you don't love me! Say you want my brother! Say it to my face!”

Florentia gapes at him, pure fear and shock coursing through her body.

”SAY IT!" he yells again, his face reddening against his poxy skin, veins standing out on his neck as his anger reaches its peak.

His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body tense. He towers over her, his presence filling the room, his anger making the air crackle with tension. He waits for her to speak, to confirm his worst fears. The waiting is torture.

“I already have!” her fists clench at her sides. “And in a week, you will have front-row seats!”

His eyes narrow at her words. Her newfound venom and the image they conjure causes a renewed wave of rage to surge through him. But instead of blowing up in anger, his weak body crumbles to the floor. "Front row seats to my own heart being shredded," he grumbles, his tone bitter. "You think I want to see you marry Geta? You think I can watch you vow to him, and not feel myself being gutted alive?"

“Well, that is how I feel at the thought of not being with Geta.” her patience is wearing thin again.

Once again, her words are like a dagger to his heart. His face contorts, the pain blatant. "You...you fail to understand," he stammers. "You... you have no idea how I feel. How much I've...I have always wanted...you..."

His eyes become wet, and his voice trails off. He lets out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his wild red hair. He starts rocking back and forth, hitting himself on his head, the anger and helplessness in his body needing an outlet. "You think it is easy for me? Seeing you, wanting you, and having my own brother claim you as his? You think that does not drive me mad with jealousy?"

She hesitates. She wants to stop him from hurting himself but is afraid of triggering him further. Ultimately, her good nature overalls her fears and she places her hands on top of his thrashing ones. “I see the storm in your eyes, and I am sorry I cannot take that away. That is why I tried to speak with you earlier. I thought I could break it to you gently…but it seems you are more in love with me than I initially thought.” she tries to explain gently.

"More in love with you than you thought?" he sneers, shoving her hands away, tears streaming down his face as he looks up at her. "You have no idea what sort of effect you have on me! I am...I am completely obsessed with you. I think about you day and night. I dream about you, fantasize about you... and yet, I can never have you. You belong to Geta, and it is maddening!"

His confession is an admittance. An obsession, not love, she thinks.

“You will find your love one day! I am not that person, Caracalla. You will miss them if you keep thinking of me!”

“No one else compares to you!" he protests, his voice ragged with desperation. "You think I have not tried? I have! I have tried to forget you, to find someone else to take your place. But it is no use. No one else can fill the void you have left behind. You have ruined me, Florentia. You have utterly ruined me."

“Your time with concubines does not count, Caracalla,” her voice is curt before her compassion returns, undeserved or not. “I do not want this for you. Is that not enough?! To break the spell, whatever this is- I do not know what to do!” she says. She wants to call what he has an obsession, like he did, but if she does, will he grow furious again?

"Then do something!" he nearly shouts, his frustration nearing its breaking point. "Just... just do something. Anything! I cannot keep living like this, tormented by your presence, your beauty, that I cannot have you. I would rather you hate me, despise me, than see you with Geta. That thought alone burns me to the core."

“I cannot hate you! I want us to be friends!” she sobs again, wanting the old Caracalla back. “I hate seeing you like this”

“Be friends?" he echoes, a resentful laugh escaping him. "Be friends, when all I want is to hold you, to touch you, to have you to myself? Be friends when the mere thought of you married to my brother makes me want to tear my hair out? Be friends when every fibre of my being aches for you and only you?"

“And what if this is how Geta will feel if we wed?! Do you not care about how he feels? About how I feel?”

“Of course I care about how you feel! I... I just..." He falters, voice pointed, dodging the question surrounding Geta’s feelings. The thought of his brother marrying her, being the one to hold her, to kiss her...it is too painful.

"I just... I cannot bear the thought of you with him. I cannot bear the thought of him touching you, holding you, the way I want to—” He rambles on, anxiously biting his fingernails.

As if an Angel comes to the rescue, Dondas—his pet monkey—appears at the doorway, small and fragile looking, searching for Caracalla.

Caracalla glances at the monkey, sensing his presence, a brief distraction from the emotional storm raging within him. “Dondas?” he murmurs, a hint of tenderness in his voice. He rolls onto his knees, reaching out for his friend. The animal hops onto his outstretched arm, climbing up and onto his shoulder as he stands back up again. Caracalla pats the monkey's head affectionately, his focus has momentarily shifted from Florentia to the small animal and she feels she can finally take a breath she does not know she has been holding.

She eyes the fragile man before him, seemingly calming down with his monkey. He does not notice her stare, too engrossed by the monkey’s nuzzling in the crook of his neck, chattering softly, clearly sensing his master’s distress. Caracalla responds by stroking its fur, his fingers brushing the monkey’s fur with gentle rhythmic motions, as he coos softly to it. “There your are…my good little monkey,”

He continues to murmur softly to it, his words gentle and soothing. The tension in his body seems to have eased he interacts with the animal, his full focus on the innocent creature providing a temporary diversion from his erratic emotions. Dondas chitters contentedly, seemingly calmed by his presence.

Florentia cannot help but watch in awe at how Dondas can subdue Caracalla even at, what she has witnessed so far, his worse. After a few minutes, Caracalla finally looks up and notices Florentia watching him, his demeanor still visibly softer than before.

He meets her gaze for a moment, his eyes still tinged with lingering turbulence. He does not say anything at first, his mind sorting through the disorderly emotions. On his shoulder, Dondas lets out a small squeak, breaking the silence. Caracalla absently reaches his hand up to it, stroking its fur, his eyes never leaving Florentia’s.

Shattering the silence, once again, footsteps are heard as they sound down the hall and before they know it Geta has entered the room.

Caracalla’s expression darkens immediately, his grip reflexively tightening on the monkey’s fur. He straightens up, shoulders tense. Dondas emits a soft squeak, clearly sensitive to the sudden shift of movement and the tension in the room.

Geta’s expression is the opposite, a mixture of confusion and surprise cultivating on his features as he looks between two of the closest people in his life and back again. “Salvé Florentia. Hello Caracalla,” His eyebrow arches, as if asking for an explanation.

Reading into this, Florentia says, “Oh! Caracalla and Dondas came to say goodnight!” she laughs, putting on her best smile, motioning towards the troubled brother and his monkey. She prays that Caracalla gets the message and feeds into her lie.

Caracalla glares at the floor, the falsehood rubbing him the wrong way, but he says nothing. His body is rigid, the tension in the room almost palpable. Dondas, the monkey on his shoulder, utters a soft nervous sound, its tiny black eyes darting between the brothers.

“In my room?” Geta questions.

Caracalla's jaw clenches, his patience wearing thin. Before he can say anything, Florentia steps in, her voice smooth and diplomatic. “Yes, we wanted to say goodnight, but you were not here! So, Dondas has been keeping us entertained,” she grins at the monkey, and carefully strokes it. Dondas emits a delicate happy noise, nuzzling against her finger.

Caracalla stays rigid, eyeing her touch. He wants to scrutinise her touch and fling her hands off his Dondas, but something inside stops him. Watching Dondas be happy waivers his anxiety and tension, feeling his body relax a little.

