#Foot odor control

[btsbabe7]

Safe Haven

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x reader, Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected, age gap, intoxication, infidelity

Synopsis: After a long night out with friends, things take a drastic turn when you show up unexpectedly at the Malfoy Manor and your best friend isn’t the one who lets you in.

You find yourself on the doorstep of the Malfoy manor, lightheaded and nauseous, clothes soaked in rain, liver swimming in poison, and entirely too nervous and embarrassed to knock. You curse yourself for not sending for Draco, your best friend of a solid decade, to come rescue you from your recklessness. You’d insisted to your other friends that you could make it safely, that you knew your way home. And while you did arrive safely, you can’t bring yourself to lift your fist to ask for permission to enter.

The Malfoy Manor has always been a safe place for you throughout your childhood and granted you the same safety as an adult. You’d practically grown up here under the care of the house elf, Dobby, and the companionship of Draco Malfoy. Narcissa saw to things like taking you shopping for clothes and catering to your other womanly needs as you grew older. On the other hand, Lucius Malfoy was hardly present. He remained the breadwinner of the home and that came with the sacrifice of working long days and nights at the Ministry, and in his spare time, he’d used it to meet with friends.

When he was at home, he could be quite demanding. He constantly lectured Draco about slipping grades and the importance of putting his best foot forward instead of indulging in useless shenanigans.

One night, after his wife and son had long trailed off to bed, Lucius had stayed in the entertainment room with you to finish a movie. The both of you remained long after the movie ended, speaking about school, work, and life. He confided in you just as you had with him. You’d always known Lucius Malfoy to lack nothing, not of confidence, not of power, and certainly not control. Yet, that night he’d told you that he didn’t want Draco stuck at the Ministry like himself. He wanted a powerful son that would be able to take his place if the situation ever arose, to be prepared for anything, and be able to step up when his family needed him the most. Most of all, he just wanted someone, something that came from him, to be proud of.

You’d spent several years listening to Draco’s complaints about his father over breaks and in the courtyard at Hogwarts when you two would sneak out to meet late in the night. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to spill Lucius’ wishes. It felt as if you were overstepping every time his words echoed in your mind: someone to be proud of. When you were around, Lucius was a completely different man—tolerant, caring, even nice at times, and you knew Lucius needed to be the one to tell Draco himself.

Now, as an adult, you can recall the moments where he tried caring for Draco in the best way he knew how. You realized that being tough had become his default to shield himself from disappointment, to keep Draco on track. He’d tried to raise him to become a man of power with nothing but confidence and control in his arsenal. He hadn’t failed, but he also hadn’t let his guard down, never liberated himself from the need of being in control.

And part of being in control meant Lucius always remained aware of anything going on inside of and around the Malfoy property, so it’s no surprise that he’s the one that opens the door to your shivering body without you lifting a single finger.

“Look what the storm washed in,” he muses and motions you inside to take shelter from the pouring rain and lightening rolling in through distant black clouds. “You’ve been drinking.”

He doesn’t ask, just states it matter-of-factly.

Anyone with a nose can smell the bitterness seeping off your clothes, your body, your mouth. You smell of whisky and sweat and body odor that isn’t yours. You aren’t sure what you were attempting to drink away, but perhaps it was the searing that burns in your chest when his eyes meet yours.

The look is one you’ve seen him give many, but never to you, and it’s now spread over his hardened features. Disappointment is what lingers in those angry pale grey eyes.

“I… I came to s— I came to see D-drac—“ You let out a scoff, now utterly disappointed in yourself as you slur and stumble over the raised threshold. It’s truly a miracle that you’d made it here at all.

Had you truly allowed yourself to get this wasted?

That answer comes when Lucius uses his own body to shield you from tumbling onto the frigid tiles of the foyer. You cling to the silky sleeve of his robe as he hisses something vulgar under his breath.

“You can’t possibly be this drunk,” he snorts and locks the front door behind you both in a fury. “Who’ve you been with? You graduated years ago and this is how you choose to live? The life of a—a drunk? I expected more from a brilliant witch like yourself. I thought you incapable of falling this low. Does your father know you’re here?”

You rub into the sultry velvet and focus on the way it clings to his body. It’s a black so deep against his pale skin that it makes your eyes feel as if you’re staring into a void.

You hiccup and a soft smile plays at the corners of your mouth as you take in the tart apple and spicy woodsy scent that only the Malfoy men have. It reminds you of all the nights you’d sneak into Draco’s room as a kid and cuddle against his side when you couldn’t sleep, and in your current drunken state, it’s completely intoxicating.

“What’re you doing, Y/n?” Lucius demands as your hand travels up the length of his arm.

You give his biceps a squeeze and chuckle in response. He has such a strong body and he’s adorned it in such a delicious feeling fabric. One you can’t seem to keep your hands off of and want to crawl into.

The truth is that you don’t know what you’re doing and with every blink of your weary eyes, you see Draco’s iced silver ones in waves. You see glimpses of blonde hair in your grasp, lush, silky and soft. You imagined it countless times in the past, pale white hips rutting against your backside while you both watch in the silver ornate mirror that hangs over his dresser just beside his bed. You’d wished it happened as it had in the privacy of your dreams and daydreams.

You see flashes of books in Lucius’ study. The two of you would sneak inside while his father and mother were out and the elves were busy. You’d make out there near the fireplace. Other times, you’d be propped up on the desk with Draco’s erection pressed hard against the delicate folds of your clothed, aching sex.

You lean back on the familiar desk, wet ass gliding against the smooth mahogany. Lucius led you here into the study, which means you’ve truly fucked up.

The study is just the way you remember it. The backside is filled from floor to ceiling with books and skulls and trinkets, all meaning something to Lucius, or simply nothing at all. Lucius’ desk remains in the center, facing the fireplace, and placed firmly on a fancy rug with a huge velvet chair behind it. He has other knickknacks here and there, but the study remains fairly simple and serves its purpose.

You turn to your right and see a family photo nestled in a silver gilded frame. Draco stands in the middle, posed with his chin up, his parents stand as far away as they possibly can with their hands resting on either side of his shoulders. No one smiled, save for the small tug at the corners of Narcissa’s lips, though it didn’t meet her dim eyes.

When you’d snuck down here with Draco, he’d turn it face down on the desk before delving into you. It sits upright now, yet piles of marked scrolls threaten to bury it. A box of limited edition quill inks sit in a box beside them and a semi-wet quill lies on an open scroll just beside you. You come to the conclusion that he must have been working when he sensed someone’s presence, your presence, outside.

Lucky for him.

It’s so late that you begin to wonder where Narcissa might be, where Draco might be since you’d come for him. Asleep upstairs maybe. Or perhaps somewhere else entirely. As for Narcissa, you’d noted her absence shortly after graduation and she only seemed to grow more distant now that you and Draco are of proper age. Draco himself had always remained distant and found solitude in being alone when you weren’t around to keep him company. Just like his mother, his interest in his father had diminished over the years while yours had grown.

Lucius huffs and the springs in the chair squeak lightly underneath his weight. The sound pulls you away from your memories and the weight of your own thoughts settle in the center of your core with a wave of nostalgia. The chair had made the same noise in all those times Draco plopped down there and it knocks you back to a time many years ago.

Draco’s mother had left with her sister, Bellatrix, and you both knew his father would be out later. Narcissa had left you both to the mercy of the house elves, who treated you with much more respect than you cared for.

When silence had fallen over the manor, Draco had waltzed down the hallway and placed a knock on your door. You’d been half asleep in the room given to you since the moment you’d decided this home suited you more than your own. The door had squeaked open, sending golden light cascading over the bright yellow walls they’d let you paint.

You’d hissed at Draco for interrupting your sleep, but somehow he’d managed to coax you out of bed and down into his father’s study. You remember the taste of his lips, so sweet and delicate against yours after the door had been closed. Somehow that had led to him splaying your legs wide and planting your feet firmly on the sturdy wooden surface of his father’s desk.

All you remember afterwards is the fire roaring to life and warming your entire being as Draco pumped you hard with his skilled fingers for the very first time.

You bite into your lip and let out a soft moan as your brain caresses and savors every inch of that memory.

“Y/n!” Lucius demands.

“Lucius,” you mewl softly in a taunting, singsong tone that sends his eyes rolling.

He groans as you kick your muddy heels off and clicks his tongue in disgust when they clatter on his rug.

He curses himself for not remembering to make you take them off at the door. Though, he reminds himself that you don’t usually show up in such a pathetic state where your manners are long forgotten. He also reminds himself that he’s not usually in a position underneath your taunting gaze. You sit there like a queen on her throne. Unfortunately for him, the throne just so happens to be his desk.

Lucius fights the urge to take control of the situation, though his body aches for him to do so. He wants you off his desk, off your ass, sobered up, and sinking down his cock. He caresses his chin and bites into his bottom lip before flinching away from that final realization, away from you and the way your nipples grow hard against the thin fabric of that skimpy dress you’d slipped on hours ago to meet with friends in. Had he been here, he wouldn’t have let you step a foot outside in such scandalous attire. He curses your father for being so absentminded and so uninvolved in your life.

Despite that truth, Lucius had watched you bloom into a brilliant witch and beautiful woman. Over the years, he’d listened to Narcissa’s comments on the way your body had practically become a woman’s overnight—large breasts and curves that had been flaunted too well in your robes and skirts. Lucius forked over more money for your new robes and uniform without hesitation. He couldn’t stand the idea of boys at Hogwarts gawking at you, targeting you with their useless, impure minds. And selfishly, he’d always seen you more fit for a Malfoy, even though you went against everything they stood for.

You have half-blood friends, you were sorted into a house other than Slytherin, you were curious about muggles. Lucius had pushed all those details to the back of his mind when he took you in. You were strong, opinionated even when he disagreed with you, and best of all, you never backed down from a challenge. You weren’t weak and he appreciated that quality about you.

Now, you appear stronger than ever, though your judgement is obviously skewed.

“I’m disappointed in you,” he begins. He knows he has to scold you like a child, but he also knows you’ll do it again if he doesn’t. He hates that he has to be the one to do it. “I think y—“

“Deserve to be punished, don’t I?” You whimper and pick at your nails with a firm pout of your pink lips.

Lucius rolls his eyes and ignores the ache daring to tear him apart at the seam if he allows you to open your mouth again. He comes off the chair and turns to face the endlessly shelving of books. He crosses his arms and stares mindlessly at the first row that meets his eyes, far away from you.

Sickness, much like bile, collects at the base of his throat and he swallows it down. He knows he cannot touch you, it’d be crossing the line on so many levels. Worst, it’d go against his morals. He’s married. His son is one of your better best friends. He’s friends with your useless excuse of a father, he’s looked your mother in the eyes over countless meetings decades ago where he vowed to take care of you to the best of his ability before he took you in for good. Yet, every civilized thought escapes his mind when he hears your breathing hitch behind him. A soft shuffling follows and he swallows dryly. He knows the sound all too well—wet clothes being removed, peeling away from damp skin, and plopping against the floor.

You’re a sopping mess in the neatness of his study. His rug will suffer, but so will he.

He clenches his teeth and sneers as he whips his wand out and sends a charm towards his study door. It closes and locks quietly, but the nearly silent sound still echoes loudly in his eardrums.

You let out a soft whimper as you bristle against the cool rush of the closing door. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. The men of this manor never could, and with the close of his door, you’d just become Lucius Malfoy’s seductress.

You roll your head back and stare at the way the ceiling curves to a point above the desk. You’ve stared at it many times when Draco pleased you while he remained completely oblivious to your true desires. Thoughts of Lucius had plagued your mind while Draco’s fingers and mouth did all the work. His father’s name had clung to the edge of your tongue while you forced Draco’s out with careful skill. You knew it was wrong, but it’d almost become a game during those long nights. You’d always wondered if you’d slip up and what Draco would do if you did.

You splay your thighs wide and run your feet along the arms of the emerald green chair. With heavy eyes, you watch the fabric’s color distort slightly from light emerald to a darker shade of the same color with each stroke of your flesh. While you do this, you take notice that Lucius hasn’t turned around since he’s left the chair. Denying his own primal needs as a male, you’re sure. You’d just waltzed, well, stumbled right in and threatened all order, seized all his control with minimal effort, and he hates it. You know he does. Yet, your own need for warmth begins to overtake your own motives and you shiver against the cool air circulating in the darkened room.

“C-could you start up a fire?” You blurt through clenched teeth as you hug into your shivering body.

Lucius’ head snaps back as if he’s been in a trance the entire time. His senses slowly return and he follows the needy plead of your voice. He regrets it the very moment your nude body comes into view. Your lacy black underwear are all that remain of the clothes you’d stripped off and Lucius is suffering indeed.

Hardened grey eyes glaze over the length of your being. He takes in the way your dark hair is now chopped at your shoulders, the length of your short, delicate limbs, the perfect curvature of your breasts and hips. It’s all more proportional and more appealing than he cares to admit.

His eyes snap away from your shivering body and he forces himself to focus on the dead fireplace alongside the wall. The door is sealed shut behind you, beyond you. He should open it, the door. He should summon Draco or call for an elf to help you, cloth you. If you’re this comfortable around him, daring really, then he has no doubt that his son has seen you just the same and would have no qualms about helping.

Cunning as you are, you should have been sorted into Slytherin during your school years. A true shame that the Slytherin house missed out on such brilliance due to a wrinkly old hat and a fool of a headmaster.

He thinks to himself.

Lucius kindles the firewood in the fireplace with a sharp snap of his fingers and watches the fire spark. As the wood crackles, the flame catches another piece and begins dancing to life as he attempts to choose his next words as carefully as he can.

“How long?”

You cannot admit that your liking for Lucius had begun at the ripe age of fifteen. You were young, impressionable, and Lucius had shown you how real men care for their families. While Draco complained about his father, you saw a hardworking man who needed to put food on the table for his family, a provider. You seen him as the man who’d step in when your real father chose not, and you admired that too.

