#do you like one of them enough to destroy your stomach?
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#many things to consider here#do you like one of them enough to destroy your stomach?#which meal will take you out the longest?#will you be able to say no if they ask you to taste test something else the next day?#who is prettier?#so many questions#lilia vanrouge#twst lilia#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#obey me solomon#om solomon#obey me#obey me nightbringer#obey me nb#lilia vanrouge x reader#solomon x reader#solomon x mc#sorry had to reupload cause i meant to put it for a week
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viking!könig × female!villager!reader
warnings: smut, +18, possesive!könig, breeding kink, kidnapping, mentions of rape and virginity!!
Viking!König who, along with his warriors, disembark in a small village located by the sea. Dressed in animal skins, swords and armor, they enter the village to loot and destroy everything within their reach.
It is then that he manages to spot a small house at the top of a small mountain, not far from all the others. Upon reaching the field, he notices a female figure coming out of the small garden with a basket of tomatoes. It was you, dressed in a long white skirt, a beige shirt and a scarf around your head. You look like an angel fallen from heaven, so harmonious and calm, totally different from König's rude figure.
It doesn't take you long to notice that tall, burly man at the entrance to your home, who seems anything but pleasant. You recognize their clothing and the bad intentions that characterized the vikingos. An expression of terror was marked on your face and you immediately ran into your home, shouting your father's name and without letting go of the basket of tomatoes.
Konig's stomach twisted in a feeling of excitement at your reaction, feeling powerful at the fear of the rest of the people seeing him. With his long, muscular legs, he followed your steps to the interior of the home where a series of murmurs welcomed him.
In the humble living room there was an adult couple who looked somewhat sick and next to them was you, who covered 2 small children no more than 6 years old with your body. König was tall and in good shape compared to your family, who apparently barely had enough to eat.
"Please, don't hurt us.." sobbed your mother, who brought her skinny hands to her chest, begging.
"We don't have anything valuable, you can check for yourself." Your father spoke now, pointing around you. König began to walk around the room, observing everything around him and verifying that there was nothing there that would be useful to him. "The only thing we can offer him are vegetables and fruits from our garden. Daughter, give him the basket of tomatoes!" Your father ordered, hoping that König would agree and leave as soon as possible.
You stepped forward timidly and held out the basket with the tomatoes to him, taking a distance and with your hands trembling. König looked down at you, smiling slightly at your fear and how you couldn't maintain eye contact with his cold blue eyes. He reached his hand to the basket and took a tomato, it had a good size and color. Without thinking he brought it to his mouth and tasted a little of it, not caring how the juice fell from his lips to his bushy beard.
"And then? What do you think? If you want, you can take the whole basket, it's all yours!" Your father insisted.
To tell the truth, that tomato was delicious but you were even more so. "I'll take everything from the garden... And your daughter too." König spoke for the first time, generating a shiver throughout your body.
"No problem. Girl, put on some shoes and go!" Your father spoke coldly, capable of doing everything possible to defend his family, even if it meant giving you away to an unknown Viking.
You sobbed and screamed that they wouldn't let you leave with him, with König, but your father did nothing but raise his voice even more and even try to hit you. Your mother and your brothers cried in silence, observing the situation with sadness but without intervening on your behalf. The decision was already made, you were now König's property.
It was widely said that the Vikings came to the villages not only to plunder but also to rape their women and then return to their more 'relaxed' ways. Luckily for you, or not, that had not been the case for you. No, König didn't just see you as a hole to fill with his powerful semen. But as his property, as something to take care of and defend from the other Vikings who had no intention of formalizing with any woman. He wanted to be the only one with something to fight for and stay alive. And, soon, with whom to form a small family of warriors.
During the short time you had to gather your few things, your father took it upon himself to inform König of all the good things you had to offer. You knew how to wash, cook, heal, and, best of all, you were a virgin. That last one excited König even more, who was excited by the idea of being the first (and only) to be between your legs.
You boarded a large ship with your wrists handcuffed to prevent you from escaping and an old cloth bag with some items of clothing. According to König, none of that would help you in the cold climate of traveling over the sea, plus he wanted you not to wear underwear.
"Look guys! König brought us this sweetness to share!" one of the Vikings exclaimed, making all the men's hungry gazes turn towards you. You sobbed at the idea of having to serve as a sexual slave for all those scary Vikings but that idea quickly disappeared when you noticed how König approached the man and growled: "don't go near her." Reporting that you were not a common asset to the crew, but his alone.
That same night you slept next to König in a more exclusive room than the rest of the men, who all slept in the same crowded place. You noticed that he had a higher rank than the rest, therefore you had certain advantages over the others. Luckily for you, König explored your body externally, caressing your breasts, ass and pussy but without trying anything else.