Her words have their intended affect—Geta shrugs, seemingly believing the reason. Caracalla, being free of stress does not last long, as his eyes momentarily flicker back to a storm, fixed onto his brother with a combination of anger and annoyance. Even the monkey on his shoulder seems agitated now, squirming against his grip.

“Well, I am here now,” Geta says, his tone jovial. He walks over to Florentia, draping an arm possessively around her waist. A couple servants follow him in, awaiting to disrobe him and ready for bed. He simply raises a hand, oozing authority and confidence, signalling for them to wait outside until he is ready.

“Yes, goodnight Geta,” Florenfia quickly pecks his cheek with a kiss.

Geta chuckles, clearly more interested in Florentia than the conversation at hand. “Goodnight, sweetheart,”

Caracalla’s gaze traces her lips on his brother’s cheek, his brother’s hand around her waist. His fist clenches at the loved-up couple’s scene before him, his knuckles white with the pressure of his suppressed anger.

Florentia feels Caracalla’s eyes on her, and suddenly steps back from her betrothed. “Goodnight,” she repeats, yet sounds just as jovial.

Geta is somewhat surprised at her sudden detachment but recovers quickly, his smile never faltering. Nevertheless he turns to Caracalla. “Goodnight to you too, brother,” he reaches his hand out, instinctively placing it on his shoulder comfortingly.

Geta turns to Florentia again, his worry increasing. “You seem a bit hot tonight, love. Tired, perhaps? Do you want me to send a healer?” Geta goes on, his worry for his wife-to-be increasing by the second. He places the back of his hand on her forehead, feeling the temperature of her flushed face. The cold touch of his gold rings adorning his fingers send a shiver down her spine, clashing with the warmth of her skin. The sudden coldness immediately alleviates the feverish heat she did not know was radiating off of her. The lying and the tension between her, Geta and his brother evidently have an effect on her.

“No-yes, I- I am quite tired. I think we all are,” she frowns at how odd she’s being and starts to leave the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Geta watches her go, a hint of concern etching across his face, before turning to Caracalla. Caracalla’s eyes follow her out of the room, his expression filled with frustration and regret. The monkey on his shoulder utters a soft whimper.

“What was that about?” Geta finally asks, breaking the silence.

Caracalla shoots his brother a cold glare, not bothering to hide his annoyance nor jealousy. “Oh, who knows what goes through a woman's mind?” He mutters, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

Raising an eyebrow, Geta is caught off guard by his brother’s harsh tone. He opens his mouth to speak but Caracalla delivers a sharp gesture, cutting off whatever lecture he was about to receive. Dondus, on his shoulder, squeaks, burying its head in part of Caracalla’s robe, disturbed by the tense atmosphere.

“I am not in the mood for conversation,” Caracalla snaps, his eyes still fixed on the door, as if he is willing Florentia to come back through it and kiss him. She forgot me.

Geta studies his brother for a moment, taking in the tenseness of his frame, the clenched fists, and the troubled look on his face. He knows Caracalla well enough to recognize when something is bothering him, particularly because his disease confuses his mind.

“I suggest we all get some rest,” Geta says calmly.

Caracalla scoffs, his irritation evident in his voice. “Easy for you to say. Some of us do not have our lovers waiting in our beds at night.”

Geta smiles slyly, enjoying the chance to goad his brother. “Jealous? You have your choice of consorts to keep your bed warm tonight.”

For Caracalla, it is the wrong thing to say. His lips twist into an irritable snarl, unable to control his inner tumult about Florentia any longer. “Why would I want a common whore when you have Florentia?”

Geta's smile vanishes at the insult in his brother's tone. He steps closer, his own annoyance beginning to show. “Florentia is mine. Soon she will be my wife. You must accept that. Do you not, Caracalla?”

Caracalla breaks. The mention of Florentia becoming Geta’s wife from the man in question’s mouth is more than he can take. The mere idea of it makes his blood burn, boiling over and igniting a sudden explosive outburst. “I cannot accept that! She should not be yours! She should be mine!”

Geta is taken aback by Caracalla's sudden eruption. He’s seen his brother lose his temper before, but never about someone else be loves. He knows that Caracalla's illness clouds his rationality, so he tries to keep his own voice calm and steady.

“Caracalla, control yourself. This behavior is unhinged, even for you.”

Control himself? How can he possibly control a feeling so powerful, so consuming? When it comes to Florentia, Caracalla feels he has no control whatsoever.

“I can’t control how I feel!” he nearly shouts back, “I’ve tried! But nothing works! Nothing can make me forget her, not even alcohol or a hundred whores!”

He’s almost pleading for help. Underneath the the affects of the disease is a sincere man and Geta knows this. Geta shakes his head, both exasperated and concerned. He reaches his hands out, gently holding Caracalla’s rosy cheeks. “It is the illness talking, brother. It warps you. You understand that, yes? You are not yourself.”

Caracalla growls, the sound low and throaty, like a cornered animal, but his face instinctively yearn for the closeness and comfort of his brother as he leans into his touch. His shoulders and the rest of his body stay rigid. “Oh, I am perfectly aware of the illness! But that does not change the reality. You know I want her. You know I cannot have her, and you insist on rubbing that fact in my face, day after day, night after night. You cannot stop yourself, can you?”

Geta’s jaw clenches in frustration. It’s not entirely untrue, but he knows Caracalla isn’t completely guiltless in this situation either.

“You had your chance to court her, win her heart. But you blew it, with your impulsiveness, your mood swings, your rages…that is why she chose me.”

The words hit home, and Caracalla visibly winces. It’s true, he knows, deep down. His illness ruins everything, destroys everything, even himself. And yet, he can’t help but protest.

“I tried! I tried to be the man she would want! But I cannot...I can’t control my feelings, cannot control myself…”

He clenches his fists again, the veins in his forearms standing out with the effort. The monkey on his shoulder lets out another whimper, its small paws clinging tighter to his shoulder. He falls back on Geta’s bed, sitting with his head in his hands, sniffling.

Geta watches his brother, torn between anger and pity. Seeing Caracalla reduced to tears is not uncommon, and it is a poignant sight. He reaches out a hesitant hand, unsure if he should try to comfort his brother or leave him to his anguish. “Caracalla…” he says softly.

Caracalla sniffs again, the sound childish and pitiful in the silence of the room. He swipes at his eyes angrily, still trying, in vain, to preserve some measure of dignity. His hand goes up to pet the monkey on his shoulder. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers. “Why can I not have her?” he whispers, the words choked with emotion, “Why have the gods cursed me with this ailment? Why can I not have what I want? It is not fair.”

Geta takes a step closer, sitting next to him. With a hand on him, he gently rubs his back. “You cannot always have what you want, brother. Even as an Emperor. Life does not work that way. You have known that since we were boys, though I suppose that knowledge has been lost somewhere in all that has happened to you. Florentia is not a prize to be won, a toy for you to play with. She is a woman. She has a mind of her own, and she has chosen me.” he explains calmly, yet with a certain seriousness.

Caracalla can’t disagree with that. Florentia is her own person, not a possession, but it’s difficult for him to accept the fact she’s chosen Geta. Every cell in his body rebels against it.