You swallow and keep your eyes on your fingertips which are coming more and more into focus with each pick of your nails.

“It’s been awhile,” is all you manage.

Lucius continues staring into the fire, still upset with himself for closing the door while trying to work out how long a while consists of. His heart races with both fear and excitement, but he isn’t sure which one will win this battle.

After a while, Lucius brings a blanket over from the corner of the room. He dusts it off and wraps it around your warming body. He doesn’t dare look you over again. He can’t. Not when your eyes watch his every move, from his pacing to the way he strokes his chin across the room when he’s deep in thought. He hadn’t planned for you to show up like this and hadn’t planned for you to strip everything off and be so confidently naked in front of him.

He stares at another book on the shelf, hardly registering the title as he slips a delicate stripe down the spine. He needs something else to focus on, but he isn’t prepared for the sound that comes out of you next. A sound that ripples through his very being and has him on edge like a wild beast.

The fingertips of your right hand run down the plain of your belly, relishing the feeling of your warming body before slipping underneath the hem of your lace. The blanket shifts off your shoulders as you spread your legs wide and allow your fingertips to trickle just below the dampened folds. The thought of Lucius, as always, overtakes your senses, and you graze right between the folds with a low moan. You tease your arousal before bringing it back up to the little protrusion between your lips. You give your clitoris a generous rub and you melt right where you sit.

Lucius’ head whips in your direction and all color leaves his face. His body goes still like a statue.

“You… Y—“

His name finally slips off your tongue and it tastes absolutely delicious. You’re exhausted with holding back, holding it in. You’d spent years doing so and you weren’t going to give up this opportunity that’s presented itself. It was supposed to be Draco that let you in, that came to your rescue as always, but when the long, white-haired Malfoy, the patriarch of this manor opened that door, you knew the stars had aligned that very moment.

“I command you to stop,” Lucius orders, but you shake your head in protest and circle harder.

Lucius feels as if he’s the one that’s been drinking. The way your moans and soft pants make his head spin is intoxicating. He can’t help the way his cock twitches underneath his pajama pants. He’s glad the robe does the job of covering the sudden reaction. He doesn’t want you to have the satisfaction of knowing what you do to him.

He bites into his lip once more and shuts his eyes. No, he reopens them because the memory of you naked is now engrained behind his eyes and also right in front of him. You’re everywhere he looks, your moans are all he can hear. He cannot escape you. Perhaps if he just opened the damned door. But he’s sealed it shut with a charm not even his own son could get through on the other side. It sealed off all sound and no one would come bothering the two of you. He knows this, even with the sickness rising in his throat again.

Lucius’ eyes cower towards you, watching the way your hips rock softly against your circling fingers. You hadn’t slipped inside yourself, just gathered your arousal enough to keep the rubbing lubricated. His cock aches and he cannot remember the last time he had sex, let alone the last time a female had graced him with such vulgar imagery. He turns away from you and wishes for the pulsing in his veins to stop. He wishes away the heat centering between his legs, but it remains. Your panting grows louder and he fears he will erupt right where he stands. So, what would be the harm if he were standing in front of you instead? What would be the harm if he simply gave in? Stopped fighting and resisting?

He lets out a shaky breath and faces you. You watch determination settle in his eyes and you let out a squeaky moan. Lucius makes his way towards the desk and kicks the chair to the right side. When he finally faces you, his face goes pale. He flinches at the sight of you spread open and so beautifully aroused. He’d missed the fact that you’d now removed the lace, which he’d hardly call underwear as they’d probably hid nothing from the skimpy look of them on his rug. But now, your sex is glistening at the folds, reddened and swollen with heat, and he almost collapses.

“Help me, Lucius,” you hum and trace your wet fingers upwards in a smooth motion.

His grey eyes follow the wet trail up to your navel, over the soft skin of your belly, over your sternum, and now the way you lazily circle around each of your nipples. His chest tightens, but he can no longer force himself to look away. This entire situation is scandalous and if he were to take this risk, how would anyone other than the two of you know? He knows you brilliant enough to keep your mouth shut about something like this. It would ruin you just as much as himself if word got around.

Lucius whips his robe open and your eyes go wide in amusement. Creamy white skin with dark hairs cover the expanse of his chest and navel before leading a trail underneath the hem of his velvet pajama pants. You cock your head and smile weakly at the protrusion in the center. He’d been hiding it, the way you turn him on, and a deep satisfaction steeps in your belly.

You place your palm on your sex. Excited by the sight of him hardened for you, you feel the need to release yourself; however, Lucius quickly throws a wrench in those plans. He takes your sopping fingers and tosses them away from your mound, and you watch as he kneels on the floor in front of you and pushes your legs further apart.

You can’t hide the amazement in your eyes as he pulls you to the very edge of the desk.

Lucius Malfoy kneeling.

Your mouth waters. So does his.

His eyes devour the glistening between your thighs and his heartbeat quickens with each passing breath. If he does this, there’s no going back. If he doesn’t do this, you’ll both be completely unsatisfied and the awkwardness would linger in the air much longer than the realization of your actions if he were to give in. With your eyes plastered on him, he can’t stop himself from licking his lips. Your body is so intriguing, so divine, and he wants to explore every inch. With quivering lips and unsure thoughts, Lucius’ breath shutters against your warmth before licking a stripe up the wet folds of your cunt. Your head falls back and a rumbling moan escapes your throat. You know this will be so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced in this room.

Your fingers caress his scalp and gingerly gather his long platinum hair into your fists. Your hips buck forward to meet each flip of his tongue. You feel hot all over. Your head, your cheeks, your throat, chest and belly, your thighs and ass pressed hard against the wood, and your very core. Lucius suckles at your clit and it almost sends you overboard. You attempt to pull him away, but he clamps hard enough to earn a yelp before settling back. He lets out a rough chuckle and toys his thumb over the reddened protrusion before slipping down and pressing through your entrance.

You fall back on your elbows and shut your eyes to the ceiling.

“Lucius…”

Remarkable. Is all that come to mind at the way your cunt squeezes around his thumb. With the sound of your ravenous moans in response to this little action, he can hardly imagine what you’d sound like with his cock buried inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you snarl. “Please fuck me, Lucius.”

He knows he can’t ignore your commands any longer. He will go mad if he does. He stands to attention, slipping right out of his garments as he does. His cock pulses as he sucks your juices off his thumb, then uses the same hand to stroke his own ache. He sighs in relief and you watch him align himself. He wastes no time thrusting through your folds and you howl in pain and pleasure.

Perhaps you should have warned him of the truth, but it’s much too late. His cock is tight inside of you, running along the fresh, untouched walls with so much precision. Your breasts ache and your chests burns. Your entrance burns, but you don’t care. You’ve needed this for years, craved it, and now you’ll relish every inch of him.

Something flickers in his eyes when they find yours, shame and lust reflect in them. He can’t believe he’s inside of you, can’t believe he gave in so easily. He hadn’t bothered asking of your prior experience. Truthfully, he didn’t want to know how many men had buried themselves inside this glorious, tight hole of yours. The ridges of your walls had swallowed him whole and he didn’t need to think of any competition because he was already determined to be your best.

Lucius watches you like a hawk, catching the way your hand finds your curls and massage into your scalp. He watches the way your breasts jiggle with each movement of your body against his. He closes his eyes, hoping it’s just a dream. When he opens them again, you’re still there like the delectable woman he now knows you to be.

It’s not long before your chest begins to tighten and the squeeze in your core contracts softly. You know this feeling all too well, Draco had taught you all you knew about the feelings of an orgasm, and you won’t last much longer. Not with Lucius hitting all the right spots and his rutting cock buried so deep inside your very core. Your head spins and the point on the ceiling distorts as you falter back onto your elbows. You feel as if you’re floating and he feels like perfection.

Lucius tries to avoid your eyes, your low and seductive features that have his mind reeling and tethering on the edge of reality. He knows he shouldn’t have given in and that he’ll pay for it every time he sees you going forward. He’ll think about it when his wife returns home, whenever she returns home. He’ll think about it when he sees his son and he’ll scowl at idea that he may have had you in this very position before but never had the balls to go any further. Or maybe he has and Lucius should’ve triple-guessed before delving balls deep into your tight little cunt.

He snarls at the thought and at the sight of your arousal glistening under the golden light along his full length with every pull of his hips. He’s growing sloppier in his thrusts, failing miserably in keeping his groans and grunts at bay as he wished. He can’t have you thinking he’s enjoying himself or that he will be allowing this to happen again. He can’t allow you to bring out this side of him again, messy and bending at your will. Yet, if this will be the last time, he plans to make it memorable for the both of you.

Lucius glides his hand over the plain of your stomach and watches the way your breasts bounce to the rhythm of his thrusting. He’d give anything to be properly buried there, right in the softness of your skin, but he knows this is wrong. But how can it be wrong when his name slipping off your lips sounds as if an angel is calling out for him?

He sneers and squeezes his eyes shut. He tries to imagine a time when his wife loved him enough for this, not from a place of dedication or duty, but just a desperate need to be touched by him. A need for hot, raging, glorious sex. And he almost goes limp at the thought of her.

He opens his eyes and yours are right there, hungry and focused solely on him. Whatever alcohol had dared to poison your liver, dared to overtake your senses has vanished very quickly. Though, he knows you’ve been aware from the moment you’d grasped his robe in the entryway. He knows from the way something like golden fire sparkled in your eyes in all the times you’ve glanced at him when no one was watching over the years.

Something flutters deep in Lucius’ core and he pants loudly at that realization. It drives himself to take a fistful of your hair without thinking it over, and he almost melts when you flash a bright smile that sends him swooning.

Fuck me, Lucius.

The line rings like an echo in his mind.

“Lucius… Kiss me.”

Lucius’ eyes blaze and he rushes his mouth against your plump pink lips on command. Your tongue sweeps over his and his eyes grow wide as yours flutter to a close. The bitterness of whisky and the sweetness of butterscotch that lingers after too many Butterbeers is heavy on your tongue, but you taste just as sweet against him like strawberries underneath. He imagines you downing goblets, tossing them back like a champ. Perhaps the sway of your hips if music were playing throughout the tavern. He knew you to be confident in that way, somehow always socially adept and always the center of attention, even though you denied it.

You sweep your arms around his neck and pull him closer, and just as his thrusts begin to falter, you bring your heels up to his muscled cheeks and drive him in further. A shakily groan floods into the cavern of your mouth and his eyes glow with something you’ve never seen before. Desire? Lust? You don’t know. All you know is that you don’t want him stopping until your orgasm is pulsing all around his long, slender length. You want to feel his warm seed coating your inner thighs and stomach. And as much as you wish to feel him spilling inside of you, his milky semen dripping out of you and growing sticky between your thighs as the night grows to day, you know you can’t allow that. Not now.

With your lips hot against his, Lucius can hardly contain himself. His grip in your curls tighten as he holds your lips to his, swallowing each of your pressing moans whole. He gives you the satisfaction of guiding him deeper until he’s had enough. When he does, he withdraws entirely.

He could explode from the way you appear in front of him, eyes blown, pussy swollen and glimmering at the folds, breasts supple and nipples harder than his cock. Your arousal is all over his length and groin and he can’t take it easy anymore. He grasps your arm and yanks you off the desk. You yelp as he twists you around in one quick motion and ropes one of your knees in his hands to press up against the desk.

A chill runs down your spine and your nipples ache against the coolness of the wood. They’re begging to be relieved, but neither of you can be bothered to do so when the pleasure of Lucius’ cock being buried inside you is much more vital.

He knows the fireplace had done nothing to warm the desk and he relishes the sight of you shivering against the chill. He watches the way goosebumps prickle over your skin and the way your ass has become discolored from being pressed against his desk for so long. He gives it a firm smack, which earns yet another whimper from your lips.

He smirks while collecting himself and driving back into you.

With a deafening grunt, he takes your hair back into his fist and places the other on your hip. His own plow against your ass and you whine at the new depths of his cock.

Your cheeks burn at the thought of how wet you are in front of him, for him. Unbelievably pathetic.

Knowing this will end soon feels like absolutely torture and Lucius struggles with that reality with each contraction of your walls. His thrusts remain erratic, but he stopped caring. His hand loosens in your hair and squeezes harder against your hip when your back arches. He catches you taking glimpses of him over your shoulder and chuckles at your desperation. Though, his is just as bad. He’s never known how desperately he needed this from you.

“Perhaps I should’ve left you on your ass.”

“Maybe,” you pant nonchalantly. “At least I would’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing your face when you release.”

He tugs at you closer and uses the chair to prop his own leg up before dropping his hand from your hair entirely and lowering it to your jawline. He grasps it hard and you groan against the touch.

“You want to see my face when I release?” He laughs coldly. “Well, here I am.”

He stares into your lidded eyes and smirks at how fucked out and beautiful you look taking his cock.

“You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

It’s a backhanded compliment, but he lets you let it out an exasperated giggle. It rumbles in your throat underneath his hand and drives him mad.

“How many cocks have you taken?”

You blink blankly, surprised by the question, the forwardness. You’re prepared to force out an answer, but his hand tightens around the base of your throat, squeezing just enough to cut off air.

“The truth,” he adds. “Only the truth.”

He loosens his grip a smidge and you gasp the words, “Only yours.”

Lucius’ eyes go grim and he squeezes your throat again. Your cheeks burn hot in embarrassment.

“The truth, Y/n!”

Your core aches at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue and you shiver against him.

“Just yours, Lucius.”

His heartbeat quickens and he draws your lips back to his, forcing himself deeper with the twist. You squirm under the pressure and grasp the edge of the desk for stability as your back arches with each thrust of his hips and his breathing draws shakily against your mouth.

“Y/n,” he grunts. “I… You—your first?”

His eyebrows twitch and his body shivers. A low hum leaves your mouth, completely in tune with the way his body quivers against yours. You focus on the way your own heart begins to race in your chest, a deep thrumming that has you gasping with the tightening inside your core. Your core burns as you hold back your orgasm. You know he’s earned it, but he isn’t there just yet.