The weeks passed and with them you managed to get used to the lifestyle of those men. König had already warned everyone about your exclusivity only with him, so no one ever tried anything with you. Your routine was based on washing and cooking König's clothes, cleaning his war wounds and cooking for him and his men. During the nights, you only had to be in charge of helping him bathe and dress the times when he arrived very exhausted, then both of you would just lie down and sleep.
Inevitably you managed to appreciate him and desire the closeness of that massive man. König, for his part, also wanted you, demonstrating it in the way that during the night he would rest his big erection against your ass, or how he would sit you on his lap and take advantage of the movements of the boat to obtain a pleasurable friction.
That night, the sexual tension between the two was unsustainable and it didn't take long for both of them to achieve what they had longed for. Due to your tightness and the large size of König's member, his first thrusts were painful and uncomfortable. However, he took care of reducing your disagreement by sucking and biting your breasts.
"My little wife- ah I love your breasts and how tight you are.." König growled, bringing his hands to your hips, using you as his personal fleshlight.
Slowly, his long and thick cock entered completely inside of you, feeling a sensation of simultaneous pain and pleasure. His hot breath and masculine scent made your walls wrap even tighter around him, causing him to moan loudly.
"Mine, only mine. This pussy belongs to me, your breasts belong to me, you belong to me completely..." he murmured, bringing his mouth to your ear and lightly biting your lobe.
His thrusts increased along with his grunts, you sobbed with pleasure at the way his hair pubes touched your clit. "König- I want more.." you stammered, not quite able to formulate words.
"Huh? You want my cum? You want me to fill you up inside?" He asked as his pace became more clumsy, announcing that he was about to finish.
And so he did, filling your entire interior with his powerful semen that, after 9 months later, took shape into 2 chubby and healthy warriors.
#cod smut#cod#cod x reader#konig smut#konig cod#konig x reader#konig call of duty#viking!konig#cod fanfic#konig fanfiction#viking#cod fic#call of duty#call of duty smut#könig smut#könig x reader#könig cod
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Francis Mosses NSFW A-Z ♡♡
I love him <33
Reader is gn but has female anatomy.
A-ftercare (What're they like after sex)♡
Very very tired. Everything he says afterwards is either slurred or murmured. Very cuddly tho. Will not let you go. Very sappy afterwards too; telling you he loves you and how pretty and perfect you were/are.
Takes him a second to do it but eventually gets up to get you some water while you go to the bathroom (always pee after sex!).
B-ody part (favorite body part on you & him)♡
On you, he loves your hands and lips. He holds your hand a lot during sex even if hes absolutely destroying you. And he loves your lips because he just likes kisses (and how they look wrapped around his dick). Between tits or ass tho, I think he'd prefer boobs (not pun intended). Even if their small, he looves them.
On him, he'd say his hands are his favorite. He likes the way the have so much effect on you. Like when he fingers you or grabs onto your hips or thighs or when he grabs your hand during sex.
C-um (anything to do w cum basically)♡
I think he'd prefer to cum on your stomach or ass. Though I do think he'd cum inside every once in a while. When you suck him off, he let's you take control of his dick tbh. If you want him to cum all over your face, then he will. If you want it in your mouth, then he will. If you want it on your boobs, he will. He just wants to please you fr.
D-irty secret ♡
I feel like he'd have plenty of them. A main one tho is that he's stolen one of your panties and jerked off with them before. He felt guilty afterwards so that was the only time he did that. The others are small enough for him to forget about it
E-xperience (his past experiences)
♡
I feel like he had NO BITCHES before you came (tee hee) along. He was a quiet kid and just focused on himself, maybe had a couple gfs and intimate moments but you're probably the first "real deal" to come into his life in terms of love.
F-avorite position ♡
He'd like the classics. Like missionary, cowgirl, doggie, etc etc. He'd probably like missionary and cowgirl most. Missionary because of the intimacy. Cowgirl bc sometimes he wants some but he's tired (and boobs).
G-oofy (how serious/unserious are they during sex)♡
He's pretty in the middle. Sometimes he likes to slowly fuck you while you two have a normal conversations so sometimes there's jokes thrown in there. But if it's rougher/faster, he's more serious.
H-air (what kind of hair they got down there)♡
I think he trims it. Keeps it tame. He doesn't shave it clean tho, unless you tell him to, then he might. For the rest of his body, he does have some hair but not a lot.
I-ntimacy ♡
Oh this boy is INTIMATE. The kind of mf that looks at sex like "love-making" instead of just "fuck". Loves praising and listening to what you say. You say harder and he goes harder, you say slower and he goes slower, etc etc. Most of the sex you two have will most likely be when he's tired/half awake so all the praise and such are slurred in such a beautiful way yk.