“Have you had her yet?” he can’t resist asking. The question is harsh, laced with jealous spite.

Geta knows exactly what Caracalla is implying. Frowning, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was beginning to think that Caracalla was calming down, but now he is not so sure. “What happens in our bed is none of your concern,” he responds coolly, “but I’ll tell you that we’ve yet to consummate our relationship, if only for her sake.”

“For her sake?” Caracalla repeats, raising an eyebrow. He is both surprised and a little suspicious. It’s not like Geta to abstain from such pleasures, especially when they’re on offer.

Geta sighs, his face a mix of annoyance and concern. “Yes, for her sake. Florentia is not like the courtesans and whores you are accustomed to. She is a lady, honorable, and a virgin. I will not risk compromising her or staining her reputation by giving in to my own carnal desires.”

“How noble of you. I am sure Florentia appreciates your patience, plenty,” Caracalla mutters bitterly.

“She does, yes,” Geta responds calmly. “She trusts me. She feels safe with me.”

“And she does not feel safe with me, is that it? Is that what you are implying?” Caracalla’s voice raises at each word, his temper rising again.

“I do not know what happened between the two of you today, but it is clear that something happened…” he pauses, eyeing Caracalla with a hint of suspicion.

Rising from the bed suddenly, Caracalla has his back turned to Geta, unwilling to meet him in the eye. By the gods, he is acting as guilty as ever.

Geta follows in-suite, standing also. “What happened? Tell me,” he tries to speak gently, to will any information out of his brother, but his protective streak is not going away anytime soon.

“What did you do, Caracalla?” Geta asks again, firmly. His expression turns cold. “You touched her, did you not? I will not ask again—“ his words are laced with quiet fury. He can handle his brother losing his temper, shouting, even throwing things, but this, this he cannot tolerate.

Caracalla keeps his gaze averted, refusing to look at his brother, the accusation landing with a sickening thud to his gut. He fiddles with his hands, and picks at his poxes on his cheek. A seemingly ever-present tense silence continues to fill the room, broken only by the low, anxious whimper of the monkey on his shoulder.

“I just…I just wanted to feel her, that is all. I needed to know what it would feel like to hold her. To feel her skin against mine…her lips…” Caracalla slowly admits, his voice just above a whisper, meek and pathetic.

Geta closes his eyes in barely suppressed anger. This is worse, far worse than he thought. His brother’s illness is a constant burden, but moments like this, when Caracalla completely loses control, are the most dangerous. It’s a reminder that his brother can’t be entirely trusted, that there’s a monster lurking beneath the surface. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“And what did Florentia say when you did this?” He asks lowly.

“She…she pushed me away,” Caracalla says weakly.

Geta glares at his brother, a deep sense of disapproval and disappointment radiating off of him. His mind pictures the scene before him against his will. He feels tears well up, threatening to fall at the thought of Florentia, his love, being forced into something as intimate as a kiss, to her, by his own brother. To hear that she had to push him away, that she did not want to be touched—it is unbearable.

“You scared her,” he accuses, “You let your illness take over, and you scared her. Just like you always do.” The urge to find Florentia, to hug her and comfort her until the sun rises again, is intense.

Caracalla winces, the words hitting him hard. He knows it’s true. He can recall the look on Florentia’s face so easily, that mixture of fear and revulsion when he’d grabbed her, tried to force himself upon her. He flinches, tries in vain to justify his actions.

“I was not myself. The illness….it was taking hold. I couldn’t…couldn’t stop myself.”

Geta scoffs bitterly. “What would have happened if she had not the strength to push you away, mm? Would you have forced yourself on her, even if she did not want it?”

“No!” Caracalla cries. Geta looks unconvinced. He can’t put it past his brother, not after everything he’s seen and experienced.

“LOOK AT ME.” Geta roars. Caracalla jumps in his skin at the sudden noise, and Dondus squeaks, burying himself deeper in his robes. Caracalla shakily turns around, still refusing to make eye contact. Geta says, his voice is hard, full of judgement. “You say that, but I know you. I know how much control you lose when the illness takes hold. So forgive me if I have trouble believing you.”

Caracalla struggles to keep his emotions in check. His brother’s accusation hurts. More than anything, he wants Geta to understand. But it’s hard to find the words to explain just how overwhelming the disease can be, how much it twists his thoughts and feelings. “You do not understand what it is like! The headaches, the…the voices I hear...the nightmares when I sleep. It is like there is another person inside me, someone I cannot control.”

Geta shakes his head, frustrated. He does understand, in part, but sympathising with his brother’s illness is hard at times like this. Caracalla has not exactly made it easy for him.

“I know that, brother. I know it is not easy dealing with all that. But it is no excuse to take your anger out on others, especially not on someone as delicate as Florentia,”

Caracalla growls, his pride pricked. He doesn’t think of Florentia as delicate, not in the same way Geta does. To him, she’s strong, capable, someone who can match his intensity. “You act as if she’s some fragile doll that can’t handle a bit of passion. I know for a fact she is capable of handling me,”

Geta snorts. Caracalla’s insistence on proving her worth is as irritating as it is ridiculous. Anyone can see Florentia is strong and resilient, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to be subjected to his brother’s violent, erratic behavior.

“Perhaps she is. But do you really think attacking her, scaring her, is the correct way to show your ‘passion’? Because let me tell you, brother, it only pushes her further from you.”

Caracalla falters, some small part of him knowing that Geta’s right. He grips Dondus tighter. He’s hurt Florentia and it’s pushed her away. But at the same time, he can’t understand why. Why can’t she see past his illness to the man beneath? Why does she resist his advances, when he loves her so fiercely?

“You do not think I know that?” he snaps, “You think I enjoy scaring her? That I am some monster who enjoys seeing her frightened and on edge?”

Geta is unsure at first. The thought of Florentia scared out of her mind, enough to push Caracaa away, knowing what ba happened in her past—it becomes unbearable again. “I know you do not. But you make it hard for anyone to see that, brother. You lash out when you are hurt or sick or upset, and people remember that. You have given them every reason to fear you.” he takes a deep breath. “And I must check on Florentia now,”

“No! You cannot leave yet—” Caracalla looks away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. It’s true. He doesn’t mean to hurt people, but it happens regardless. The headaches, the voices, the nightmares—they all get worse when he’s stressed or angry, and that clearly lead to…to whatever happened with Florentia today. He grits his teeth, frustrated and ashamed in equal measure and looks up at his brother.

“Wh-what do you suggest I do? Just be meek and mild and polite all the time?”

Geta sighs again, his expression one of weary patience.

“No, I am not suggesting you change your entire personality. I am saying you need to find a better way to control your anger. Find outlets that do not involve hurting those around you. If you truly care about Florentia, you will learn how to restrain yourself.”

“How? The healers…they know nothing!” Caracalla shrieks, exasperated, grasping at Geta’s hands for stability almost as if to gain his healthiness.