Lucius squeezes tighter and you rock your hips back to meet his. His eyes go wide, then roll with a hiss slipping from his mouth simultaneously.

“Shit!”

“Lucius…”

He sneers and slips behind you again, completely withdrawing from your view. He can’t look you in the eyes right now or his load will be buried so deep inside of you that he’ll have a new set of problems on his plate. His wife, his son. He already feels that he isn’t a good enough husband or father. His job at the Ministry is demanding, and you… Merlin, you are going to be the absolute end of him.

He ruts his hips forward in long, hard motions until the only noises filling the study are the sounds of your ass clapping against his groin, the sloppiness of your arousal sticking to his shaft, and your moans drowning out his own. He thrusts and thrusts and thrusts, sinking you down to his balls with each sweep. And your cries…

“Fuck,” he whimpers and shakes at the knees.

He plants both hands on your hips and stares at anything else but your body leaned over his desk, obeying his every command, and rewarding him with its own sweetness.

“Cum for me,” he growls lowly.

Your moans are so loud that you can barely hear the order. You’ve been teetering on the edge for minutes now, barely able to hold your own release back any longer.

“Cum for me now,” he demands. “Or I-I’ll…”

You rock your hips and Lucius lets out a deafening groan that sends you overboard. Your walls tense around him and your body flushes hot as you milk him dry. He sputters and grasps your ass, your hips, your waist, then with agonizing discipline, he slips out of your squelching warmth and explodes all over you with a roar. Warmth explodes all over your backside, your thighs, your ass, and you collapse on your arms against the desk. Your legs shake terribly and you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stand much longer.

Lucius’s groans stifle into breathy pants and the familiar squeaking of chair behind you fills your ears as he pulls you down into his lap. Your legs almost give out with the action and his eyes are full of nothing but hot rage. He splays your legs apart and clamps his hand over your cunt, feeling the stickiness of your own orgasm between your thighs. He watches you intently, studies you and the way your body shutters softly with the touch. Then, his own need for control returns, washing over him in a powerful wave.

He swirls his fingers just as he’d watched you do, just the way you like it. Your head snaps back, nipples peaking once more and your moan filling his ears with that sweet melody he’ll never forget. He hates how pretty you look when you cry, but he loves how responsive your body is to his every touch.

“Lucius… please…” you pant softly, eyes already rolling.

“I don’t recall saying we were done,” he muses.

His fingers run between your trembling folds and you jerk forward with a breathy howl.

You catch sight of his vile smile as you tremble in overstimulating pleasure and you bite back a demanding moan knowing this is now his own form of torture.

Lucius’ brows raise as he watches you struggle to regain your own control. Just when you think you have it, he lets out a soft sigh. Something along the lines of, “Happy Christmas,” fills your ears in a deep groan just before he plunges his fingers into your needy cunt and takes you all over again, completely reminding you who is always, truly in control.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fanfics:

⚡︎ Keep Me (In the Shadows) (m.) - Draco Malfoy x reader

⚡︎ Lost Love (m.) - Lucien Vanserra x Rhysand x reader

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

December 2024

[lunatf-ao3]

HEADCANONS ❣︎

❥︎ FETICHES ! ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉˢ

[TFP] Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Starscream, Ultra Magnus, Dreadwing, Predaking /human!Reader

[⚠︎]: nsfw, various fetishes, it may be strange

I will play other characters, this was a bit long hehe. I will respond to requests as quickly as possible, ty!!!

-

- PREDAKING :

Breeding Kink

Body Odor

Predaking has olfactory sensors unmatched by any species, strong enough to detect human pheromones, and oh boy, the first time he detected yours in his heat cycle, it was like an intense aphrodisiac for him. He can't get hot without smelling your scent, he loves to sniff you all over, especially between your legs and on your neck. They make his spike harden almost immediately and he has involuntary erections for the rest of the days.

Being the only one of his species, his deepest desire is to have offspring, especially after the loss of his siblings to the autobots. Don't even try to ask him to finish outside, he won't do it. As long as he's in heat, he'll use your tight little hole as he sees fit. He makes sure to fill you full of transfluid until you're nice and swollen for him, and if he gets the chance, he'll happily knot you up. Deep down he knows that having offspring with you is totally impossible, but he doesn't care, he'll fuck you like it's possible.

Despite this, he is not a complete brute, he cares for you and treats you like a queen, because you are, you are his queen. He devours you with savage respect. He has everything he needs for you, food, clothes, first aid kit and, to his chagrin, personal grooming stuff. He's not a fan of you bathing, shampoos and soaps make your natural scent disappear for a while, but he doesn't have much choice but to accept it.

Normally his heat lasts only a week, but he makes sure to make the most of it. During that time, you just reek of transfluid and sex. He loves it. His favorite position is when you're underneath him, receiving his spike as if you were made for exactly that. He also loves it when you ride him, making you jump on his spike and see the bulge in your belly.

- DREADWING :

Domestic Kink

Dreadwing is too horny to get things ready, put the pillows on, arrange the sheets, put the lube on the side.... The anticipation is a pleasure that excites more than the sex itself. Well, maybe not as exaggerated, but when it's over, spike is as hard and dripping as it could ever be.

It's a domestic thing, in the realm of the sensual. He makes the bed because that's where he's going to devour you, he sterilizes his body because you'll put your delicate parts there, he prepares the room as if it were an altar of desire. Do you want to do it? NO, it is his duty and only he will do it, he will not allow you, his sweet lover, to be exhausted with something like that.

Besides, it's hard for him to get too excited afterwards. Anticipation has become necessary for sex...

It's not just about order, he will definitely destroy and disorganize everything in the process. He also likes to clean up afterwards, it's a dirty reminder of what happened. His favorite position is the classic missionary, watching your face and the way his spike penetrates you, filling you completely is something she won't miss.

He is sweet but firm, his lunges are accompanied by kisses and his overload never comes before a "Where?". Inside or outside, it's fine with him, inside? That's fine, he loves to fill you with his seed and watch you drain yourself of it. outside? That's fine, it's a treat to see you covered in his cum and clean himself afterwards.

- ULTRA MAGNUS :

Size Difference

Foot Fetish

As stoic as the second in command of the autobots is, he has a special soft spot for how small you are. When you yourself made him realize how easy it was to play with you, to control you, he fell into an endless pit of perversion because, oh my, you are so weak, so vulnerable. He could do with you whatever he wanted with ease. Exploring your little body became an addiction; spreading your legs, lifting you, accommodating you, transporting you, I did it with such ease because you were so.... Tiny. You fit in the palm of his servo and right there he could do anything you wanted to you and you were so happy to receive it.

Every little part was a weight on his processor. Your slender fingers, tracing over the screen of your phone so nimble, so small, so soft, detailed, he could imagine how such a tiny touch would feel on the head of his prick; your cute ass, soft, firm, he wanted to cradle it with his servos; That little nose of yours, tiny, soft, so adorable, how it would feel to squeeze it between his fingers, to see the desperation in your eyes for air, to feel the soft curvature. Every part made him sigh.

Inevitably, it all went to your tiny feet, those cute toes, the rosy quilts, the way you played with them while you were distracted. They were different, they were... Sinful. Almost immediately they became a strange and guilty taste for him. He had to hide too many erections when you decided to rub those little fingers on his panel while he worked sitting down, they were so adorable he wanted to put them all in his mouth.

His favorite position is the classic missionary. He's not a bot particularly inclined to try new things, so he sticks with those two most of the time. He likes to watch his spike struggling to insert itself into your little hole, and the look on your face as he does it, it's dirty. Of course, he also likes it when you rub his spike with your feet, running his entire length to his tip, where the sticky pre-transfluid stains you. Subsequently he may also fill them with transfluid or masturbate with them.

Despite everything, he is a fanatic of cleanliness, he will clean you and your feet with dedication. He investigates everything to give you baths, bathe you himself and leave the room as if the dirtiest things ever happened there. He is dirty on the inside and in the privacy, not on the outside.

- STARSCREAM :

Dominance Kink

Dollification

He turns you into a doll, almost literally. He gets off on the idea of dressing you up, getting you all dolled up, before he destroys you. He chooses and steals the most extravagant lingerie for you, he is an expert in human fashion because of that. Are you going to dress yourself?don't bother trying, he and only he will adorn your little body with the garments. He also makes you up as he can, he paints your lips and cheeks with a soft red, sometimes it's pink, sometimes pastel blues and sometimes he just leaves you as you are.

He loves to have that control over you, he manipulates you at his whim, moving you around, dressing you in this and that, it's.... Just what he needs. It feeds his terrible desire for control and superiority, not that it bothers you much, he doesn't do it all the time, only in sex. Fixing you up can NOT be missed If it doesn't, Starscream doesn't particularly enjoy it.

He loves to dominate you, impose his desires on you and use you as he pleases. It's no secret that the pathetic, greedy and constantly humiliated seeker the last thing he wants is to be inferior in bed. If he can, he will nail you to the bed and order you around like the leader he claims to be deep down inside.

If he is in the mood, he will let you dominate him, but only rarely. He is quite good at being submissive and seems to enjoy it, but don't tell him! It embarrasses him and puts him in a bad mood. He especially likes it when you give him blowjobs before he fucks you, you look gorgeous with your clothes still intact and makeup ready to stir with transfluid. Plus, there he controls your head at his whim, you look so pretty with his spike filling your throat!

His favorite position is against the wall, he crushes you and bangs you there hard. Feeling your legs around his hips, opening you up so nicely to receive his long spike. Makeup runs off your face and clothes end up a mess by the end of the night, reeking of transfluid. It's not something that bothers you, you can steal more after all.

- BULKHEAD :

Food Play

Face sitting

This guy is going to fill you with energon and lick you like his life depends on it. As embarrassing as it is, Bulkhead really likes to coat you in edible things. It was like seasoning a ready-made dessert. He loved the taste of you, but adding energon and oil made it even better.

It makes him embarrassingly horny to see you covered, ready to be devoured by him. The energon thick on your belly, the oil forming a deliciously sinful path to your pelvis, it's going to drive him crazy!!! He'll lick every last bit of your body and then he'll lick you until he leaves you reeking of oral lubricant. In some cases when the two of you get too extravagant, the wrecker is willing to cover you in transfluid and lick it clean off your body.

His favorite position is when you ride him, especially his face! He likes you to dominate him from above, use his intake as you see fit, he will enjoy it. Your taste is like an exquisite delicacy, and seeing your body so close could make him overload right there. Cum in his mouth and he will be the happiest bot for the next few hours. You're like a drug to him.

He is a gentle, overly concerned about getting hurt. He's too careful and the last thing he wants is for you to end up badly because of his clumsiness, even if often all he wants is to lose control. He guides your movements with servos on your hips, making you give him gentle squats and rub you like a little cowgirl on his shank.

- BUMBLEBEE :

Toy Fetish

Bumblebee definitely has a problem with toys. He likes to experiment a lot with his partner, and what better and safer way than with toys? Every day, every night, he has to try something new, oh yes, it's an obsession. He likes everything, dildos, plugs, clamps, harnesses, vibrators, he always gets different things from who knows what place when they are going to do something. He'll put it on you, and of course he's not going to be curious about what it feels like himself, so toys are a shared use.

He's a sweet guy, but he's not above being dirty. He especially likes to try things on you, your expressions with a particularly large plug, or how you squirm between ropes carefully wrapped around you as he turns up the speed of the vibrator inside you. He lays you across his lap, your two holes occupied with a plug and dildo, handcuffs holding your hands together, and a harness that shuts you up before adding a pair of clamps on your nipples and putting his dowel between your thighs. Then, he presses a vibrator on your clit. He... Definitely takes advantage.

His favorite position is doggy style, he can completely sink his shaft inside you, smacking that soft ass so good. The stimulation brings you both to tears. Almost always his overload accompanies your orgasm, bringing them to ecstasy as if it were their destiny. Bumblebee also likes to use your transfluid as a lubricant, so it's not something either of you worry about, store it disgustingly in a jar, it won't rot like human products.

At the end of the night the bed ends up a mess full of fluid mixture where you two sleep without much trouble. Predictably in the morning you wake up sticky and have to clean up the equipment, change most things and clean all the toys for the next use. It's not so bad, especially when the remote control vibrator comes back looking especially tempting to both of you for the rest of the day.

[aioironwaterfilter]

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[ogviceversa]

Uncle Nephew Swaps Vol.1

A Very Different Vacation

Caleb:

My best friend Jake and I always travel with our families together. His parents are friends with my parents and I’ve grown up with him all my life.

And when it came time for our family beach trip, we decided to shake things up. Specially, we switched bodies with our uncles!

That’s right! Our entire trip will be me in my uncle Shawn and Jake in his uncle Mike.

So far I’ve really enjoy being inside of Shawn. Especially since we haven’t told anyone in our families about the swap. Luckily, both Shawn and Mike are single so we can do just about whatever we want!

That means if we want to go golfing all day, party all night, it’s really up to us!

I’m not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot being inside of my uncle Shawn. He’s a good looking guy and I can’t help but notice my attraction to Mike’s body. I wonder if Jake would be down to fool around.

His uncle has a sexy chest, he’s fit like Shawn, and from the bulge I’ve seen Jake sport around on the beach— I just know that thing is big!

Maybe after we go out tonight, I’ll try to make my move. In the meantime, I’ll just low key flirt with him.

Wait a minute, I wonder… if I’m so attracted to Mike inside of my uncles body… does that mean Shawn and Mike may already have a thing?

Uncle Shawn:

“Okay smile for the camera!”

I feel Mike grab on tight to my nephew’s shoulder and seductively rub down my back as the photos over.

“You wanna get ready for the beach?” I ask him with a big grin on my face.

“Oh yeah let’s go get ready.”