J-ack off (how often does he jack off)♡
Other than what I said in the dirty secret section, he doesn't really do it anymore. Why imagine you when he has you right there?
K-inks ♡
Praise - he likes receiving and giving praise. He likes talking you through it, telling you how good you feel and how much he loves you.
Marking - he'd like to leave hickeys on you, not for a way to "claim" you, but just because he wants to and he likes your reaction to it when I sucks on your sweet spots.
Overstimulation - he likes to BE overstimulated. Sometimes he wants to keep going but his body doesn't or he's too tired so he just begs you to just ride him til he cries or passes out.
Nipple play - he likes to pinch and massage your boobs a lot. Even if you're not having sex, his hand lives on your boob. Most of your foreplay is him sucking and nibbling on your nipple, pinching your other one while he fingers you.
L-ocation (their favorite locations to do it)♡
I feel like he'd only want to do it at home. He doesn't like public stuff. At home tho, he'd do it anywhere; on the dinner table, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, living room, anywhere. He could do it in the car tho. Maybe if he gets too worked up after a date and your apartment is too far away.
M-otivation (what turns him on)♡
Tbh. Everything. Skin tight shirts, your sleepwear (no matter what it is), etc. He likes when you take care of him too, just loving him turns him on.
N-o (some turn offs)♡
I'm so sorry yall but I think he'd say no to bdsm. Like maybe SOME parts of it he can do but like hard-core bdsm is a no.
He wouldn't want to actually hurt you in any way. Spanking is ok if it's not full force but like actually causing you pain is a no.
And he wouldn't like shit with pee, poop, and vomit. Shits nasty.
O-ral ♡
Oh bro. He EATS. Man can eat you out for hourss if you let him. He was a little shit at eating pussy at first but with more practice, he gets better and better. Like I'm talking about EATING pussy. There's no kitten licking with him, he is in. There.
And he loves when you suck him off. He talks while you do but they're all murmurs so no one knows what he's saying. He fucks your face gently (unless you tell him you want it rough) everytime. Mutters praises all throughout it and let's out of raspy moan when he cums.
P-ace ♡
Unless he's dead tired, he goes at whatever pace you want. When he's dead tired he wants to go slow and sensual. But if he had energy, he'll go at whatever pace you want him to go at. He starts off slow but if you tell him to go harder and harder he will beat that pussy numb.
Q-uickie (opinions on quickies)♡
I think he'd want to take his time with you so quickies are eh to him. If you seriously cannot wait but you can't leave wherever you are for too long, he'll take you somewhere private to eat you out till you're satisfied (or suck him off until he's satisfied).
He will leave an event for the day to have sex with you tho. If it gets that bad.
R-isk♡
To keep it short, he'd be down for experimenting as long as it's not in his "no" list.
S-tamina ♡
Again, depends on you. If you wanna ride him till the sun comes up, he'll thug it out for you. He likes overstimulation anyway. But tbh he rlly only goes for 2 rounds until you have to take over.
T-toys (toys they own)♡
I don't think he has any toys for himself. And he wouldn't really care if you had your own toys. He's fucked you with your toys before; like a vibrator up to your clit while he fucks you or a dildo in you while he sucks on your clit.
U-nfair (do they tease? And how often)♡
He doesn't really edge or tease you, but when he does, it's on accident. Sometimes he pulls out to cum on your stomach and accidently edges you. He doesn't mind when you do it to him. Feels good.
V-olume (how loud are they during sex)♡
Loud asf. Like I said, he talks during it, like murmuring and slurring his words. He's a moaner and whimperer too. Occasionally groaning but not really.
He LOVES when you're loud tho. He encourages it actually. Turns him on more.
W-ild card ♡
To add onto "volume", he talks dirty so much, even if it's under his breath. Like omfg the filth that comes out of his mouth is so unexpected.
Also, the amount of times you two were getting rough with it and he got that phone call (ykwim), he doesn't stop. He slows down a bit but just continues while you struggle to not blow you're cover.
X-ray (what's in those pants)♡
He's pretty average. Long, kinda thin, a vein on the top of his shaft from the base to the middle of it. He's about 6-7 inches, and he knows how to use it. Tbh I can't decide whether he's circumcised or not so you can personally decide that.
Y-earning (how high/low is his sex drive)♡
Surprisingly high. He's down to fuck whenever. Unless he's literally about to knock out cold. But if he's awake then so is his dick. He barley asks for sex tho, he wants YOU to initiate it. He just gives hints.
Z-zz (how fast he goes to sleep)♡
Like I said before, he's literally so tired afterwards. Once he makes sure you're okay and comfy, he snuggles close to you and sleeps.
I love him your honor.