Geta grimaces. Caracalla’s frustration is understandable, but it doesn’t change the fact that the physicians they’ve consulted have been unable to find any effective treatment for his illness. “I know they are not helping, brother, but you cannot give up just yet. We will keep searching, find more healers, more doctors until we find some way to help you,”

Caracalla scoffs, shaking his head. He’s tired of healers, of their useless concoctions and empty promises. “You do not believe that. I can see it in your eyes, you think they are all quacks, every one of them. And you are not exactly wrong. If there were a way to help me, we would have found it by now. I am beginning to lose hope, brother. I do not think there is a cure for what ails me,”

Geta’s jaw tightens, but his eyes show sympathy. He doesn’t exactly deny the accusation since Caracalla is correct—Geta doesn’t believe much in the healers and physicians that come to court to try and ‘treat’ Caracalla. Yet, he also can’t accept his brother’s fatalism. “I will not allow you give up, brother. There must be a way. Even if we have to scour the entire world, we will find it. I swear it.”

Taken aback by emotion, Caracalla’s lip wobbles. He gives his brother a look that’s full of appreciation, tears brimming his eyes. Geta’s determination, it’s bordering on naive. Still…there’s a stubborn part of Caracalla that still wants to cling to hope, to the idea that he can fight his illness, that he can overcome it. “You are as stubborn as a mule, you know that?” he blubbers. “You are going to send people halfway across the world on a fool’s errand.”

Geta smiles wryly, the expression more fond than amused. “That’s something we have in common, brother. We both have stubborn streaks a mile wide.” He pauses, looks directly into his brother’s eyes. “And I will go to the ends of the earth for you, if that’s what it takes. Don’t dare to doubt my convictions.”

Caracalla can’t help but smile at that, touched in spite of himself. For all their disagreements, Geta has always been loyal, always believed in him and loved him in a way nobody else has, even if he cannot remember. He appreciates his brother, even if he won’t admit it. “I do appreciate your conviction. Even if it is wasted on a poor, ill-fated wretch like me.”

Geta shakes his head, his expression almost pained. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not doomed, brother. Not if I have any say in it.” He squeezes his brother’s hands gently. “I will not let you give up. Not ever. Understood?”

Caracalla looks at his brother’s hand on his, a lump forming in his throat. He appreciates the reassurance, even if he doesn’t completely believe it. But…he’ll try. For Geta’s sake, he’ll try to believe things can get better.

“Understood,” he mutters, voice thick with emotion.

Dondus chitters happily. “See? Dondus agree,” Geta chuckles. “Now, I must see to Florentia,”

At the mention of her name, Caracalla cowers. His stomach fills with a strange mix of guilt, love, and jealousy.

“No! Don’t leave me,” He grabs onto Geta’s hands harder.

“Caracalla, you should get some rest. I will see you in the morning,”

“No,” he shakes his head. More tears fall down his rosy cheeks, his nose drippy. He’s like a stubborn child, too scared or stubborn to go to bed. That is sometimes how he feels when Caracalla gets into these states he’s in, consumed by his disease.

“Caracalla, it’s time for bed. You are tired,” Geta calls for his servants, while Caracalla stands blubbering, holding onto Dondas. “See that Caracalla goes to bed,” he instructs his servants, “And call for the healer. I fear he will struggle in falling asleep tonight. I am sure there’s something they can give him for that,”

“Lavender,” Caracalla voices meekly, as the servants carefully guide him away from Geta.

“Lavender, that’s…lovely,” Geta says, nodding in encouragement as Caracalla follows the servants, leaving the room. “Goodnight, brother,”

A few moments after Caracalla leaves, Geta races to leave the room, hurrying down the hallway. He must find Florentia.

Meanwhile, Caracalla’s legs carry him to his chambers with the servants. They are as delicate as a mother is to a child while they disrobe him, plump up his pillows and fill them with flowers and herbs which evoke calmness and sleep. They then tuck him into bed. Dondus is curled up on his chest, like a cat as Caracalla sucks his own thumb—something he does when alone, to self-soothe.

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS.

A/N:

God, I love Caracalla at the end. Like yeah ur just a little baby let me tuck you in. Omg.

I wanted to write Dondas as a girl but the monkey is actually a boy believe it or not. But I do love when other fanfic writers refer to Dondas as a girl…genderfluid icon. 💅 Also there’s so many different ways to spell Dondas so if you notice it changes throughout this fanfic, no you don’t 🩷

I'm tired as I'm finishing this but I really wanna post it. Let me know if there's mistakes or something. I hope u enjoy it.

Comment if you want to be on the taglist!

I made a playlist for this fanfic if you care! Link here

[anantaru]

DAY 1 — SIZE KINK

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — jing yuan, luocha

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, size kink, rough & but also sweet, dom/sub dynamic, teasing you, petnames used: "love, angel, sweetheart"

𖧡 — JING YUAN

jing yuan's hips twitch, unsolicited, burrowed in between your thighs being spread wide with his body towering on top of you— and upon attempting to thrust in and out of you, his hips suddenly stutter again.

it's frustrating, at least for you, and you couldn't help yourself but huff out loudly and in curled up worry, then whine when you're attempting to jerk your hips up when being met with this particular resistance again. "i know angel." jing yuan murmurs under the warmness of his breathing, "don't stress yourself out." while pressing a light kiss to your mouth, rolling his hips a little and pushing against a spot that would sear and twist shockwaves across your entire body whenever his cock brushed against it.

your thighs slip wider apart, and it doesn't seem like a lot but you could also notice yourself becoming wetter for him, your slick tracing the insides of your thighs as you're both breathing heavily against each other. it's immediate when jing yuan slips one hand in between your ass and the mattress, pulling you forward the exact same time he jerks his hips against your hole.

you cry out, heartbeat deafening in your ears as your breath gets ripped uneven from your lungs— fuck, it feels so good, unreal, and you blink up to your lover clouded with lust and love, hoping this moment would never end or go on as long as possible. jing yuan shifts a little before eliciting a low groan from his lips, "ah— you're so tight." he hovers over you, hypersensitive to everything right now, hissing through clenched teeth when he leans forwards to rest his forehead against yours.

"p-please move baby.. faster." you sob delicately as he complies, your entire body radiating an uncontrollable hotness as you discern a smirk hovering over your boyfriends lips. your sweat-slicked skins sticking and sliding along each other, your nipples like pebbles rubbing over his solid chest as your legs violently clamp together, jing yuan's thrusts now uneven and wild, stuttering out of rhythm, hips rolling endlessly to bring you both to an intoxicating orgasm.

and it excites you, fuels your body with anticipation as you unravel proudly— while tightly engaged in his strong arms.

𖧡 — LUOCHA

your body has been filled with an extensive sense of longing for luocha's searing touch, it's so kind, so featherlight and it stimulates you, when he eats you out, twists his tongue in between your folds and collects enough slick so you wouldn't suffer much pain when he decides that it was time for you to feel him, for real now, and your toes curl together at the excitement, throat aching intensely.

then he presses closer, you're so wet for him now it's making him more eager by the minute, and he swallows the lump in his throat when he first lines himself up with your pussy, tongue clicking, feeling like every nerve in his body aligns with anticipation, the rhythms of your breathings fast, synchronizing into one another when he finally slides his cock into you.

the sound of skin on skin permeates the entire humidity in the room, and your pitched up cries pull the motivation right out of luocha‘s body. and you? well, you‘re admiring the view, your boyfriend was so large above you, his solid muscles effortlessly keeping you in place, splitting your pussy so damn nicely— and between one second and the next, you clamp yourself into your lovers chest as to feel his heart beat against your damped cheek, your hands spread out across his back to dig your nails against his flesh and hold yourself close to him.