The second we get back to our shared room, Mike yanks off my pants and my nephew’s eager dick comes flying out.

“Shit, Shawn this is so wrong but I love having these bodies. The amount of times we can keep going in one day.”

“I know! You thought this mornings shower session was enough but damn! I’m already horny again!”

My grabs on to my borrowed cock and I yelp.

“Sorry it’s just so sensitive.”

“It’s all good, I like making you squirm a bit,” he says toying with Caleb’s 21 year old leaking equipment.

I look down at Jake’s beautiful big feet. Mike’s really good at putting those toes to work.

“Ohhh does someone want me to jerk them off again with these toes?” he says wiggling them in front of me.

“Please…”

Mike kisses me with his soft lips. We end up making out for a few minutes before he pushes me back on the bed.

“You ready ‘Caleb’?”

“Oh my ready ‘Jake’!”

Mike wraps Jake’s toes around Caleb’s sensitive cock and i immediately start moaning.

He runs his toes over the shaft down to Caleb’s tight balls.

“Ohhhhh…”

He proceeds to put the other foot towards my face and I start sucking on his toes.

I get the foot good and wet before he switches off to the other one.

His feet stink mainly from him refusing to wear any socks all trip but Mike knows I love nothing more than natural body odor. He’s even wore the same pair of boxers all week which he’s even cum into a couple of times.

I feel him start to pump faster with Jake’s toes. I rub and down his hairy legs. We keep eye contact which is so sexy to me. Both of us don’t want to miss a minute of our experience.

Now we’ve both fooled around with body swapping, especially with each other. I’m normally fucking my own body most of the time when I’m with Mike. But this switching bodies with our nephews all week is a whole new level of kinky!

I soon feel myself get close…

“MIKE!!! IM ABOUT TO!”

Cum squirts all over the place including all over his borrowed feet. Mike lets me lick them clean.

“Now my turn!”

Mikes pulls down his nephews pants and his cock is throbbing. He pushes my face into his crotch and the smell is overwhelming.

Mike throat fucks me tor 10 minutes before exploding down my nephews throat.

We lay back in bed and cuddle our nephews baked bodies together.

All of the sudden someone knocks at the door.

“Hey! Are y’all coming down to the beach?”

It’s my own voice with my nephew controlling it.

“Yeah give us a few! We’ll be down shortly ‘Uncle Shawn’!”

“Ready for the beach?” I say kissing him on the cheek.

“Yeah let’s get dressed!”

Uncle Jax’s Body For Halloween

Timmy couldn’t believe his uncle agreed to swap bodies with him for Halloween! Timmy wanted to feel like a real life superhero so what better way than his uncle Jax’s muscular body.

Now with the latest available technology these days body swapping had become the newest trend for costumes. Especially since home swap devices are so popular, you can really be however you want!

Luckily for Timmy, he’s gets to be his cool uncle all night! I’m sure he’s going to have lots of fun!

Uncle Rocky’s Massive Bod

Jeremy:

I work for my uncle Rocky and when he told me about his vacation I was super nervous to get everything done since I’m no where near as strong as him. But he told me not to worry that he has a plan.

So the day before he was planning to leave he called me to meet him at his house. That’s when he told me about his plan.

I wasn’t prepared for the words that came out of my uncles mouth. He told me we are going to swap bodies for a week. He’ll take my body on vacation while I stay at his house and go to work as him.

“Really uncle Rocky?!?!”

“Yep! Just be careful with my body.”

So here I am inside my uncle doing a bunch of physical labor. Kinda cool right?!?

I’m surprise by just how much easier it is to get stuff done with his big muscles.

The best part about all of this is that after I finish up, I get to go back to his place and enjoy just being him.

My Uncle is a handsome guy and I’m fully aware of it. He even has a giant thick cock which is so fun to jerk off with!

Tonight, I made him a Grindr page. I’m hoping I can find a really cute guy with his body that will let me top him. That shouldn’t be too hard, as long as they can handle this massive monster!

[theambitiouswoman]

Benefits of apple cider vinegar 🍏✨

• Skin toner: Clears & balances

• pH balance: Supports vaginal health in a diluted bath

• Face masks: Adds glow & fights acne

• Hair rinse: Boosts shine & reduces dandruff

• Salad dressing: Adds flavor & aids digestion

• Cleaning: Natural disinfectant

• Fruit & veggie wash: Removes dirt & pesticides

• Immune boost: Rich in antioxidants & antimicrobial

• Digestive aid: Supports gut health when taken diluted

• Appetite control: May help curb cravings

• Blood sugar balance: Helps regulate levels

• Sore throat relief: Mix with warm water to soothe

• Foot soak: Softens skin & fights odor

• Sunburn relief: Calms redness when diluted

[anon-sect]

The Hookup Trap

Avery prided himself on making wise decisions, but he always had a weakness for his foot fetish. One day while chatting on a gay dating app, he started chatting with a guy named Chad. Chad had a charming personality and a dominant kinky size. Avery had found this combination quite intriguing. He had agreed to meet up with him.

At the end of a most interesting date at the club, Chad invited him to go back to his place for some extra fun. Avery quickly agreed since he was having a great time with him

Once at Chad's place, Avery followed him to his den. He saw a smile on Chad's face. "You ready for the part I promised would happen?" He asked Avery.

This was the moment Avery was dreaming about since chatting with Chad online. He wanted to have fun with his dominant kinky side. Chad had promised that if they went out, he might get to have a little fun with him later on. He nodded back at Chad.

"Okay, remove your shirt, shoes, and pants," Chad ordered Avery as he placed his feet on top of the footrest in front of him. He watched as Avery stripped down to just his underwear and socks. "Now, on your knees. Remove my shoes and socks, boy." Chad ordered next.

Avery loved every moment that Chad took control of him. He loved giving up his will and obeying whatever he was ordered to do. He carefully took off his shoes and removed his socks off of his feet. He loved the slightly ripe odor from the socks and feet. He took a quick sniff of Chad's socks. The stench was a sweet aroma to him.

Chad smiled at seeing Avery sniff his socks without even telling him. "You like that scent, boy?" He smirked down at him. He saw Avery nodding back. Good, give my feet a good massage. I think you know what to do afterward." Chad added as he watched on.

Avery began to massage Chad's feet. He did a good thirty minutes on each foot, giving them each a good tissue massage. He then sniffed them. He buried his nose up against each foot, taking deep sniffs. He loved the aroma so much. He started licking his feet from the heel up to his toes several times, enjoying the salty and musky taste with each lick. He then licked between each toe and sucked on them. He could hear Chad moaning the entire time he was worshipping his feet.

Chad enjoyed the sensation of his feet being worshipped so much that he got hard. He needed to release. It was a good thing he had Avery down there at his feet to help with this. He unzipped his pants and brought out his hard and hot cock. "Now, come up here, boy. I have another use for that mouth of yours." He spoke in a dominating tone

Avery moved upwards and opened his mouth wide. He began to suck Chad's cock. It wasn't long before he tasted hot precum on his tongue. Before he could back off, Chad held his head down on his cock and began to thrust his cock in and out of his mouth. Chad was a bit strong, so he had to swallow every bit of cum pumping out into his mouth.

When the last of his cum was released, Chad let go of Avery's head. "That was so hot, boy. You did a good job of pleasing me. You swallowed every last drop." He laughed.

"Yes, Sir," Avery responded, smiling. He rather enjoyed being dominated this way. Feeling a little exhausted from their fun, he wanted to take some rest. "You mind if I chill on your couch and you could drive me back in the morning?" He asked.

"Sure, no problem," Chad told him as he went to get a pillow and blanket. "Sweet dreams, boy." He said as he left the room for him to sleep.

The next morning, Chad woke up to a strange sight. He wasn't on the couch like he remembered being the previous night. In fact, he found himself in some sort of small cage on the coffee table. He also was small with plenty of room for himself in the cage. The room outside the cage looked huge. He figured he was shrunken down to size. It didn't take long for him to know who did it. The cage door was still open, but he was too small to take advantage of escaping the cage he was in. He heard large steps coming. He saw Chad sit down on the couch and look at him in the cage.

"Well, you are awake now. Did you sleep well? He asked, smiling down at him.

"Why did you shrink me? Let me out of this cage and put me back to my right size." Avery demanded. Last night was really fun, but this current part was taking it a bit too far.

"You see, I had too much fun with you last night. I decided to keep you a little longer." Chad paused as he prepared to explain the rest. "I thought you would make a great tiny pet. I hope you like your new home." He added.

Avery wasn't too happy where he was. It was supposed to be a one night of fun, and not be a tiny pet for the guy. "This isn't right. You can't keep me like this. I refuse to be a pet."

Chad laughed at his tiny pet's defiance. "You don't realize that you have no choice."

Chad closed the cage door and placed the cage on the floor. He stepped on top of the cage with his shoe. "You are my tiny foot pet whether you agree or not. The sooner you accept that the better, or I might have to put you in my shoe for a day or so. That would be fun." He laughed at the scared and upset look on tiny Avery's face.

Avery wanted to argue back even more, but seeing the giant show on top of the cage made him change his mind. Chad was the only one who could make him normal size once more. Also, the factor that no one else knew where he was. He was in a powerless situation. He just hoped that Chad was joking about the part of putting him in his shoes. Being trapped in his shoe would be worse than the cage because he could smell the strong odor coming from them. That part would most certainly be torture.

[tf-kinky]

Noah had always been the quiet type, harboring a secret that set him apart from everyone else. He had the power of transformation, a gift or curse, depending on how you looked at it. One sunny afternoon, his patience with his incessantly annoying father snapped. His father, a man with no tolerance for anything he deemed unhygienic, especially feet, became the target of Noah's newfound resolve.

After a particularly grating argument over Noah's untidiness, Noah decided it was time. With a flick of his finger and a whispered incantation known only to him, his father's form began to twist and shrink. His loud, authoritative voice was silenced; his body morphed into a pair of black VANS sneakers. Noah looked down at the sneakers, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the silence that now filled the room.

Noah felt no remorse. For him, this was an act of justified rebellion against years of nagging and control. He slipped his feet into the sneakers, feeling a sense of empowerment with each step. The sneakers fit perfectly, almost as if they were made for him. Every step he took was a reminder of his control, his power, and he relished in the thought of his father's discomfort.

"Finally, some peace," Noah thought, a smirk playing on his lips as he walked around, his feet sweating more than usual, almost as if his body was in on the cruel jest.

Inside the sneakers, what was once a man was now an object, yet his consciousness remained, trapped in an endless nightmare. His senses were heightened to an excruciating degree. The smell—a mixture of old sweat, foot odor, and the stench of confinement—was unbearable. Each step Noah took was like a thunderclap, each shift of his foot a torment.

The humiliation was profound. Here he was, a man who could not stand the mere sight of feet, now forced to be the very thing he detested, enveloped by the essence of what he loathed most. His mind screamed in silent protest, but his new form allowed no escape, no voice to express his agony. The odor was not just vile; it was a relentless assault on his sense of self, his dignity stripped away with every passing second.

Noah continued his life, enjoying the silence and the subtle control he had over his father. He took great care to never clean the sneakers, ensuring that the experience remained as wretched as possible for his dad. Meanwhile, his father's mind was a whirlpool of despair and rage, stuck in a loop of sensory overload, each day a blur of darkness and stench. His dad only hopes his son would give back his humanity one day, although he and Noah knew that ain't happening.

[spnbabe67]

The Simple Act of Breaking Hearts

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: This is pure angst (fucking made me cry writing this), Hurt/No Comfort, Slapping, Cursing, Dean is a belligerent drunk, implications of cheating, implications of child death (nothing graphic)

Summary: After a hunt involving multiple casualties, Dean goes missing. When Tori finds him, words are exchanged and ties are cut. When Dean comes to the following morning, he is forced to face his actions.

Word Count: 1694

Authors Notes: This was inspired by the songs Last Night by Morgan Wallen and Something In the Orange by Zach Bryan

Let me know if y'all want a part two

It had been a hard hunt. None of them had realized that the nest of vamps was working with a demon, and by the time they figured it out, 3 small children were dead and two more, Tori and Sam had sent to the hospital in critical condition. Like always, Dean had taken their deaths the hardest, not to mention Tori herself had a nasty black eye and a gash slicing across her bicep. Despite her protests that she was fine, Dean still insisted on doing the stitches himself. After he'd completed the last stitch, Dean had fled her room. That was two hours ago, and Tori hadn't seen him since. Well, that was until she found him in some rundown tavern just outside Lebanon city limits.

The first thing Tori noticed as she set foot into the bar was the blasting music, followed by the stench of body odor mingling with cheap alcohol. It was nearly enough to make her vomit, and definitely, enough to trigger an ache at the base of her skull from all her senses being assaulted at once. Tori swallowed hard and made her way, weaving through the throng of bodies. It wasn't hard to find Dean, she'd know him anywhere. The hunter she'd lived with, whose clothes she mixed in with hers, the hunter who'd just a week ago shared her bed.  But what she wasn't expecting, was the scantily clad blonde practically curled up in his lap, the two sequestered away in a booth near the back. Tori felt ice flood her veins, making her shiver despite the overwhelming heat in the bar. She licked her lips, huffing an irritated sigh as she walked up to the table.

"Mind if I join you." Tori bit out, ire practically leaking from her body.

If Dean was surprised to see her, then he didn't show it as he spoke. "Actually, I think we do." 

The girl on his lap looked up at Tori with a heavy-lidded gaze from where she had been nuzzling at Deans neck. It took years of masking and self control to keep the rage bubbling up in check and not drag the woman by her bottle blonde hair and throw her to the ground.

"Well to fucking bad, Dean." Tori pulled her eyes away from where the girl was sucking another dark mark against Dean's tanned skin, adding to the myriad of them already littering his skin. "Tell your," Tori ran her tongue over her teeth, "Friend, to go get us another round of drinks."