#fanfics#oneshot#x reader#female reader#gn reader#i love him so much omg#smut#fluff#francis mosses#Francis mosses x reader#not my neighbor#francis mosses x you#milkman x reader
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ఌ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆
W.C › 5.6k
Warnings › Chapter 1. Male omegas have a bit of a strange anatomy. Tried to explain it well. In any case, male omegas have pussies.
Plot › You go through a Pseudo heat and learn more about what your parents truly did to your body
Kinks › use of pussy, dirty talk, cumming untouched
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟮:
𝘾𝙞𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙨 & 𝘼𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙤𝙩𝙨
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
❝ お兄ちゃん、どうして私を守ってくれなかったの? ❞
“Do they hate me?”
“Mhm? Who is they?”
“You know.”
“I don’t, (Name).”
“Yes you do. But mom actually likes you.”
“This again?”
“Yukina is gone. Now I’m her target. Why can’t you see that?”
“It’s nonsense, that’s why. No mother could ever hate her child. No parent would ever hate their children. Familial love is one that can’t be replaced.”
“…Naoki would understand. But you… you…”
“Naoki? Seriously? Have you taken your suppressants?”
“Naoki says I shouldn’t take it! No one else takes it. You don’t even take it. My scent is sweet, it’s not sour like yours. It’s fine—”
“(Name), think for a moment. You being an omega is already enough on the family. Would it hurt you to just try and make our parents proud? Can’t you just do this one thing for them? For us?”
❝ なぜですか?苦しいよ、直樹。❞
“Will he be okay? Has he even gone through a heat before? Is he a late bloomer?”
Miya sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she glanced over at Watanabe. You were barricaded in your bedroom—the smell of heat spilling in from underneath the door. Watanabe was by the kitchen, his hands grasped tightly at the wooden chair Miya usually used when she wanted to cook without standing.
She could already see the chipped wood forming beneath his palms. The sound of the wood breaking slowly.
She’d complain about that another time. It was a shock Watanabe was even lucid enough to not bust the door down and mate you. This sight of Watanabe was interesting. His cool bad boy facade was long gone, replaced by an anxious alpha.
You’d think Watanabe had mated you ages ago.
“Mhm. I don’t know. He’s never had a heat before because of…” Her voice trailed off, her lips pursing together. Did he know? Would it be safe to tell him? Would you even want her to tell him?
“Because of?” Watanabe muttered, finally looking over at Miya. She could see his eyes were blown, unfocused. They looked to be struggling to not narrow in at your bedroom door.
Miya didn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet. The whole journey here she wanted to get you away from him. But she could tell just from his soured scent that he wasn’t focused on fucking you. He was genuinely scared right now.
“He presented late, that’s all.” It wasn’t a total lie.
A strangled moan left your bedroom and Miya could see in seconds Watanabe’s gaze zero in on your door. His grip tightened on the chair and she heard the wood crack. Slowly his palms bleed red as he grit his teeth, closing his eyes as he began to whisper something to himself.
Miya inched over to the door, ready to defend your safety if need be. She didn’t care that she only reached his chest, stomach really. She’d fight to the death for you if she had to.
A knock on the door caught her attention. “Huh? Who…?”
“My mom.” Watanabe suddenly whispered, moving his hand away from the chair. The chair was totally destroyed, coated in his blood. His hands had pricks and splinters as he plucked out the large ones and dropped them by the trash as he stiffly walks to the front door.
“When did you even call your mom?” Miya asked, wondering what his mother could possibly do in a situation like this.
“Texted.” He bluntly said, pulling the front door open.
A chubby woman with greying brown hair pulled into a neat bun was shown, dressed in a nurse garment. Ah, that’s why. Her lips were pursed as she narrowed at Watanabe’s bleeding hands. She pulled out a first aid kit from her bag and stepped inside, handing it over to Watanabe.
Ms. Watanabe glanced around the room before sniffing the air, a frown pulling on her lips as she noticed Miya by the door. “Ah, are you Tanaka’s alpha?” She asked, walking over to Miya.
Miya hummed, needing to get used to the title. “Ah.. Yes. Furukawa Miya.”
“Watanabe Hitomi. I’m a doctor that specializes in omegas healthcare. Ah, ignore the nurse garments, today was my day off, I just put whatever on.” She laughed to herself, smiling brightly.
“Mhm. Then… can you check on (Name)? He’s never had a heat before.”
“Yes, of course. I just wanted to make sure I had permission.”
“Permission?”
“Yes. Alphas are so territorial! Even with betas like me,” she giggled. “Riki, you haven’t mated Tanaka yet, yes?”
Watanabe only grunted, busy bandaging his hands.
“I’ll be back, Furukawa-San.”
Miya bowed her head. “Thank you, Watanabe-San.”