"more... more.." you mewl out a noise, a truly desperate one, high up in your throat as luocha cocks a brow at you, "are you certain, sweetheart?" and his breath was loud against your lips as he lays hard on top of your body, his cock thick and swelling inside your walls and taking up all the space it needed. you feel like you're about to explode from how weighty and girthy he was, pawing around your cunt and rubbing against all your sweet, sensitive pleasure spots until you simply couldn't take it anymore.

"y-yes.." you hiccup, weak and wetly, and who was he to deny you of such request? after all, alone the mere scent of him was overpowering you, thick and masculine prancing on top of you— and you're so distracted by the pleasurable split on your cunt that you didn't even notice how fast luocha's hips were going now, but his fingers were stroking you affectionately, finding your face at last as he pulls you in for a kiss;

"your every wish my love, is my command."

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[cherryblossom-heart]

Warning: slight SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Angst.

Tojis love came in like a wave.

It was crashing, violent and vigorous. His love came with a warning, a warning that told you it might never reach you, yet the shadow of it crept on top of you, its crash and devastating force of it taking you by surprise, even when you were anticipating it.

You had been waiting for his love for long, each particle of your body craved for it. You craved for his touch, his passion, the tenderness of his eyes. You craved for everything he could offer you, and once he did it it was intoxicating.

His lips finally crashed on yours, his hands touched your skin in places he had never touched you before. His love gave you the biggest high you could ever thing of, because when Toji wanted to make you feel loved, he gave it his best.

His love didn’t come in the ways you were expecting though. You had been loved before, you had been loved with words, actions, gifts, but his love came almost strictly from his touch and almost all the time it was sexual. From time to time you thought his touch was just lust, but the way his eyes would look at you when he was inside you made you forget about it.

How could some look at you with so much warmth if there wasn’t a part of it that was love?

Even when he would fuck you with an unrelenting pace, your hands tied behind your back, face buried deep in the mattress, or when his face was buried deep between your legs, his eyes focused on your expressions and his hands exploring every inch of your body, even when his hips smashed against your ass, his hand holding your neck, there always was a tender kiss, an affectionate embrace or even just sweet caress that would ground you, reassuring all your doubts.

At least that’s what you had told yourself.

And just like a wave crashes against the shore, it also pulled you back in, it’s strength unmatched as you clawed to stay afloat. You swam and swam against the current until it’s pull took a part from yourself with it, chipping away piece by piece of your soul at a time.

His love only came for periods of time, and when it’s cycle had reached it’s end, he would leave you bare, your empty bed no longer warm enough for you neither the air would be filled with his perfume, your apartment now smelling to whatever air freshener you had purchased.

Every time he left your heart would plead you not to take him back, unable to stop the bleeding it had started that fateful night he had kissed you. And every time he came back his love would change, it’s face showing less and less with each absence.

Unlike waves though, his love would be the closest to shore at night. There were no qualms, no if’s or but’s that would stop him from loving you every night, your apartment walls bouncing off the echo of your moans. You wished you could only exist at night.

His love was like a wave, but your soul was tired of swimming.

You begged, you pleaded, you cried for his uncensored affection but the hardness behind his eyes told you a story you were avoiding. He could never love you, not the way he had once done it, not when his own heart had been buried along his wife.

The last part of yourself got chipped away that day.

Your phone lit up in the middle of the night, his new name displayed on the screen,

DO NOT ANSWER

U still mad? 2:36 am.

There was nothing left to take from you yet he asked for it once again.

Your fingers typed a response quick response, only to delete it almost immediately. Heart and mind were at war, each one of them pulling you in opposite directions. Your body craved to answer, your hands itching to type again, but could you survive once again his absence when he decided his actions said too much? Or that your feelings were too unwanted?

Tears dropped down to your bedsheets, the stain of their pool growing bigger and bigger. Your phone was turned off and placed in the night stand next to you as your sobs became louder. Tomorrow there wouldn’t be any more tears but just for tonight you would allow yourself to grieve.

Just for tonight you would allow to love him one last time.

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

Masterlist

Heart divider by @cafekitsune

[deathbyathousandspiders]

IN WHICH stark!reader witnesses her father’s final breath after he saves the world.

writing this specifically for @inkedeye2345 because tbh it takes a comment to realize people actually want to see second parts to the posts i make :,)

i forget that people actually enjoy my writing and i’m not making it up—

read part one here if you want!

disclaimer: heavy angst, this is the saddest thing i have written to date.

you cannot charge me for your therapy bills.

i love yall 3000 🫶🫶

thank you for supporting me :,)

✨masterlist✨.

1.1k.

The battlefield was soaked with soot and blood, overlapping and mixing with each other. Mixing between your foes and your teammates. It was an overwhelming sight to see, an overwhelming scene to be a part of. Nothing you ever anticipated witnessing, and nothing you ever wanted to witness again. 

Rages and cries and striking weaponry sang symphonies as they clashed with one another. Blistered feet and Chuck Taylor’s carried you across the rubble of the compound as fast as they could, your hammering heart drowning out the sound of the war around you as you ran for your life. Ran towards your father. 

From where you were, even as the distance shortened, it was hard to tell what was happening. Six different colors shimmered their way up Tony’s right arm, resting on each knuckle with a shine that stars themselves envied. You shielded yourself from the blinding light, only for a second. That second was long enough to know that whatever your dad was doing, it weakened him. You wanted to stop it. 

You needed to stop it. 

Perhaps forty or so feet remained between you and your dad before he snapped his fingers, and you froze. Against your will, you froze. Deep down, in the stillness of the air, in the bright light emitting from his right hand of color, you knew what was happening. You knew what he was doing. 

“Dad..” It slipped from your lips before you could stop it, before the tears could sting your eyes. You stepped, paced, walked, jogged– ran. Your feet could not carry you quick enough, far enough, soon enough. Heart plummeting, breath shallowing, you didn’t pay enough attention to hear the dying war cries, the dying battle. Your eyes remained on your father. 

He slumped where he was, half of his body, his face, turning to something resembling the soot beneath you. And still, pushing past the pain of sacrifice, the pain of the losses he didn’t have the time to count, he met your eyes. Some pained, relieved, fatherly smile spread across his face. You both shed tears at the notion. 

You both knew it would be the last grin he had in him. 

You fell to your knees to meet him, tripping on a rock and still catching your tumble with grace. Sliding straight for him, all you could manage was to outstretch your arms and wrap them around him. A sob crawled out from you, at the fact that this would be your last hug or the fact that Tony did not even have the strength to return it, you couldn’t tell. 