Tori, pulled a few bills from her pocket, slamming them hard enough onto the table to rattle the empty tumblers and cast a few glances their way. One sharp look from Tori had the onlookers quickly returning to their conversations. The blonde looked at Dean and he leaned in whispering in her ear, nipping at the skin below it before pulling away. The woman crawled over Dean to snatch the bills from the table, sauntering up to the bar.

"What are you doing here, Tori." Dean slurred, knocking back what was left of his drink before slinging an arm over the back of the booth. 

"I'm bringing you home, Dean. We were fucking worried." Tori started, curling her hands into fists to keep the tears that threatened to well up at bay. "Sam was worried. I was worried."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine." Dean snapped back, words sharp as a blade. "You can go tattle to Sam and tell him I'm fine. Peachy even."

"Dean. I love you, and I will not let you drink yourself to death."

Dean chuckled darkly, the sound roiling some uneasy part in Tori's stomach. "Yeah, well the feelin' ain't mutual sweetheart."

And like that, the bottom of Tori's heart fell straight into her stomach. She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head. "You don't mean that."

"I do." Dean shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "What're you  gonna do about it? Cry?"

Tori blinked, eyes blurry with tears. How could he be so fucking cruel? It was sheer will now keeping her from breaking down completely, and even that was beginning to slowly crumble.

"Fuck you, Winchester." Tori spat, clenching her fists so hard she barely registered the blood trickling from where her nails had bit through the flesh of her palms. "You're drunk."

Dean got up from the table, legs unsteady enough for him to place a hand on the table to prevent himself from falling. Tori reached out, but he slapped her hand away. He took a step forward, their chests millimeters from touching. She could smell the alcohol on his breath invading her nose and into her lungs to the point Tori wondered if she could get drunk if she breathed deep enough. 

"And you're a nothing but a fucking slut. But you know what?" Dean gripped her chin, making her gaze shift from where she had been staring a hole into his chest to meet his. "In the morning I'll be sober, and you'll still be a pathetic whore who sucks the life out of people."

Tori's hand made contact with Dean's face before she had time to think. Her eyes were drawn to the lines of red dripping down his face from where the impact of her nails had sliced into his face, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I wish I'd never met you." Tori snarled, ripping Dean's hand from her face before he spun on her heel and disappeared back into the wave of patrons with no look back.

The first thing Dean registered when he woke up the next morning, was the pounding in his head. It was a herculean task for him to crack his eyes open. All he could remember was leaving the bunker, images of the dead on a reel in his mind, driving to a bar. Flashes kept coming in and out, drinking at a bar, Tori being there, but most too fast for him to comprehend. At least not while he was this hung over. Dean rubbed a fist against his eyes before blinking them open. It was much to his confusion when he was met with the sight of a naked woman sharing his bed. A naked woman that was very much not Tori, and in a bed that was very much not his room at the bunker. A sinking feeling started to nag at the back of his mind. He sat up, not caring if he woke the blonde woman in the bed, surveying the dingy motel room. If the sun peeking through the cracks in the yellowed blinds had indication, there were several hours between the present and the last sober memory he could recall.

Dean slipped out of the bed, frowning at his own nakedness before slipping himself back into the jeans that were discarded on the floor. He closed the bathroom door behind him before walking to the sink. He cursed under his breath as he beheld the blue and black mottling the left side of his face along with the two or three small cuts on his cheekbone. He ran the water in the sink cold before splashing it onto his face. The icy water was enough to send a shock through his system and the dam broke. Everything came flooding back like the water tumbling from the tap. Getting rip roaring drunk, making out with the blonde in the bathroom, Tori showing up, his downright vile words, her slapping him before disappearing as quickly as she came, tumbling through the motel room with the woman in the bed. 

"Fuck." Dean whispered, before turning the water off and stumbling back into the room, hastily pulling his shirt on. He didn't take the time to tie his boots before running out of the motel room.

Dean was sure he'd broken a significant number of driving laws getting back to the bunker, not bothering to lock Baby before making his way into the bunker. The silence he'd grown to love about he bunker was now eerie without the sound of Tori's laughter, the music she'd blare while doing practically anything. His heart sunk as he approached his room, the door left cracked open. He slowly pushed it the rest of the way. Just days before he'd helped Tori move her stuff into his room. But now, every trace of her was gone. The bed was made, with every piece of clothing she had borrowed from him folded neatly on her side. A quick check in the dresser revealed that her clothes, along with the ones in the closet, were gone.

Dean's eyes slid to the desk, where Tori's sketchbook and pencils had taken up residence. Those were gone too. And in their stead, was a single folded piece of notebook paper addressed to him and a set of key. One was a copy of the key to the Bunker he had made for Tori when she officially moved into the bunker years ago, and the other was the key to the car she'd fixed up in her time here, the car Dean had given to her for her birthday last year. Dean took the note with a gentleness you'd think he held a bomb, not a piece of paper. He slumped down onto his bed, and with a shaky breath and equally shaky hands, opened it and began reading the note written in Tori's familiar, elegant scrawl.

Dean,

By the time you read this, I'll be long gone. Don't bother asking Sam where I went, he got his own note, but nothing regarding my whereabouts. The keys to the bunker and to the car are on your desk. I took nothing I didn't come here with, or bought on my own. 

I'm not sure if I'm to thank you or curse you for the memories over the years. Those aren't so easily washed away as it was to wash the clothes I stole from you. I owe you no debts, and you owe me nothing in return. I wish you no ill will, only the best, which is what you deserve

Don't bother coming to look for me. I've disappeared once, I know how to do it again. 

Love,

Tori

[syluses]

This ask is so embarrassingly late but my friend and I just had a brainstorming session about ideas that you could include in the Sylus stepdad series if you're still up for suggestions. Sorry if they're too general? Anyway, thank you so much for going through with the fic 🥺

Sylus being obsessed with reader's legs and thighs, and reader being none the wiser because he controls his expressions very well. She wears shorts and he has to stop himself from combusting

Reader and Sylus growing comfortable enough with each other that one day a tired reader comes home, plops her feet onto his lap and orders him to massage them. She falls asleep and he kisses her slightly stinky feet. Neither of us have a foot fetish, swear, there's just something really hot about Sylus worshipping "dirty" parts of the body

Sort of related to that last point. Could you maybe work Sylus being fixated on reader's body odor into it 🥺 Based off of the summary, Sylus has to have missed reader a lot when she moved away, and part of missing someone is missing the way they smell. Sylus dragging reader into a boxing match because it's still his hobby in this AU and he takes the opportunity to sniff. She notices, he smugly and annoyingly denies it

Reader masturbating, not thinking about anyone in particular, just to take the edge off, and when Sylus hears her, he starts masturbating too. But jealously because he thinks she's thinking about someone in particular

So sorry for the late reply nonnie :,) but no yeah my inbox is ALWAYS open for thoughts like these... yall actually are so creative so i love hearing from u! and since ive only done the first chapter so far, we’ve still got plenty of time to brainstorm ideas/concepts together!! thank u so much (and ur friend) for sharing them with me hehe 💕💞

obv i cant spoil.. but i will say that sylus being obsessed with mc’s legs is just 😣 girllll. im one of the ppl who believe in the lads men absolutely LOVING legs!! Now im not gonna lie the second one encroaches a lil too close to foot fetish territory for me but i think i can understand the vibes 👀 u already know sylus adores mc in every universe so yes ur absolutely right he’s gonna like her natural scent! homeboy would make a candle out of it if he could 💯

The last one is right up my alley tho i know it’s kinda cliche or whatever but it’s always such a good concept in my opinion (っ˘؎˘ς) Nonnniiie i wish i could say more and elaborate on all this but i cant 😭 this series requires me to have a sock in my mouth at all times GAHHH But.. just know i’ve noted all u + ur friends suggestions and im so thankful for u sharing them with me heheh :,) 💖

[vibratingskull]

Fake dating

I took @al-astakbar​‘s idea and run with it.

Thrawnxf!reader

Resume : Alone on an strange planet with a little chiss girl you walk desesperatly trying to reach coordinates given by a beacon. Here you are saved by Grand Admiral Thrawn’s crew and he proposes you an incongruous solution to your problem...

You hold her hand, never letting her go. You advance on the precarious terrain, stepping over trunks and gullies. The tall grass is as tall as her and she can’t see far away in the forest. 

“Keep going… walking farther…” You try to communicate. She looks at you with round eyes, like you’re asking the impossible. She sighs with a tear rolling down her cheek. You sit her down and take off her shoe.

It is not pleasant to see.

And without a bacta pack you’re afraid amputation awaits that little girl. But she didn’t complain once, walking straight without slowing you down, she’s far more resistant than you were at her age, she’s impressive.

“Show me beacon, please.” you try to articulate. This little girl, Moarorou, if you understood well, doesn't speak a word of basic and you don’t speak a word of her language. So you opted for your very poor Sy Bisty, the only language that sparkled a reaction in her. She hands you her weird necklace, it’s still beeping, still giving you the same coordinates she translated for you earlier, you only know that you're approaching them.

This is your only certitude.

You don’t even know if you could reach it in time, or ever. Too many parameters out of your control.

Your gaze lowers down on her foot again. The poor thing got stabbed by a metal tube in the foot and it got infected due to the grease and rust. You tried to wash and bandage the wound as well as you could, but without proper medical equipment, a miracle is all you can hope for. Right now you wish you could give her a painkiller, an anti-inflammatory medication, anything…

She pulls on her collar on wince, gasping for air. 

Those shock collars…

You take hers in your hands and try to find some slack to break it off, but once again to no avail, you look at her and shake your head with a sorry expression. If you're once again at range of your captors you're done for. You feel yours constricting your throat. The symbol of your enslavement… 

You wipe her tears with your thumb and smile at her, trying to give her the hope and courage you’ve long lost, putting your forehead against hers you caress the back of her neck in a soothing manner.

You palp the rifle at your hips and pass your arms under her.

“I carry you.” you explain standing up “Hold on.” She encircles your neck with her emaciated arms and lays her head  on your shoulder. You walk with her in your arms for hours, in the stifling air despite the shadow provided by the enormous trees. You only stop to permit her to ease her pain in a fresh stream of water and eat some berries off a bush. The cold water seems to be efficient but as soon she takes her feet off the water the pain comes back as grave and powerful. 

“Destination… help…” You promise every time, but the walk is so long and your chances so thin.

At night you hold her as she cries in pain and fear. You’ve never seen her species before, she must be so far away from her home… So you squeeze her, chant her some old melodies your mum sang when you had a nightmare, doing your best to not get wet by the rain, your rifle never far away. When she finally sleeps it’s you who can’t, reviving the crash with such precision… The panic, the horror, the screams. You see the Hutts, your captors, you see your chains, and all those nights parked in the slave cell; pressed against the other slaves, shuddering and cold.

And now you’re lost on this forest planet, blindly following an alien antiquity to find your way.

You wake up to the hot air, even more oppressive than yesterday, but without any sun. You examine her wounds. The flesh all around started to darken and the bad odor indicates you the necrosis started. She’s sweating and is really hot, taken by a fever.

If you don’t find civilization in the next 48h you’re afraid even amputation might not be able to save her.

Once again you carry her, on your back this time and walk straight ahead, crushed by the heat. She sleeps and talks at the same time, in complete delirium, you don’t understand a word as she’s talking in her strange language but imagining with ease that she calls her mom. 

You seem to hear some sort of… humming. 

You press your steps, hope rising in your chest. Is it the ship here to save you?

When you arrive at an open clearing you stop dead on your tracks.

You understand now why there isn’t any sun : An ISD of the Empire is floating just above you, finally free of the foliage that hid them until now.

Your stomach drops, escaping the Hutts to end in the empire’s hands is not an improvement. You gulp as you see a corvette slowly going down towards you, menacingly.

You stay on your toes ready to sprint off at any sign of danger. Strangely, only one woman exits the small ship, in the green uniform of those monsters that she seems to wear with pride. You take a step back as she continues towards you with assurance. When you decide she’s close enough you draw your rifle.

“Stop right there!” You shout.

She stops and gauges you up and down in silence, like she’s measuring her chances. But to your surprise she holds her hands high and visible. You think you see some commotion behind her in the dark of the ship, but you can’t say for sure

“Why are you here?!”

“Hello madam, I am commander Karyn Faro of the ISD Chimaera, I-”

“Why are you here!?” You shout back again, the temptation to shoot her between her eyes is so tempting, but that would for sure be your sign your own death warrant.

“Calm down madam, I am here to help.” She tries.

“Help? No. Your kind doesn’t help, it never does!” You start panicking, counting your options.

“We do. Often.” She tilts her head on the side. “We are here to help the child.” You feel Moarorou’s head resting on your shoulder moving a bit. The denominated Karyn takes a step towards you “Listen, we are here because of a distress signal. Let us help you.” Your gun starts to tremble in your hand but you don’t lower your arm “We can give you food and shelter, we can heal that poor child. The Grand Admiral Thrawn asked that no harm be given to you.”

“I don’t know that Thrawn!” You warn. “What value can I give to the words of an Imperial anyway?!”

“The highest value.” She’s almost on you. “The Grand Admiral is a man of honor. You can trust him…” With the tip of her fingers she traces the canon of your weapon. You search in her eyes any trace of humanity, she doesn’t seem to lie. “Do it for the child.” 

Slowly she invites you to lower the gun, and very gently take it out of your hands. 

“O…Ok…” You mumble, at the end of yourself.

She nods and spins on herself in a swift movement. With a snap of her finger she calls two all black stormtroopers that head towards you with their gun pointed at your chest. You’re tempted to run away but you know they shot in your back, therefore Moarorou’s back to stop you. The first one comes and just grabs Moarorou off your shoulder, tearing her from you. When you hear a weak whine of pain you immediately see red and ready to jump at their jugular. You throw yourself at them but you're stopped by a prodigious smack of the second’s knee in your stomach. You fall down, panting for air, they force you on your belly and handcuff you unceremoniously. You’re dragged to the shuttle and thrown into a seat.