“Ah, call me Hitomi. I have a feeling we’ll be like family soon.” Hitomi grinned, opening the bedroom door and stepping inside.
Hitomi couldn’t help her gasp as she slammed the door behind herself quickly, hoping none of your scent had slipped out. She pulled out a small packet of pills and a water bottle as she stepped over to your bed.
And there you were, nude burying your face into a sweater that was seeped in Miya’s citrus scent. You whined at the sight of Hitomi, too horny to care about your nudity. Hitomi’s beta scent was refreshing. Minty like any other beta. But it was nice. Miya’s scent was doing nothing for you.
But there was something in Hitomi’s scent that caught your attention, no matter how fuzzy it was.
Ume?
Riki? Does she know him? Mhm, Ume…
“Tanaka-San, I’m sorry this is how we meet. I’m Watanabe Hitomi, Riki’s mother. He wanted me to check on you because it’s your first ever heat, yes?”
You only whined at the mention of Riki’s name. Why wasn’t he here with you right now? Did he not want you? Were you not enough?
A cool hand against your neck caused you to flinch, your eyes opening again to look at Hitomi. She smiled softly, sitting down on the bed as she rest the water bottle on the night stand.
“It’s okay, Omega. Breathe. Your Alpha loves you.” She whispered, her voice motherly. “But he can’t be here. It’s your first ever heat, it’s a dangerous time for you, Pup. He could accidentally hurt you.”
You whined, feeling your fist tighten their grip on Miya’s sweater. Hurt you? Riki would never. He could never hurt you. Just what was this lady talking about?
Hitomi chuckled. “Well you can growl so I don’t need to check that.”
Growl? You didn’t even notice you were making any noise beside whimpering.
“I have something to help with the pain, Pup. It’s a heat suppressant. Have you taken any other suppressants? One that wasn’t only for heats?”
Shame creeped up on you as you looked away, biting your lip. Hitomi watched as you slowly nod. She didn’t say anything for a moment—as if waiting for you to elaborate. You slowly reached over and pulled open your night stand’s drawer.
“Is it in here?” She asked, looking over as she reached inside and pulled out the empty packets. You watched as her calm eyes began to widen in horror as she read the name. “…L…Limited X…?! Tanaka-San, are you serious?!”
She calmed down when you responded with a whimper, curling up into yourself further in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Pup. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Hitomi leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. You couldn’t help but purr.
Doctors aren’t supposed to be this loving but you would ignore it in the fact she was your alpha’s mother. Wasn’t she practically your mother now?
“Miya said you were a late bloomer… Was that a lie? Did you present?” She took your whine as a yes. “When did you start taking Limited X?”
A grunt left your throat as you parted your lips, “…nine…”
“Nine…? When.. When did you present?!”
“Nine…”
Hitomi pulled away. You saw from the corner of your eye her panicked expression as she whispered something herself. Was it that bad? Your situation couldn’t have been that rare. She let out a sigh before turning back over to you, a small smile on her lips.
“Your parents are awful, Pup. But it’s okay now. I got you.” She whispered, her voice shaky as she reached over and gently brushed your cheek. Her hand trailed down to your neck as she touched your scent gland. A broken gasp left her lips at the tough skin her fingers grazed.
“Mhm..?” You whined
“Your scent gland isn’t even…” Her look of surprise was soon replaced with fury. Her jaw tightened as she shook her head, patting your back as she stood up. “I’m sorry, Pup. I can’t let you take the suppressants. You need to let the heat run its course. Is there anything you want before I go? I’ll come back to visit you in a day or two.”
“Riki… I want Riki…”
“I’m sorry, but he can’t spend it with you. It’s for your safety, baby.”
“Please… Please… Want him…”
Hitomi pursed her lips as she glanced over at the door. “Okay. For a minute.” She left the room, leaving you alone. Your hand found the fluidity to toss Miya’s sweater across the room, wanting the citrus scent far away from your nose.
Your eyes fluttered open when you felt a cool hand gently touch your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you had fallen asleep. A low purr left your throat when your eyes met Riki’s. There he was.
Well, he was a bit far from you.
You hum and raise an eyebrow, reaching over to grab his hand and pull him closer. But he quickly resisted, pulling his hand away. The sound that leaves you is almost like that of a kicked puppy as you look at him in shock.
The words are on the tip of your tongue but you were too far gone in your heat to speak now.
“Sorry… Sorry, I can’t get too close. It’s hard enough being here.” Riki muttered, his eyes looking at everything but you. You noticed his tense posture, back straight entirely with his fists clenched at his sides. The bandages wrapped around his fists catch your attention as you whimper, wondering how he got hurt in such a short amount of time.
Did Miya fight him??? Oh god, you hoped that they would get close not fight.
A strangled grunt leaving Riki’s chest made you look up at him, seeing his jaw set tight. Was your scent affecting him this badly?