Violent cries shook your entire body as you held him, but you needed to force yourself out of the anguished state. Tony saved the world from sorrow bigger than your comprehension, and you couldn’t let his last few moments be filled with sadness. You couldn’t let his dying breath be used to comfort your grief. 

One deep breath was all you needed to compose yourself. You swallowed the sobs as they came up, pulling back from the hug and leaning your dad back on a rock. You felt the eyes of each of your teammates slowly find some way to the two of you, but you knew that making eye contact with any of them would break your composure. 

You needed to be strong right now. 

A sniffle, and you forced a grin to mirror his, tears slipping through the seems of the dam you failed to build. “You did it, Dad.” Another sniffle, a squeeze of his shoulder, a solid hold on his hand. His hand that was too weak to tremble, a hand that felt cold as ice in your grasp. You mustered a breath, playing off a sob like a choke of air. A cough, perhaps. “I’m so proud of you.” The words left your lips with a tremor, a break in the cracks. You weren’t going to last. And neither would he.

Your father taught you well to hide your vulnerability, to mask your struggle. “Though I wish you’d let me beat you to it.” Something sad of a laugh broke through, tripping on the hollowing coating your mouth and the lump forming in your throat. That weakened squeeze within your fingers told you that Tony was glad he had beaten you to it, beaten you to the one thing he did not want you to do. 

As much as you, too, did not want to do this, be the one to sacrifice, you would have done anything to keep him there. To keep your father alive, to keep your best friend living. Yet, you failed to do so.

Peter’s presence beside you felt like a beacon of solitude. The last space of comfort you had left. Your right temple met his left shoulder, though you did not dare tear your watering eyes from Tony’s. His slow blinks and wheezing breaths would not last more than a moment longer, and you tried to memorize the feeling of his warmth while you could. The warmth of your father. 

He grabbed Tony’s left hand, his right hand grabbing yours as tight as he could. “We won, Mister Stark.” The shaken voice Peter spoke in told you he was breaking just as much as you were at the sight of Tony so tattered. It both broke you and brought you reassurance. 

“I’ll take care of her, Tony..” Peter’s whispered words shattered every guard you bore to keep yourself composed. It tore you to pieces, and how could it not? How fucked up did you have to be to try and push away the pain of losing your father? Your shoulders shook at the weight of the despair, the unbelievable pain that could not be bandaged. “It’s okay.” You could not tell whether Peter lulled the words to you or your father, but the two words were all Tony needed to hear before he, too, tore down his guards. 

The light fled his eyes the same moment the arc reactor shut off. The moment he died.

A gasp joined the mixture of your shallow breathing, your shaken sobbing, at the weight of Tony’s hand going limp in yours. He was lifeless, dead. Gone. Your father was gone. 

You pressed a tearful kiss to his fingers one last time before laying the hand at his side, leaning forward to shut Tony’s eyes to sleep forever. The second you leaned back, Peter wrapped you in his arms, allowing you to release the feeling and trauma of enduring the scene you knew would haunt you forever. 

The cost of his life for yours was a debt you would never be able to repay. A life–for–a–life kind of payback you knew you’d always fall short of. You just hoped he was right to keep you from making the sacrifice he was destined for. 

You just hoped you would be worth it. 

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 3

Marcus tries to ruin your relationship with Nikolai

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, physical abuse, cunnilingus, violence, extremly violent chapter but not towards reader, vomiting

Masterpost

It was Tuesday and you were scared. Marcus hadn’t fucked you but he was still determined to piss of Nikolai, spending the day torturing you, making sure you were freshly bruised and battered for Nikolai. He’d dragged you into his ‘office’ and smacked you across the face, yelling about how you were a whore. 

You were angry you just laid there and took his abuse. What else could you do? He was bigger. He could kill you and get away with it. They would just send Nikolai another girl, he wouldn’t even question it. 

You had this little thing. A little piece of hope. A horrible man that was occasionally kind and regularly generous. Marcus just had to ruin it, ruin you. You’d stumbled to the door, having to re enter the code three times before getting it right and being let in.

You stood in that little locked room. A white gift box sat waiting. You knew he was watching. He could already see your hair was a mess and your makeup was only half done. You winced as you shrugged your coat off. At one point you thought Marcus was going to dislocate your arm just for the fun of it.  You chewed on your lip till it bled, what was another injury?

You held the bottom of your shirt but couldn’t bring yourself to pull it up and over your head. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you collapsed to your knees. The first time he met you he said he liked that you could follow instructions. You couldn’t do that anymore. 

You knew so little of this man. You hugged yourself, ready for his rage. He’d grab you by the hair and drag you down the hall, strip you himself and force himself inside you. The lines of grout between the tile distorted as tears clouded your eyes. 

The door opened and you let out a sob, shaking uncontrollably. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered to his shoes, too terrified to look up. You were a dog at his feet. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“What happened, Kotenok?” He knelt down in front of you. “Did Arno hurt you?”

You flinched when he touched you. Waiting for pain was almost always worse than the actual pain, just the anticipation of what was going to happen to you made you nauseous. 

“I just want to see.” He tilted your chin up and tutted at the bruises and swelling. “Come here. I’ll clean you up.”

He wrapped an arm around your middle and hurried you upstairs to his bathroom. You whimpered out apologies the whole way. 

“Did Arno do this?” He made you look at him, his expression conveying that he wouldn’t ask again.

“No. Marcus did. He…he was my boyfriend and he’s the reason I…that I’m here.” You don’t know why you tried to hide your situation from yourself. He’s the reason you were trafficked, raped, beaten and all other horrid things that had happened to you. You could never find the ability to say those words out loud, especially not to a man who had helped facilitate it. 

“He work for Arno?”

You nodded, trying not to break into sobs again. 

“I’m going to take your clothes off. You’re going to take a bath. I will handle the rest.” He helped you take off your clothes and ran the water for a bath. The tub was large and deep so the water came up to your collarbones easily. It was hot and the bubbles smelled like lavender. He ran a hand over the top of your head,  “I’ll be back.”

You heard him yelling in the other room. You were glad Arno was getting an earful but Nikolai’s words did little to make you feel safe overall.

“Waste my fucking money!” 

“I won’t fuck her like this!”

“I’m not paying!” 

“Make it right.”

You were something he paid for, damaged goods. You could count your lucky stars that he hadn’t thrown you back out but he wouldn’t take mercy on you. You’d still end up spreading your legs for him, letting him take what he pleased. Marcus not fucking you was the only reason Nikolai still would. 

You rested your head on the edge of the tub, the ceramic was cool against your face. The bathroom door reopened and Nikolai walked in, stripping as he approached.

“He won’t touch you again. Not like this.” He said, light up a cigar.  He got into the tub behind you, water sloshing everywhere. The irritation was palpable in his voice, muttering, “I pay too much for you to show up at my door like this.”

He pulled you into his lap and blew his smoke above your head. You were afraid to relax into him. The heat radiating off him felt angry. You were a very small creature, resting between the teeth of a monster. 

“Kotenok, I need you to be honest with me.” The smell from his cigar was already making you woozy. He laid a hand at the base of your throat and pushed you back against him, “Did you tell them anything about me?”