“Hey!” You protest.You frantically search around you to find Moarorou. You find her on a stretcher with two droids busying themself around her. You rise up to go to her but you’re shoved back down right away.

“She needs me.” You plead to the black stormtrooper. They remain silent but threaten to hit you with their rifle butt. You turn back to Moarorou in despair as you hear here faintly calling your name.

“Here, Moarorou. Am here.” You answer, praying it comforts her.

“Don’t worry, our meddroids are the most competent across the galaxy.” Karyn Faro calmly enounces. “Now remain calm and everything will go smoothly. We are going.”

As she finishes her sentences you feel the shuttle take off. You gulp. In what mess did you end up? Your stomach is turning acidic by the minute and the closer you get of that gigantic ship the worse you feel.

__________________________________________

Then everything went so quickly.

Someone grabbed your arm without any care, stripped you of your old ripped dress and throwed you in a shower where you’ve been clinically cleaned with water blasts attacking your delicate and wounded skin. Then someone scrubbed all your body and hair thoroughly with a very efficient chemical product with alcohol lingering scents. You scream and protest, in pain, but the people in combination are deaf to your cries. Once cleaned you are asked to put on those pajamas for the hospital's patients and Karyn Faro guides you through the ISD, your arm in hand. You have no idea where you are going, your questions remain unanswered. She just lets out a stern “You’ll soon see.” 

You end up before a large door guarded by two stormtroopers, they salute her and open it, you end up in some sort of short corridor with two doors, one on your left from which you hear some grunts and metal impacts, but she pushes you towards the one in front of you. She looks at you up and down, pulls on your t-shirt to flatten it and pushes any strand of hair out of your face. 

“Alright, be polite and you should avoid the cell.”

“Wha-”

She pushes you inside and the door slams back shut. You drum against the cold metal.

“Wait! Don’t leave me alone! Please” But she’s far gone. You slowly turn to see where you are. It looks like an office of some sort with art decorating its walls. Behind an impressive desk, taking center stage are two statues of a lizard of some sort, holding a world in their claws. You consider the seat in front of the desk, wondering if you had the right to sit. Surely not. You must be in a high officer’s office, a low person like you surely remains standing.

A shudder spreads across your spine as you hear the door shuffling behind your back.

You feel a presence behind you.

Something cold and merciless. Something imposing…

You dare not move nor make a sound, not even turning to greet the person. You feel them move more than you hear them walking.

“Sit.” Say a calm voice.

You obey, eyes low.

They walk around the desk to sit in front of you.

You dig your nails in the fabric of the pajamas, greeting your teeth.

They remain silent but you can feel their burning gaze on you, gauging you, judging you.

After a full minute, no words were exchanged.

You hold your breath.

“Are you going to remain like this? Are you not going to look me in the eyes?” He asks softly. Too softly for someone with such a presence, it’s hiding something…

Looking at him in the eyes? You don’t know if you would dare. The last time you looked up to someone higher than you you earned 30 whiplash. You’ve learned your lesson. Your collar is still strangling you…

“Look me in the eyes.” He says. You don’t move an inch, too terrified. “It is an order.” The tone calls for no resistance.

So you obey.

Reluctantly you raise your head, and slowly you open your eyes.

And air gets caught in your throat.

This man…

Moarorou!

They are the same.

Detached from all of this, he observes you behind folded hands.

“Is it not better? Speaking eye to eye…” You gulp, knowing better than to speak your mind. Or speaking at all… “Relax, you are not in any immediate danger.” He assures taking a datapad in his hand. “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I only need you to answer me some questions.”

You observe his red eyes, piercing with intelligence. You feel like they could read you like a holobook. So he’s the Grand Admiral? An alien? You observe his stature, tall with prominent muscles he’s surely a warrior. Your eyes linger at his large hand, terrified at the idea that they could go for your throat in the immediate future…

“Are you mute?”

Your gaze crosses his once again and you lightly shake your head.

“Then answer me.” he hits you sternly. “What is your name?”

You answer with a small voice.

“Louder.” He says, eyes on his datapad.

You repeat.

“Good. Where do you come from?”

“I… We come from a crashed ship.”

“Owner?”

“My master’s name is Nattai Gleula.”

“No. The ship owner.”

“Oh…” you feel embarrassed now “The Hutts.”

“How did you encounter that little girl?”

“She was brought to the Palace one day. I don’t know much, we don’t speak the same language…”

“I figured you did not. Do you know for what works they purchased her?” This time he looks at you, and you would rather he did not because his gaze is terrifying. You always find Moarorou’s eyes pretty but from an adult warrior they are just terrifying…

“Huh… For cleaning and cooking. That’s what most children of her age do.”

“Did they ever take her to a ship?”

“No?” What a strange question “I mean, I never saw them do that…”

He nods pensively.

“What were the reasons for your trip?”

“Family reunion. They always travel with their court of slaves.”

“Do you know who could have something against your master?”

Your eyes widen, who couldn’t would be easier.

“Huh… He’s a crime syndicate so..”

“Excuses. Let me reformulate : Do you know who could have attacked you that day?”

“Attacked? I thought the ship just malfunctioned?”

“I think not. I think you ended up in an ambush set by an enemy. So?”

You think, but no one comes to mind. They all want your master dead and they all failed until now. Or maybe not, you didn’t stay behind to ensure the safety of your master, you took your chance and runned.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry sir.”

“It is okay, I already have an idea. Describe me the crash in more detail.”

You gulp.

“I was performing for my master when I felt the ship tremble. It was terrifying. Then it brusquely tilted on one side and everyone fell against the wall. I think I hit my head because I lost consciousness. I woke up with flames all around me, I used them to melt my chains. I tried to find an exit and ended up in the slave quarters, that’s when i heard Moarorou’s cries : her cell comrade was already dead and she got something metallic through her foot, locking her on the ground. I had to tear it up from her foot. There was so much blood… I managed to more or less cauterize the wound and we runned to the escape pod. I knew we couldn’t join space with them from the ground but they could project us far enough to escape. So we launch them and almost killed ourself when we landed. Since then we walked through the forest following her beacon’s indications and… then you found us.”

You remember the necklace, too weird and of poor metal to be worth anything, was in fact your life saver. For now….

He nods.

“Yes. This beacon comes from our people and is distributed to the likes of her.”

“The likes of her?” You dare ask.

“Children, of course.” He smiles.

“Oh… okay…”

You're disappointed. For what need a species would give a beacon to all of its children?

“And since when were you in that forest?”

You count mentally.

“A week, sir.”

“Hmmm.” He holds his chin and contemplates you. “I find myself in a precarious situation, miss.” 

That’s when he’s gonna tell you he can’t keep you like that, that he’s gonna imprison you and sell you back on the black market, unless you prove yourself to be nice and docile and earn some moment of liberty against some favors. If only you could secure Moarorou’s place at the medbay.

He rises from his seat and turns towards the statues, hands folded behind his back.

“You see, we are very few of my race in those parts of the galaxy. And the apparition of a child is not a good auspices in my humble opinion. If I am right, we are going ahead with some serious problems.”

You look at the back of his head, mouth agape. Some problems? What is he talking about? 

“Do you care for the girl?” He turns towards you, looking down at you from his height.

Why would it count? Why should your opinion count? Why does he care? You look at his eyes, searching for malice or a trap. 

But his gaze is clear.

“I… Yes.” You nods firmly. “Yes, I do.” 

“Good. Then I will ask you for your help. We must protect the child, at all cost, and send her back home as quickly as possible. But we must protect her identity.”

You blink, you’re not sure you’re following everything. And it’s been a while since someone “asked” you anything.

“Hum… Alright. And how should we do that, Sir?”

“I ponder this question since I have been made aware of your existence. I expected to only find a child, not two people. I have a plan, but I would understand if you refused.”

Flashes of Moarorou’s calling desperately for you appear in your mind.

“I want to know!” You exclaim. “I want to protect Moarorou!”

“Moarorou is her name?”

“Yes, I think…”

“We will know soon. We will find her once her operations at the medbay are over.”

“Alright.” You nod, reassured. “So… How do we proceed, sir?”

If you ever thought you would partner up with an imperial. But to protect little Moarorou you would do anything.

“We should pretend to be family. If I pass myself as her father, nobody should question her existence and search for her past. I would need you to pass for her caring mother.”

“But… That would make me your…”

“My wife. Exactly.”

You could burst out laughing if you were not that shocked. 

You?!

Pretending to marry an Imperial?!

A God-Damn Imperial?!

A slave trader ?

No!

“Wha-? Sir, you cannot be serious!?”

“I am completely serious. It is a necessary wrong to protect her.”

“But… Why would she need protection in the first place? She’s just a child!” 

“She is more than just a child. She is a key.”

“What is she?”

“That I can not tell you.”

“Then I think I cannot help you...”

“Then know you are condemning her.” He shakes his head with a sorry expression.

“What do you mean?”

“Only with this comedy I can fully protect her to the full extent of my capacities. The other option is keeping her locked and hidden from the world, but that is not a life for a child. She should be able to learn, to live freely, and I do not think you might want to inflict that on her.”

“No. I don’t, I…” You lose your words.

“Then consider my proposition. Think about it for a night, and give me your answer tomorrow.” He proposes.

Your head is spinning. Too many things to think about. 

“Come.” He proposes. “Let us see her. She must yearn for your presence.”

He looks into your eyes, and you can only see intelligence and an inalterable resolution.

“Yes…” You murmur “Let’s go.”

[satomatto]

. AFFECTION//

yan!gojo satoru x reader

cw: AU; stalking; scientists; elements of angst; yandere; love/hate relationship; toxic mindset/

tw: PWP; orgasm control; intercrural sex; clotching kink; forcing/

wc: 3k.

❒ pt 1 (sfw) | pt 2 | pt 3

Coffee smells fragrant - the odor has long been absorbed into your clothes, and that's why your scarf constantly smells of it. Perhaps it's the only thing that saves you from sleep deprivation, even if it's a placebo, you still believe it, and that's why you prefer it solid drink; flat white pleasantly burns your tongue, a little hotter than you're used to drinking, or maybe it's the cool fall weather. Somewhere behind you there's a loud and lingering laugh, peppered with fairly friendly greetings.

You sigh and snicker lightly, catching a glimpse of the man who was striding toward you. You sped up, not wanting to even look in his direction and hoping he'd just realize it and leave you alone, but a few seconds later, you get a loud call and a poke on your shoulder in a failed attempt to get your attention. Shit.

Without even turning around, you stop and mentally prepare yourself for this torture, aka "nice" dialog-more like a monologue of the "great and masterful", extra talkative old acquaintance, deep down still hoping that this white-haired pillar will get away from you without getting a proper response. Trying to keep your pauses as long as possible and your answers as dry as possible, you don't look up at all. Right where his face is.

Come on, do you really think it's that easy to get rid of him? Of course not. So when you feel the breeze on your face, you slowly open your eyes. You bring the glass to your mouth deliberately sluggishly and take a long sip - as if savoring the drink, pondering, oh no, actually not the answer to one of his hundred questions. It's just how beautiful the weather is - it's really warm today, and that wonderful breeze is so pleasantly caressing your face. A ginger cat ducking into the alley is more interesting than a lively buzzing in your ear-… Wait, buzzing? Oh, yeah… That's right, though.

Until now, you had successfully ignored Gojo, who was following at your heels. Literally at your heels: after all, you, with your tiny legs, can't keep up with him. But here he is quite comfortable not just catching up - overtaking and circling you as you walk… You're walking. What the hell is he doing here? Maybe that's what he was telling you so excitedly. You really shouldn't have ignored those messages at five in the morning, because he doesn't simply text you… Usually. But your train of thought is interrupted by your foot slipping off.

And that pillar just happens to be right behind you. Okay, it's not completely useless.

"Make way for the pretty lady!" He suddenly shouts across the street, picking you up under the armpits like some big, clumsy cat. And that throws you into a frightened stupor. He's getting too loud and active, maybe you should do something about it…..

"You don't think it's over the top?" You say, carefully disentangling yourself from his long limbs entwined with yours. Well, trying to disentangle yourself - he only squeezes your hand tighter around his forearm. This becomes painful, which you promptly report to him.

In a rather polite manner, let it be noted. Your words may be cold, but they sound quite mild. It's commendable restraint - pretty hard for anyone to keep their cool with a naughty boy, but you're not you if you couldn't handle something like that. Maybe if you start acting more repulsive, he'll finally leave you alone? Hmm, is that the reason he's interested? Come on, you like teasing him, don't you? Playing that stupid cat-and-mouse game with him. Staying behind and watching his back, that goddamn bastard-…

Abruptly breaking free of his grip, you took a quick step across the few meters that separated you from the door that had become so inviting, slamming it hard behind you. You can feel the glass shaking and rattling in the back as you step forward, pushing the bad thoughts away from you. Still, perhaps you should have been more careful - it's glass, even tempered glass. You're very lucky nothing happened. Otherwise, you'd have to pay compensation to Satoru, too. You know that very well. But didn't you just give up thinking about it a few minutes ago? Him? Today, nothing will spoil your mood, you've already decided that for yourself.

The protesting and disgruntled shouting behind you is successfully drowned out by the morning noise of the campus. You swiftly dive into the flow of people, trying to get lost in it, dissolving your worries and anxieties into a much-comfortable routine. You can finally exhale.

With the blonde butthole once again, you are only seen during your lunch break. You don't know what gods have turned against you or what prayers you need to recite to rid yourself of this affliction - you only know one thing. Your intolerance for Gojo Satoru is a fact. Your incompatibility is only an assumption, but very close to the truth. He's not really compatible with anyone - he doesn't have the time or inclination to be - he's not an empath, and a disposable person, either. Rather, a walking problem. A problem for everyone, a mistake, but so perfect that it's not a mistake at all.