“Ah, (Name), I can’t stay in here much longer.” Riki groaned, reaching down and pulling off his shirt. Your eyes widen as your legs clamp together, an eager smirk pulling on your lips. Neither can you, you felt as if you would burst if he just continued to stand there.
But whatever you thought was going to happened was ignored when he tossed the shirt at your face. Any disappointment was drowned out when you sniffed the shirt, sighing in relief at having the Japanese apricots fill your nostrils.
“Why didn’t she tell me you were naked….”
Your eyes peek open to see Riki moving away, the sound of his pants falling onto the ground causing you to purr in appreciation at the sight of his ass. He also tossed his pants at you. It hit your square in the face but you didn’t care, eager to just bury your nose in his scent.
“Riki…” You mewled, slick coating the bedsheets beneath you.
“Shh. If you say my name again I’ll cum.” He said bluntly, his hand gripping at his boxers before pulling them off. You couldn’t help the slight squeal that left you as he tossed the boxers to you. You forgot all about his pants and shirt as you bit at his boxers, purring at the fabric in your hands.
Ah, it was right against his cock.
You thought he was now coming to join you in bed but you whined as you watched him slip on some clothes. What?! What the fuck?! He changed into a plain old t-shirt and sweatpants. Where did he even get that?!
You felt like throwing a tantrum.
Here you were, pliant, soaking wet, practically begging for him. And he was only nice enough to give you his boxers?!
Riki finally turned around, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Don’t give me those eyes. I’m following my mom’s instructions. I’ll visit you again tomorrow.” He walked over to you with his fingers pinching his nose. A slight giggle left your lips at the sight as he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your lips before quickly pulling away and sprinting to the door.
“Bye!” He yelled, closing the door behind him.
He was lucky he’s cute…
You glanced down at the boxers still in your hand and sighed. This will have to do for tonight.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
“Aren’t they cute?”
You kneel down, peering into the small pond. The koi fish swirl around each other as you poke your finger in the water. They disburse away from your small ripple, finding safety near the other side. A slight giggle leaves your lips.
“They’re funny.”
“Funny? Mhm, I don’t know. I think you’re more funny looking.”
A gasp leaves you as you turn over to face Naoki, pouting at the laugher that begins to escape him. He falls back onto his butt while you cross your arms together and fane a look of disappointment at his teasing.
“Meanie. The girls at my school say I’m cute. And that I smell sweet!”
“Do they? What did you bribe them with?”
“B..Bri…be..? What does that mean?”
Naoki only chuckled, reaching over to pull you close with him on the grass. “Ask your teacher. But you do smell sweet, (Name). My little pudding.”
“Well…! You smell like vanilla!”
“Vanilla? That’s too sweet for an alpha like me.”
“Don’t care. You’re sweet. Sweet alphas are better than smelly alphas like Daichi.”
“Really? Then I hope you get with an alpha with the sweetest scent there is.”
“Ew! I don’t like alphas. Only you and Miya. Yuck!”
Naoki laughed. You couldn’t remember his face. It hurt so much to only remember his heart shaped smile. Why couldn’t you remember his eyes? His nose? The only person to love you and you can’t even remember him properly?
“(Name), c’mon, drink this!”
A groan left your throat as your eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. You looked to your left and saw Miya holding a glass of water. She smiled and reached down, wiping at your face before helping you sit up.
“Did you sleep well? You had a big smile on your face before I woke you up.” She asked, sitting down on the bed. You hummed absentmindedly, eager to quench your thirst.
“How long has it been?”
“A week.”
“Week?! Heats only last three days…”
“Yeah will you haven’t exactly gone through a heat before. Anyway, Hitomi-San came to visit you everyday to make sure you didn’t die.”
“Die?!”
Miya hummed. “You were sometimes so cold during the night or really hot. She would sometimes stay the night to make sure you didn’t stop breathing too.”
“Crap… I don’t remember anything that happened…”
“Well you didn’t do anything embarrassing if you’re worried about that.” Miya said, taking the empty glass from you. Her lip slightly twitched as she smirked. “Ah, wait, no that’s not true… you did embarrass yourself when Watanabe came.”
You froze, looking over at Miya with a look of fear. Miya smirked and began to laugh, enjoying your panicked expression.
“What?! What did I do?”
“It was so funny… Hitomi-San was cleaning the slick off your body when Watanabe came into the room to give you fresh clothes with his scent. You practically shoved Hitomi-San off the bed to launch yourself at Watanabe. I should’ve recorded it!!”
“Is Hitomi-San okay?!”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Watanabe wasn’t, you made him fall and knock his head against your desk! Then you started crying as if you killed him because he was knocked out for a second. Anyway he had to get stitches on the back of his head.”