“No, sir.”

“Kotenok…” He squeezed your neck, metal from his rings fitting between muscles and veins. 

“I promise! He…Marcus gets jealous still.” Your words came out hurried, stumbling over each other.  “Arno embarrassed him so he took it out on me. They were mad about the twenty four hour thing. Marcus wanted to ignore it. He…”

Nikolai released your neck and moved his hand to your forehead. 

“Kotenok, I believe you.” You breathed out slowly. All you could think about was how easily he could push your head under the water and hold you there. “You did good. We need to establish a rule though.”

“Okay.”

“I need to know I can trust you. I know you’re a smart girl. You know I’m not a saint.” You nodded along with his words. “But I take care of those who show me loyalty. Pussy of a man can't stand the girl he turned into a whore is now a whore so he beats her, it happens. A man’s favorite whore gets taken, beaten, raped, tortured, it can happen.” It felt like your whole body must have been vibrating with how hard your heart was beating. “Now if my favorite whore is loyal, I’ll take care of her in the end. Lick her wounds, buy her Hermes, eat her out. Whatever she wants. But if I find out she told them anything. Where I live, who I talk to on the phone, my favorite football team or even the taste of my spend. I will hurt her more than they ever could. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” You shuddered out, new tears welling up in the corner of your eyes. He turned your head to force your gaze on him. “I can be good.”

“I know. You were good. So tonight I’ll take care of you.” He tapped his finger against the tip of your nose. 

He had you hold his cigar as he washed your body, gently pulling  a washcloth along your arms and over your back. Bubbles and smoke clouded your vision till you started to slip around in the water, holding onto thighs and arms for support.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Let’s get you something to eat, yes?” 

He dried you off and put you in the same plush robe as last time before laying you on the bed with a promise he would be back soon. You stared up at the mirror on the ceiling. With the robe undone you could see all the marks across your body. All the places your blood vessels were broken, all the swollen parts of you. You examined yourself, fingers pressing against each spot, testing how much it hurt. You found yourself slowly drifting off. The sheets smelled like him. Musk, oud and tobacco. They weren’t clean like the first time you came over. You grabbed his pillow and pulled it to your face, burying your nose in it. 

Last week he asked if you were afraid of him. You were afraid of all clients in the same way you were afraid of stray dogs. Fear was what you ran on. It kept you that pretty sweet thing that knew when to show her belly in submission. Nikolai was an unknown beast. You now knew there was a fine line separating you and his violence. You could still feel his hold on your neck. You stared at the ceiling and thought about watching yourself get fucked again. Would he ever call for you again? You bit your lip so he wouldn’t hear you crying. Pathetically you wanted him to hear. Offer a sliver of comfort by holding you, kissing you, dripping sweet words into your head. 

You missed comfort more than you feared him. Missed feeling cared for. Marcus never bathed you even before he betrayed you. Never carried you to bed. You wanted to scream and cry. Throw a tantrum because you didn’t deserve this. You had much better hopes for yourself at one point. Better plans and dreams. You told Marcus once about how you wanted to travel, that felt like a lifetime ago. 

“You can sleep after you’ve eaten.” He tapped your cheek gently. You’d started to doze off. 

Nikolai had a box of pizza and a bottle of wine. He propped you up on the pillows, setting the pizza out between the two of you. With an arm around your shoulders, he played with a remote till one the paintings across from the bed moved to reveal a television. He flipped through the channels till he found a movie he liked.

“Eat.” He looked at you with disapproval when you reached for the wine first. You folded your slice in half and ate quietly. The hand on your shoulder played with your hair absentmindedly. Every other bite he’d offer you the bottle of wine, no glasses this time, and tilt the bottle to your lips till you drank. 

The pizza gone and the bottle empty, he climbed on top of you, muscular calves straddling your legs. 

“Did he fuck you?” His words echoed around your head, bobbing around like waves. You shook your head weakly.

“No, no one did. I…I…for you.” Words refused to connect in your brain

“Good.” His knuckles grazed your cheek, you leaned into it like a cat. His Kotenok. “I haven’t eaten a good pussy in weeks.”

He moved down your body before hooking your legs over his shoulders. There was an unease in your stomach as his fingers split open your centre. His breath was hot on your clit. Your muscles ached too much to even try and  lift your head but you could feel his eyes on you, just staring, examining you like a specimen. He was spreading your folds open, watching you drip onto the robe. 

He mumbled something in Russian and before you could ask what, his mouth was on you, licking around your entrance. Your thighs clamped down around his head. He was laughing, forcing your legs apart again.

“Pull my hair if you want but don’t stop me,” he growled. 

He ate with a selfishness, caring more about getting as much of you into his mouth as possible rather than giving any pleasure. He kept his mouth and tongue at your entrance with his nose bumping against your clit. You pulled his hair whenever his tongue flicked your clit, a silent plea for him to continue.

“Greedy,” he chuckled. You gasped loudly as he took your clit between his lips and sucked. He had two fingers inside you with his other hand holding both of yours flush against your stomach. Anytime you squirmed too much he’d nip the skin connecting your thigh and core. It was only after cumming that the wine took hold, letting you slip into a more relaxed state. He made you cum once more on his tongue, wiping his mouth on your stomach.

He pulled your arms out of your sleeves and rolled you onto your stomach.

“Don’t tell Arno I fucked you. Want my refund.” He grabbed your hips and lifted them up before shoving a pillow between you and the bed. His cock was pressing against your entrance. 

“Mmhmm.” you agreed, wine and exhaustion pulling your eyes closed. 

“Good girl. Just take it.”

You woke up alone. Your clothes laid out on the arm chair. There was no tea, just two pills and a glass of water on the nightstand. You dressed and took your medicine. Your body was stiff and there was an ache between your legs. 

Some half-remembered feeling of his body on top of yours, the slap of his hips against your ass. 

You wobbled your way downstairs, following the smell of coffee and toast. Nikolai was sitting at the head of the dining table, staring at his laptop with a mug in his hand. He was dressed. A steel grey dress shirt, black suit coat and pants. 

“Sit, eat. We’re leaving in ten minutes.” He motioned towards the seat beside him. He’d made you your own toast, no coffee. 

You ate quickly. The rage you’d seen last night was pumping beneath his skin, flooding his veins. You could see it just from how tightly he gripped his mug. You kept one hand clamped between your thighs to hide the shaking. There was a frayed rope somewhere and you had no idea if it was the one holding you up or not. You couldn’t even begin to untangle it from the rest without risk of it snapping. What did he mean by we?

Where would he take you?

“Don’t fight.” He came up behind you and dropped a black hood over your head. You caught your scream in your throat, forcing it to soften into a pathetic whimper. He guided you out of your chair and down the hall. You walked downstairs, a car door opened and you were helped inside, a step up. 

The seats were leather. You reached forward and felt the dashboard in front of you. He buckled you in. 

“Kotenok?” His mouth was by your ear, lips almost touching the fabric. 

“Yes, sir?” Could he hear how scared you were?

“Were you honest with me about this ex boyfriend of yours?” In your lack of vision you pictured his teeth as knives, waiting to dig into you.