No one can say for sure why he is so sickeningly good at everything his naughty hands can reach. You think he's a walking curse, despite the fact that he's the one who protects against those very same curses, providing the proper support in time and somehow keeping two steps away from total collapse.

If you are the embodiment of misfortune, he is luck itself in the flesh. Fortune is as reckless and dispassionate and blind as he is, managing to ignore any rules and regulations he doesn't want; despite the fact that his ideas do have merit, you've been trying to avoid him since the first time you met him - back then, in freshman year. You feel like he's haunting you - so much so that you try so hard to get away from him that you find yourself getting closer to him every time you meet again.

Your curse is holding a can of soda and having a nice conversation with your supervisor behind your back.

You can hear bits and pieces of their conversation. Gee, the great and masterful Gojo Satoru needs an assistant. You don't even know if he's being serious, but his laughter gets to your bones.

Why do goosebumps run up and down your spine? Why does a disgusting lump curl up in your stomach and dark thoughts begin to swarm in your head? The staring, piercing gaze sears you to the marrow of your bones. You don't dare turn around, but you know he's looking right at you. And he knows you're eavesdropping. His cheeky smile instantly pops into your mind - one and only, just for you.

You're anticipating a quick conversation, but these things don't usually get resolved in a day-sometimes they take months to finalize, so you swallow hard and feel the coffee sloshing around as you try to slowly calm yourself down. An unpleasant residue remains.

When you are called into your boss's office in the middle of your workday, you already know what awaits you. Not really that you're happy about it, and not really that you want to go there. You delay the moment as much as possible, each step echoing in your head. It's empty, as if all thoughts have dried up.

The door opens, and your haggard gaze finds Gojo standing beside a short man in a shitty short suit. Surprisingly collected, you sit down in a chair and ask a question. The answer to which you already know.

But, do you have any real reason to refuse, other than personal animosity? He's the best, maybe not a partner, but an employee for sure, so what's your problem? Can you even suggest a reason for your disgusting attitude towards this young man? Just one, c'mon. Do you really feel like you two are crossing paths too often? Oh, gosh, you're in the same line of work and you used to live next door to each other. Now you even work for the same company, what's your problem? He's never once harassed you, not openly - or otherwise, it's all one solid coincidence and you can't claim otherwise. It's more like you're chasing him, as if you're trying to make up for lost time, to regain your lost dignity, but you're just getting deeper and deeper into this quagmire. He talks to you more than amiably, but he's never crossed that fine line between friendliness and intrusiveness. But you've never been nice to him. In fact, you've stooped to even partially insulting him, but he doesn't hold a grudge against you at all. How low can you sink when you try to assert yourself at the expense of this kind man? He never made a specific reference to you, you're just as much a colleague as anyone else behind that door, your name wasn't even mentioned in the conversation you overheard - you were chosen on your own merit, after selecting the personnel files of every eligible employee, do you really think you're unworthy? Are all your labors a waste of air? Are they of no value? Hey, then what's your motive? Personal relationships between employees should be handled outside the workplace, there's no room for childish grudges. You're just jealous of him. And you need to bury that shitty, low feeling you should bury deep inside yourself.

As you swallow the lump stuck in your throat, you realize that your polite smile is just cracking at the seams. You feel like crying at what you're feeling right now. Uncertainty is truly the shittiest thing you can experience. And by trying to hide it, by trying to blindly run away from the problem, you're only making it worse. To yourself and to everyone around you. It's always like that, you're just a pathetic creature who can't do anything right.

You try to formulate your answer as clearly as you can, but you can't stand it anymore, and you jump up from your chair, saying that you have to leave immediately. Your voice sounds pathetic, like a battered kitten's - a husky, squeaky tone that trails off into a whisper. They must have figured it out by now, or at least you saw them glance at each other, and just as Gojo opened his mouth, you slipped out the door, closing it quickly but gently behind you.

Your lips twitching with nerves and your chin quivering as you strode with wide strides to the nearest restroom, your head down and rubbing the sleeve of your blouse with trembling fingers. Crying is a public expression of weakness. You can't cry. Not here, not now. You have to be patient, because you can't afford to lose what's left of your self-respect.

You look in the mirror. You wince at your wrinkled appearance and decide that today is the day to take a little day off. A break from it all. Maybe eat something.

The next day, avoiding all the inquiries of curious colleagues, you calmly told your superiors that yesterday you were just too surprised by such a wonderful offer, and feeling emotional, could not give an answer immediately; and now, you have already humbly agreed to the new position. Assistant. You are now this man's helper, partner. You should get used to your new role.

Put a nice smile on your face and get him something to drink - make it look sincere, now you work together and you even remember what kind of soda he likes - he doesn't drink coffee.

Just put the papers on the table, he won't even notice your presence as he's always having an active monologue with himself - keep preparing the material and nod silently when he gets quiet - never longer than a few seconds

Suddenly the long pause makes you blink a couple times and raise your gaze to the man half-sitting on your desk. Does he really care about your opinion? The only-right opinion is his and suddenly he's asking you. About some trivial thing, true, but the fact that he's interested makes you wonder. Or not, the usual dramatic expression on his face is back on his graceful features. Looks like he's playing again. There's not even an audience here, it's a one-man theater. It's annoying.

Your voice is monotone, you're tense. A shiver of disgust runs through your body. Why are you so disgusted to be in the same room with him? Gojo notices it. Doesn't comment, but a couple seconds later, his jacket falls on your shoulders. Ah, yes, the window is open.

His scent instantly envelops you. It's almost suffocating, but also strangely soothing. You don't like this uncertainty, on the one hand, you shouldn't like it, but deep down something sticks. It's too unclear. You raise your eyes to him and he shrugs silently, pulling on a goofy grin.

You'd be happy to be home in a warm bed right now. You close your eyes and rub the bridge of your nose tiredly. Your head is throbbing, and you don't feel your best after everything that's happened. This pillar won't shut up, either. Lost in your own thoughts, you don't even notice him sneaking out the door.

You walk to the window, watching the balmy view. When it starts to breeze, you automatically grab your cloak. You don't move away from the window, but sigh irritably. You try again. The light breeze caresses your cheekbone - so nice. Relaxing. So much so that your eyes close on their own. Well, it's a little bit of everything.

Three knocks in a row get your attention. After a moment, a memory flashes through your mind. Come on, does he still have that habit? Even if the office is known to be empty, he always quickly runs three knuckles near the pen. Just in case.

Same goofy smile, same weird look. He quickly places a brown, glass jar in a clear bag and a bottle of iced tea on your desk. To your questioning look, he answers short and clear: "Painkillers." Not that you're going to take anything from him, but fatigue takes its toll, so you grab the tea. The lid comes off with a satisfying pop and you click your mouse, sending an email with all of Gojo's documents.

Subway. You walk with the vial in your hands and a small sticker attached to the package: "Don't forget <3". He wanted to walk you at least to the subway entrance, perfectly capturing your condition, but a stiff refusal made him leave you alone. You're too exhausted to be ceremonious with anyone today. Especially him. It's dark outside, it's about eight o'clock at night. By the time you get home, it'll be nine.

You fall into bed, almost exhausted, your lips pressed into a thin line. The last check of your phone and with a groan, you toss it aside, slowly pulling off your clothes. There's no more energy to go to the shower. As soon as your head touches the pillow, the bed feels so soft and cuddly. You dim the light and crawl under the covers, closing your eyes. Your legs are throbbing after a brisk walk, but this tiredness is nice-not the mess that's going on in your head.

The mess only helps you sleep, though, unlike the rustles walking around the apartment. Something's falling next door. Too loud, too close. But you're used to it, the walls here are really cardboard.

It's only the intrusive rustling outside the door that finally catches your attention enough to tense you up. But it's gone as suddenly as it started - isn't that what's catching it more?

You close your eyes. You start counting. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three… The patterns on your tired eyelids form a rhythm - a dance, a waltz, the rustle of dresses, the dim glow, the atmosphere as in a Victorian palace, and you dance too. You take off, drift away, your thoughts begin to empty and you give yourself completely to this miracle - one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three and then, someone's footsteps don't hit the beat… The sound becomes bolder, interrupts the others. Three deafening clicks in a row.

You wince, open your eyes. Blackness appears before you. Absolute and almost dead. You can't even see the glimmer of light on the walls, from the window directly behind you. You smell a heavy, woody cologne. A draft runs down your bare legs, and there's probably no point in hiding under the blankets, because hot breath tickles your ear and you shiver with an almost painful sensation of numbness. Fear makes you cover your eyes and take a slow breath.

When you open them again, the vision doesn't go away.

Your breathing hitches, and you sharply let all the air out of your lungs and clutched the blanket like a last barrier between you and what was happening around you. A shadow slides softly onto the bed - you turn sharply, gathering air into your lungs and preparing to let out a shriek as suddenly a hand covers your mouth while long fingers settle on your throat, rubbing the delicate skin and squeezing your throat, moving lower, probing your vocal cords, massaging gently, forcing you to exhale through your nose but not letting you inhale again.

"Shh… Sugar, you don't want to wake up the neighborhood, do you?" That voice sounds painfully familiar. Your stomach turns inside out and your eyes begin to blur from lack of oxygen when you finally meet the eyes. Azure blue. Clear as the sky. Cold as steel.

[ask-hannah-blog]

Hello, this is unit J3 of Collective Delta Shoreline again. Doctor Hannah, I would be very happy to share exerpts from some of my own therapy sessions, though I would need to first gain consent from the people I am assisting. This is still 'unofficial' though I am rapidly acquiring the qualifications necessary to operate as a fully licensed transformation therapy counselor. Drones are to bureaucratic process as [reference found:] fish are to water.

On the note of drone faces and smiling, Delta Shoreline in fact is made of up of fully physically converted drones. We do no longer have human faces, and instead have what some would consider the archetypical 'gasmask' look, or smooth dome helmet designs. I am of the dome variety, but as such I am able to display images and mood-indicators when appropriate. Drones do in fact have a sense of humor, although I presume it would be esoteric, muted, and outright alien to a clown.

I do have some concerns though. I have noticed multiple occasions of you or your honkers' side encouraging clownification on your readers. I do understand that strategic transformation is a valid, if controversial practice to help forestall more dangerous transformations, Delta Shoreline will sometimes assist those in need of a more stable transformation by droning them, I worry this might encourage your more undesirable habits to re-emerge. Averting full foot-fiendism is an obvious necessity, but in the case of the 'fapper,' if you study the most recent literature on the subject, it has been found Null Bulges, and even Null Patch changes are a surprisingly effective treatment. The constant dull erogenous pleasure of a null-crotch is more conducive to adapting around it, rather than the constant highs and lows of a constantly orgasming phallus. Needless to say, the odor mitigation is also helpful. I trust you, and I encourage you to still maintain your ethos to help people, but I advise you to be cautious in future events, lest you lose the progress you've made. Best of probabilities, Unit J3 of Collective Delta Shoreline

Lots of wisdom here, and yes I got punished for being naughty on here. Now they have to approve all my posts. This place is like a prison sometimes!

lol get it?

However I do have to push back against the nulge recommendation.

Yes there’s lots of nulge research available that report good results using them as treatment. However if you dig into that research you find that most of these studies are funded by drone collectives.

The very design of a nulge is to reduce individualization of a person, and to supply them with a positive stream of reinforcement to distract and reward them in the early stages of their identity erasure.

I’m not accusing you of purposely pushing this, but we all have blind spots. You may also think uniforms provide better outcomes than not.

Not to say I think I was right. Turning that reader into a fapper was entirely for my own satisfaction. The correct solution should have been an examination to determine the change in behavior, then treating the root cause.

The trend in nulge recommendations has actually been pretty concerning to me. Then recommended as aids against transformations, treatment to sexual addictions, and just as fashion statements. (I was a cover of a magazine last week of Cathy Hutchins showing off her new nuldge.) Is no good. The fact that the nulge is all build up and no pay off actually increases its addictive qualities. An orgasm tells you to stop. The joy of gambling is from the simple anticipation of winning. A build up with no end causes a lot of mental distress, the person becomes more focused on the trickle of pleasure than their own life. As they start to neglect themselves and their relationship dronification steps in to solve the problem it created. It gives the victim an organized and controlled life where they are taken care of so they can continue their pleasure seeking impulses, but now under the terms of the controller.

I actually remember a lot of distress when you developed your nuldge. Feeling that your gender was being taken from you, and difficulty thinking and staying focused it’s actually around that time that your transformation accelerated.

Sorry for the rant, but I’m still an expert in the field and miss being a part of the discussion.

I’m proud of you for working towards your goal,and as always am grateful for what you’ve done for me. Keep learning, keeping helping, and keep in touch. Your messages really help!

[anon-sect]

PART TWO

Zane went home, thinking about his wild weekend at his coworker Eric's house. He was on all fours nearly the whole weekend. At night, he had to sleep on the floor next to Eric's bed with the leash tied to the bed post. He was literally being treated like a foot pet, Eric's foot pet. In the morning, he would have to kiss his coworkers feet when he woke up. And kiss them at night when he went to sleep. Eric would be on the phone during the day, while he was in the floor licking his feet, or even if Eric was watching tv. Many times his coworker would simply ignore him at his feet. It was quite a humiliating experience, but he was loving every moment. He started seeing his coworker as his hot owner and wanted to serve even more. Before this weekend, he would never have thought of Eric in this way. He was told that would be coming over on some nights and almost every weekend till the loan was paid off. He slightly pretended to hate it, but was oddly looking forward to it.

It was a couple of days later, when Eric told him to be at his house tonight. He wanted to try something different. Zane wondered what he would make him do this time.

Eric was enjoying the control he had over Zane. As long as the loan wasn't paid in full, he could make Zane do anything he just about wanted. He almost was hoping his coworker couldn't pay him back. Having Zane under his control was a power trip he never thought he would actually enjoy. He was looking forward to tonight's fun with his personal foot toy, as he thought of Zane.