You stared at Miya with your mouth agape, physically imagining the event in your head. You were so glad you couldn’t remember anything. It was already bringing you shame and embarrassment at the fact you literally attacked Riki just cause of your stupid heat.
Not to mention shoving away the woman who was helping you live… Gosh, you wanted to curl up and die.
Miya had finally stopped laughing and pulled out her phone, showing you a picture she must’ve took of that night. Sure enough, there you are, naked as the day you were born. Luckily enough Miya had cropped it to where it was only the upper half of your body.
You were straddling Riki, holding his face in your hands as you looked to be in a mid cry. There was a small amount of blood on the floor from what you could tell so he really did get hurt. Miya swiped, showing a short video that was Riki waking up, looking absolutely disoriented before narrowing in on you. Immediately a blush appeared on his face and he practically bucked you off of him.
Your cries were heard in the background as you were flung off camera. Video Miya yelled something about being careful while Hitomi had moved over to you. Riki moved to stood up but soon collapsed back onto the ground, earning a shrill scream from what you could only assume was yourself. The video soon ended with Miya accidentally turning the camera on your bare butt as you once again shoved Hitomi away to get to Riki.
That was…
“Oh my god.” You whispered, wanting to end it all right then and there while Miya laughed her ass off.
“I’ve never seen you act so animal like!” Miya laughed, wiping away the stray tears from her face. “It was nice. Felt like the first time you were truly yourself. Even if it was while you were butt naked, dripping slick all over the carpet.”
“Miya!!”
“What? It’s a normal bodily function. Don’t get embarrassed.” She patted you on the back and stood up, stretching. “Anyway, Hitomi-San and Watanabe will be here in a few hours. Take a shower… a long one.”
With that, she left your room, leaving it open as Ume sprinted inside. Ume purred as she jumped onto your bed and immediately got comfortable, curling into herself. You couldn’t help but smile, knowing Ume must’ve been upset to not have access to your room for such a long time.
She hated closed doors. Ume practically owned the place.
You rubbed at your neck, groaning as you stretched your sore body. Your body sputtered for a moment as your fingers gently rubbed against the lower center of your neck. It… was a bit softer?
It was still sold and rough but there was a slight softness that wasn’t there before.
It wasn’t too late for you…?
You could be mated?
You’d have to ask Hitomi. But you couldn’t help the slight giddy smile on your lips. You could be Riki’s if it really was softening… A slight glob of slick soaked the bedsheets beneath you. You groaned, rolling your eyes. This was going to have to take some getting used to.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
Miya fiddled with her phone, her eyes flickering around as she closed the apartment door behind her. Her phone began to ring—startling her out of her thoughts as she quickly answered it without looking at the caller ID.
“Hey. How are things there?” She whispered, walking to lean over the railing. Her dyed purple hair was pulled back into a small ponytail as the wind blew her bangs upward.
The voice on the other line as hushed and quiet.
“Terrible. He’s back.”
“Which one?”
“Obviously the eldest. He had a wedding ring on his finger. I think he’s married now.”
“Married…? He didn’t tell (Name)? Does he even have a mating mark?”
“That type of alpha would never let anyone mark him. Anyway, he talked to me as if we’re friends. The nerve.”
“Shit. Did he say anything weird?”
“Besides the fact he was not so subtly making fun of me for still living at mom’s place, no. He did insult me being a mangaka, I don’t remember telling him that. Did (Name) tell him?”
“Really, Yuzuru? (Name) doesn’t even talk to his mom unless she calls. He’s not talking to Daichi.”
“Watch your mouth. I’m still the oldest, little shit. I don’t have to do this spying shit for you.”
“Then say goodbye to your precious beta reader!”
“Wait! Sorry, sorry. Anyway, I still haven’t seen Naoki. I… huh?”
“Mhm? What’s wrong?”
“Uh�� Daichi just came back with a woman… an omega I think.”
“Omega? No way in hell… those alpha elitist would never mate with an omega…” Miya waited for her brother to continue speaking but she soon heard the sound of a woman talking before the phone abruptly cut off.
She cursed, ready to call Yuzuru back when she saw Hitomi and Watanabe walk up the stairs to the complex. She’d have to call him back later. With a huff, she put her phone away and grinned, waving at Hitomi.
Hitomi smiled, her eyes closing into crescent moons. “Morning, Miya-Chan! I brought breakfast for you and Tanaka. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, I did! (Name)-Kun is doing great thanks to your help. He just woke up a few minutes ago.” Miya reached over and took the plastic bag away from Hitomi, opening the apartment door to let them inside. She rolled her eyes at Watanabe’s lack of greeting.
She could tell he was fidgety. His eyes quickly narrowing in on your bedroom door, practically waiting for you to come out so he could see if you were truly okay.