“Yes, sir. All of it. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

“Good girl.” The car door slammed shut.

You couldn’t make sense of where he was taking you. You knew it wasn’t the club. He turned left instead of right at the end of the road. You were headed further into the industrial district, filled with no descript warehouses. 

He parked eventually. You listened to him get out and talk to someone outside the car in Russian. Your door opened and he helped you out.

“You just sit and look pretty, okay? Just some business and I’ll send you home.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and held you close as he led you into the building. 

You were sat in a metal fold out chair and again reminded to stay quiet. He stood behind you, hand under the hood as he played with your hair. 

“Nikolai, what the fuck is this?” Arno yelled, a metal door slamming open. You jumped as metal chair legs dragged against the floor across from you, pained moans coming from the darkness. Nik held the back of your neck firmly. 

“Do I look like a woman, Arno?” Nik asked. 

“What?” Arno sounded drunk, he always did but he wasn’t hiding it well this time.

“Do I look like a woman?” There was a calmness in his voice that was betrayed by his rings digging into your throat. 

“No. You don’t.”

“Then why do you try to fuck me? I don’t like to be fucked.”

“I didn’t try to fuck you.”

“No, your friend did and you let him. Dima, take the hood off Arno’s friend.” Footsteps and then gagged yelling. Nik pulled the hood off your head. Marcus sat three metres across, naked, gagged, and handcuffed to a chair. His nose had been broken and there was a cut by his eyebrow. His face was bloodied and bruised, all fresh wounds. Your toes curled in your shoes while goosebumps raced up your arms and back. “Do you think I look like a woman?”

Marcus shook his head violently. The tears forming in his eyes didn’t make you feel as good as you would have thought. The air in the building smelled like piss, mildew and harsh chemicals. It made your stomach churn, toast climbing its way back up. 

“Nikolai. I…I told you I was sorry. I didn’t know he tossed her around before… if I had known.” Arno pleaded.

“You should have never sent me damaged product. Look at her. I don’t want to fuck that!” He pulled your head back till you cried out in pain. “If I wanted her weeping and bloody I would have done it myself.”

“I… I didn’t know.”

“Because you’re a shit business man. Can’t keep track of your drink, can’t keep track of your girls, can’t keep track of this pedik!” He spat at Marcus. “I pay good money to have a pretty girl sent over to suck my cock. I’ve never tried to swindle you so why do you think you can fuck me over like this?”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t touch her. Your money is being sent back. Two days at most. I swear.”

“And what about my time? I don’t get many days off. Instead of fucking I had to listen to her cry. Is he going to suck my cock?” He motioned towards Marcus who shook his head again. 

“Next time is on the house…next two times. We appreciate your business Nik.”

“We’re not friends. You don’t call me Nik.”

“Mr. Andreev, we appreciate your business. I don’t…I don’t even fucking like him.” Marcus looked up in fear, cursing through the gag. “You can do whatever you want. Torture, fuck, kill. He’s yours. He’s a cunt.”

“Fine.” Nik’s hand left your neck. There was a click and the barrel of a handgun brushed against your cheek. Marcus started screaming. “Cover your ears, Kotenok.”

You clamped your hands over your ears. You wanted to close your eyes but the way Nik looked down at you knew he wanted you to watch. Nik took three steps and fired.

Marcus screamed as the bullet landed between his legs. There was too much blood to see where the bullet entered but it was gory viscera. You threw up your toast onto the floor between your feet. Nik tutted at you and pushed you back into the chair. You felt a deep shame in your weakness. Arno was cursing. The man you guessed was Dima, looked bored. 

Nik gave Dima a nod and he pulled Marcus’s gag off.

“You fucking cunt! I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you.” Marcus screamed. Nik laughed. 

“No, you won’t. You can’t even piss properly anymore.”

Marcus lifted his head to glare at you. You leaned back in your chair, the metal scraping the floor as you tried to inch away. 

“You fucking cunt! You stupid fucking bitch! I should have killed you years ago! You spoiled little whore” His blood was pooling around his feet and his skin grew grey yet he still had time and wherewithal to threaten you. “I hope he fucking kills you. He will! You think you’re safe snitching on me? He’ll do worse than I ever could.”

Nik moved back to stand behind you, resting his free hand on your shoulder. Arno was hissing for Marcus to shut up. Vomit still burnt your tongue. 

“I respected you once! Now you pay for pussy. I don’t pay for pussy! If I want to fuck my girlfriend, I’ll just fuck her. How much do you pay for her? Stupid cunt!”

Nik chuckled. 

“I don’t want your fucking respect, chmo.” Nik put his gun back into the holster on his hip. “Respect from pigs does little when they get hungry. You are a pig. Dima, gag him again.”

He turned towards Arno, who was still standing slack jawed at the scene in front of him.

“Arno? Does your father know you have pigs working for you? Does he know how you run his business?”

“Wh…what?”

“Does he know you’re too high to find your own fucking feet?”

“No..No… he doesn't.” Arno looked at his feet like a little boy. It disgusted you. 

“You want it to stay that way, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Kill him.” Nik nodded towards Marcus. Marcus started yelling through the gag again. 

“I…I…No. I won’t do that. You can’t-”

“I can do whatever I want. You do it or I do.” There was a roaring in your ears. Stomach bile was climbing up your throat to join your toast on the floor. Arno was arguing with Nik who was calm as ever. Nik’s hand left your shoulder and you found yourself rising out of your chair and running. Nik clicked his tongue and before you could make it to the door, Dima had his arms around your waist. He was bigger than Nik. Your fists hit against his arms as you screamed and cried. “Have to do everything myself. Hold her in her fucking seat!”

Dima dropped you back in the chair and held you still. Nik had pulled two brass knuckles out of his pockets. He was walking towards you. 

“Please Kolya! Don’t! Please!” Snot and spit mixed together on your face. 

“You were being so good.” He rubbed the metal against your cheek, smirking when you shrinked away. “Now watch me.”

Dima held your head forward as Nik stalked over to Marcus. Arno was sitting on the floor, arms resting on his knees, no light in his eyes. There was no shame in his face, no regret for getting his friend killed, just a child’s disappointment that he’d been caught. 

You gasped as Nik’s fist collided with Marcus' jaw. His gag knocked loose followed by a spray of teeth and blood. Nik used him as a punching bag. You flinched at every crack of bone and scream of pain. He punched and punched till Marcus was coughing up blood and his chin rested on his chest. 

Nik pulled him up by the hair and whispered something with a chuckle. He punched Marcus in the nose and then again and again and again and again and again. His face caved in. Nik punched till there was no face, just a bloody clump of flesh and teeth and bone. To your horror, it moved as Marcus’s last breaths came out. Nik kicked his chair over. 

“Send me a new girl. Red head. Need to fuck something now.” He looked at you and shook his head. You’d thrown up again, it was covering your front. Snot was dried down to your chin. You never looked away. 

Dima let go of you and followed Nik out of the building. 

“Fuuuuuuucccccckkkkkk.” Arno sighed, hands in head. “My dad is going to fucking kill me.”