Zane was met at the door by Eric the moment he knocked on his front door. He saw the he had the collar and leash in hand, ready to start the fun. Once the door was closed, Zane got to his hand and knees without being told to do so. He felt Eric put the collar around his neck and attach the leash. "Kiss, boy." He heard one simple command. He began kissing Eric's feet several times, worshipping his coworker. As Eric began to walk toward his den, he followed crawling on hands and knees.

Once in the den, he saw the coffee table was pushed further away from the couch. "Tonight, you will serve as my foot rest." Eric spoke to Zane. "Stay on all fours and straighten your back." Eric spoke as he maneuvered Zane into the right position in front of the couch. Once in place, Eric propped his feet on Zane's back. He tried to keep his back as straight as possible. "How long do I stay this way, Sir?" He asked him. Eric removed one laeg and rubbed his socked feet into his face. "For as long as I want, foot rest. Also, no speaking unless I say otherwise. Furniture don't have mouths to speak to their owners." Eric paused as a thought entered his mind. He removed both socks. "Open up." He commanded as stuffed one foul sock into Zane's mouth. The other sock he used to tie it around his mouth and face, keeping the sock in his mouth. "Now you are a quiet foot rest." He laughed as he snapped a quick picture with his phone.

Zane thought the weekend domination was bad. Tonight definitely stepped it up a notch. He was literally being used as furniture in Eric's house. The sock was a bit disgusting to suck on in his mouth. He initially wanted to take it out, but his owner would not approve. He kept quiet while Eric ignored him and watch television. A few times he would rub his bare foot in his face and laugh at him for letting him do it.

After about two and a half hours, Zane's arms and legs were getting tired. He was struggling to hold his back straight for Eric. He saw that he was getting annoyed by it. The entire time, Eric never bothered to remove the sock from his mouth. "Since you can hold my legs and feet up anymore, get on the floor on your back." Zane found himself maneuvered again in front of the couch. He watched as two soft soles pressed on his face. With the sock still in his mouth, the only way was to breathe out of his nose. Each breath he intake a slightly foul foot odor of Eric's feet. As much as he thought he should hate this, he was enjoying being dominated by his hot coworker.

Eric really didn't care how much Zane was either liking or hating what he did to him. As long as he owed him, Zane was his to do with as he pleased. But secretly, he was also enjoying the power he had over him. He kept Zane sniffing his feet till late in the night when he finally took out the socks and let him go back home.

This was Zane's life for months as he continued to pay back Eric on the loan. At least three nights of the week, he was over at his house being dominated at his feet or in bed on some occasions. He had paid back $2,000.00, so far. He wondered how much longer Eric would own him at this rate, even though he secretly didn't want it to end.

Eric knew Zane would pay him off eventually, and the fun would be over. He really didn't want that result, but what possible solution could there be where Zane was his forever. He saw an advertisement on Formula X and Formula Z. He knew his solution was that. With Formula X, he could turn Zane into anything he wanted and keep him forever being dominated. With Formula Z, he could transform him back and use the other Formula to make him into something else. He now had the perfect idea and plan.

Zane was at his desk when Eric approached him. "Be at my place tonight. I have good news for you concerning the loan." He told him and walked off. He hypothesize what the good news could be. Maybe he canceled the loan or reduced it even further. At any rate, he would find out tonight.

Zane arrived that evening at Eric's house as directed. He expected him to have collar and leash ready as usual, but there was no collar or leash in his hands. In fact, he instructed him not to crawl behind him but walk normal. He was a little confused about what was going on. As he went to sit on the couch beside him, he saw two glasses on the coffee table. Were they about to celebrate something, he thought to himself.

Eric handed Zane the tainted drink with Formula X in it. "I decided you paid it in full. We are drinking to the end of you owing me." Eric spoke as he drink what was in the other glass. He watched as Zane continued to drink the tainted liquid. He waited till Zane finished it off and placed the glass on the coffee table. "Massage my feet one last time, would you?" He asked.

Zane loved whatever that drink was. He was relieved that he no longer needed to pay Eric, but was sad to see the domination end. When Eric asked him that, he gladly got to his knees to massage those feet one last time. As he rub them, he began to feel weird. He saw a devious smile on Eric's face. What was he up to, he thought. The room seemed to get larger, including Eric. The realization of what was going on scared him. He was shrinking. "What did you do to me?" He quickly questioned.

"Instead of you continuing to pay me, I decided to take you as the payment. You love Mt feet and socks so well. I thought, why not be my socks for a while. You really will get to smell like my feet for real then," Eric spoke and laughed at the rapidly shrinking Zane. Soon Zane was so small that he began to morph into a pair of white cotton socks. He picked them up off the floor and put them on his feet. "Wow, you really do make a good pair of socks, Zane. I will keep you like this for a good three months and not wash you. That way you get to really feel my foot stench." He spoke as he relaxed and turned the TV up. Zane was socks now, or at least for the next three months or so. If anyone asks about him at work, he would just simply tell them he didn't know where he was. As far as he was concerned, he got something special in exchange of the money.

Zane found himself wrapped around Eric's feet. He could tell that he hadn't showered since the morning by the smell of his feet. As socks, the stench was even stronger. The taste of his feet is even foul than before. The wiggling of the toes truly made him see how his fate was. He was just an object on Eric's feet totally against his will. This level of domination he was prepared for. He mentally begged him to let him go but could tell Eric couldn't hear his thoughts or pleas. After about an hour later, upon which he was also walked on without a single care from Eric, he decided to settle for his fate. He wanted him to continue to dominate him, but not like this. Soon, he would smell like the foul socks he worshipped for months, and no one would know of it. Only Eric would know his whereabouts and fate, totally placing him at Eric's mercy forever.

Collaboration with @jkob85

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 15 @whumperless-whump-event - I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Characters - Asset 84 and Asset 83

Asset 84 masterlist

Complex 27 masterlist

The facilities assets stood in formation, posture rigid, eyes forward. The training yard was a stark expanse of concrete surrounded by high, razor-wire-topped fences, a constant reminder of their place. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and oil, the faint scent of disinfectant cutting through the more pungent odors. The distant hum of machinery underscored the harsh bark of the sargents commands, creating a symphony of control and obedience.

Asset 84s mantra echoed in their mind with each disciplined breath: "I am 84. I am a weapon. I will endure." The day's training had been particularly grueling, a series of combat drills designed to push each asset to their limits. 84 had only returned from a mission that morning, only just having time for the debrief and to shower before training had begun. The water from the shower still clung to their long dark hair, now plastered against their scalp and neck, the damp strands occasionally falling into their grey eyes.

As more commands echoed through the yard, 84 felt their vision blur, the world around them becoming a tunnel. The mantra tried to hold them together, but the edges of their consciousness frayed. “I am 84. I am a weapon. I will endure.” The phrase now felt more like a desperate plea than a statement of fact.

83 had been watching 84 from the corner of their eye. They noticed the slight tremors, the unfocused gaze. They had seen this before, in others, and in themselves. Training was brutal, and the facility pushed them to the brink, often past it.

As 84 began to fall, 83 moved without thinking. They caught 84 under the arms, supporting their weight. "Steady, 84," 83 whispered, their voice low and urgent. "Stay with me."

Moving out of formation like this was a risk, one that 83 was fairly certain would lead to punishment. They glanced up, noting that the sergeants were currently preoccupied at the far end of the line.

83 glanced at 85 and 82, seeking any sign of acknowledgment or support. Both assets remained immobile, faces blank, embodying the unyielding discipline drilled into them.

"84, focus," 83 urged, shaking the other asset slightly. "You need to get back into line."

84's eyes fluttered open, a faint flicker of awareness breaking through the fog of exhaustion. They struggled to focus on 83's face, the familiar blue eyes grounding them, however slightly, in the present.

"83?" 84 murmured. The mantra still echoed faintly in their mind, a distant drumbeat of survival.

83 tightened their grip, their eyes scanning the area. One of the sergeants was barking orders at on the assets in the group of 20s, but time was running out.

"Yes, it's me," 83 replied, a rare softness in their voice. "We need to sit down. Just for a moment. I've got you."

84's legs trembled as they tried to regain their footing, but their body refused to obey. The mantra had lost its power, and the edges of their vision darkened once more. 83 slowly lowered them both to the floor, crouching behind 84 and letting their semi-limp body lean against them. The rough texture of the concrete pressed into 83's knees, but they ignored it, focusing solely on

84's breaths were shallow and rapid, they felt the warmth of 83's body against their back, an unfamiliar but oddly comforting sensation. The firmness in 83's grip and the calm in their voice providing a strange reassurance.

"We will be in trouble for this," 84 muttered.

"I know," 83 whispered, eyes on the sergeants. They had broken formation, 83 had displayed humanity, and 84 weakness... Punishment was inevitable - likely solitary confinement or worse, especially for 84 who's handler has a reputation for being cruel.

One sergeant began to turn. 83 stood, pulling 84 up with them, snapping back into formation just in time. 84 swayed but remained upright, the mantra echoing weakly in their mind. The scent of sweat and oil seemed overpowering now, each breath a reminder of their struggle.

The sergeant's gaze swept over them, pausing briefly before moving on. Their moment of weakness had gone unnoticed, or at least unaddressed, for now.

84's heartbeat thundered in their ears, the world around them a blur of indistinct shapes and sounds. They felt the weight of 83's hand still subtly supporting them, a lifeline in a sea of chaos. The distant hum of machinery, the faint clanking of metal, and the muffled voices around them faded into the background as they focused on the steady presence of 83.

[noxxytocin]

Character Voice Tag ✧

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet 🫴✨

Oh heavens...it seems my quill lost track of the time.

My Line: "We’ve run out of gas/fuel."

Your Line: "Don't bother."

Tagging: @the-letterbox-archives @laserswordtraining @literaryvein-reblogs @moltenwrites @catjar91

1887, The Gaunt Manor Courtyard

Ominis settled onto the padded seat of the Thestraless carriage, the leather firm beneath him. Beside it, his brother Marvolo busied himself with unknown contraptions. Clinks and clanks bounced off his poor eardrums.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s decidedly smaller than our usual transport,” Ominis remarked, his hands tracing the pattern of the seat with skepticism. "Et il n'y a pas de toit..."

“Patience, mon coeur,” Marvolo reassured in his mellifluous voice. A faint slosh of liquid interrupted the mechanical racket, and Ominis sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling at the pungent odor.

“Is that petrol?”

“That keen nose of yours, always spoiling my surprises,” Marvolo teased. With firmness, he twisted a cap and cranked a metal handle of some kind, causing the carriage to tremble and roar.

Ominis jolted in his seat. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, his heart racing. Marvolo chuckled, sliding onto the seat beside him, dark eyes alight with anticipation.

“Why is it shaking?” Ominis panicked.

Marvolo grinned as he leaned forward, his hands deftly grasping a peculiar lever. With a jolt, the carriage sprang to life, darting forward with unexpected vigor.

Ominis clutched Marvolo’s arm in alarm, his eyes wide as the contraption hurtled forward, seemingly under its own power. No winged horses, no Thestrals.

Tongue-tied and bewildered, Ominis could do naught but cling to his brother, who was now chuckling with evident delight.

“Fret not. It is quite safe,” Marvolo reassured, his laughter carrying over the wind as he nudged the lever. The vehicle picked up speed, the breeze tousling Ominis’s hair. A hesitant smile crept across his face as he began to revel in the sensation.

“It’s powered...by petrol? Not magic?” Ominis’s voice trembled with a mix of wonder and disbelief.

“That's right,” Marvolo confirmed, his grin widening.

“How in Merlin's name are you operating this...infernal machine?” Ominis’s grip on Marvolo’s arm relaxed, curiosity replacing his panic.

Marvolo halted the carriage, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He took Ominis’s hand and guided it to a thin rod. “This, my dear brother, is a steering rod. It directs the front wheel of the Motorwagen. And beneath my foot,” he tapped a pedal, “is what propels it forward. The racket you heard earlier was the crankshaft, which starts it. And as for the fuel source, well, I’m sure you’ve already deduced that it’s petrol, my keen-nosed serpent.”

Ominis, now more intrigued than fearful, ran his hands over the controls, marveling at the ingenuity of the device. “A Motorwagen, you say?”

“Indeed. I had it tailored just for you.” Marvolo declared with flourishing pride.

“For me?" A faint blush crept onto Ominis's cheeks. "but Ollie, I cannot possibly make use of it."

“Which is why I shall be your escort,” Marvolo gently guided Ominis’s hands back onto the gear lever. “Give it a try."

“I don't think that's a good id—” Ominis began, his protest cut short as Marvolo pressed down on the pedal with a devilish grin. The Motorwagen lurched forward, eliciting a yelp from Ominis, who clung to the gear lever as though it were his last hope of salvation. “Ollie!”

“Steady now. A touch to the right,” Marvolo advised, his tone full of playful encouragement. Ominis followed each instruction, his knuckles flushing white.

Sight? There was no need, except for Marvolo's. He was his brother's compass, steering him toward every wild whim his heart yearned for. Their map was trust.

Time whisked away in a blur of adrenaline, and soon, Ominis’s face transformed into a canvas of pure delight, painted with a radiant smile that outshined the sun. Marvolo couldn’t help but bask in the glow, observing his brother's expressions with fondness.

Their jubilant adventure came to an abrupt end as the Motorwagen coughed and spluttered to a halt. “Ah, it appears we’ve run out of fuel,” Marvolo remarked, inspecting the now-silent machine.

Ominis’s face fell, the sparkle of excitement in his eyes dimming. “Well...that was rather short-lived, wasn’t it?” It earned a tender laugh from Marvolo.

“Mon cher,” Marvolo affectionately tucked Ominis’s blonde hair behind his ear. “I’ve brought ample reserves of petrol."

Ominis, a twinkle of mischief now in his eye, gave a conspiratorial grin. “Does this mean we can outrun Aunt Mildred's frightful tea parties?”

“Absolutely,” Marvolo smirked, firing up the wagon once more.