Hitomi pulled out a MedKit from her bag, going straight to your room. She didn’t knock, just pushed the door open before shutting it behind her.
Just your luck, you were putting on your underwear when she came in. You shrieked, reaching to cover your nude body from her eyes.
“Calm down, Pup. I’ve seen everything by now.” She said honestly, resting the MedKit on your nightstand as she pulled out what looked to be a thermometer and some pills. “Come here once you’re dressed.”
You slipped on a baggy t-shirt and shorts, wondering if you should bring up the whole… shoving incident. “Uhm… If… uh.. there.. was anything weird I did… while… y’know… in heat… I uhm…”
Hitomi glanced over at you. “You mean giving my son a concussion and having him bleed out on the floor?”
Your breathing halted, your eyes widening at her words. Well when she puts it that way…
Her gaze was harsh on you before a gummy smile pulled on her lips. “It’s okay, Pup. You aren’t the craziest patient I’ve had to dealt with. You were tame. Now c’mere.”
You walked over to where she was by your desk and watched as she held up the thermometer, motioning for you to pry your lips apart.
“Besides,” she said, slipping the thermometer into your mouth. “You look cute while crying. You cared so much for my Riki. I think if Miya hadn’t held you back, you would’ve followed us to the hospital.”
“Followed…?” You muttered, taking the thermometer out of your mouth to once it beeped. Hitomi took it from you and hummed. A good temperature you’d assume.
“Yes. You wouldn’t even let me touch Riki at first. Took Riki waking back up and telling you to calm down for you to finally release him.”
“I didn’t know omegas could be… territorial.”
“Everyone is territorial. Especially for someone they love. Omegas can be scary when they want to. You almost bit me.” Hitomi said nonchalantly.
“Bit?!”
“It’s fine. Like I said, you were like a kitten compared to other patients I’ve had.” She opened the bottle of pills and poured out two capsules, handing them over to you. “You seem fine. But you didn’t go through a full heat. It was just a pre-heat. Your full heat will be in two months.”
“Only a pre-heat…? But it was intense.”
“Mhm. It was. Your body was only getting you ready. You are severely underdeveloped,” she said, her tone turning serious. “I advise you to not have any penetrative sex until your hole… has grown.”
“Grown?”
“Yes. I checked it. It’s too small for an omega. Your cock should also become small as well.”
“What? Wait? I thought male omegas could have dicks?”
“Who told you that? Male omegas are born with dicks but they lose them during their first heat. Then a vagina begins to form and your dick will become a clit. Your hole is there, just too small to be called a vagina at the moment.”
“You weren’t talking about my butt hole..?”
“No.” Hitomi frowned. “Did no one teach you about male omegas? I know they’re rare but they should still teach you all about these things. You need to know your body…” Her lips pursed as if she was in thought before looking over at the door.
You glanced over, wondering if she saw something.
“Ah. Have Riki show you where your hole is. I’m sure you don’t want me touching it.” She said, putting away her materials. “You can also have him help you stretch it. It’ll help with the process.”
“S..Stretch it..?”
“Yes. Finger you. You can always finger yourself but at least let him show you where it is.” With that, she grabbed her MedKit and left the room, leaving you standing there with your mouth agape.
Vagina…? Clit...? Fingering?!
You felt lightheaded. All this time, your body was underdeveloped. Your genitalia was a lie this entire time! Your cock was going to turn into a fucking clit!!!
“(Name)? Your scent soured.”
Your body jumped as the door was harshly pushed up, a tense Riki standing in the doorway. His eyes roamed your body—looking for any damage before pausing at your face. He tilted his head, walking over to you as he began to sniff you.
“What? Did my mom tell you bad news?” He asked, his hand reaching up, as if to touch your face but he stopped himself and placed it on your desk. You couldn’t help the slight whimper at that.
“No… No bad news. Just that—well—I’ll be growing a vagina!”
“Huh? You already have one. I saw it when we were in the classroom.”
“Hah?! You saw it?!”
“Mhm. It’s so tiny, I was wondering why it looked like that but I’ve never been with a male omega before.” Riki said nonchalantly, his posture relaxing now that he realized there was nothing wrong. “You’ve never felt it?”
You blushed. “Well, I don’t really masturbate touching myself down there.. just my cock.”
Riki tilted his head as a smirk pulled on his lips. “Mhm? You’ll have to learn the other way soon, your little cock is turning into a clit.” He laughed.
The urge to punch him the face was strong. He felt just like the Riki you met at the sushi restaurant. It was going to take some getting used to with Riki’s personality. It was like he could switch between a sadist and timid puppy.
“Uhm. Your mom.. said that you could help.”
“Help? You want me to touch your pussy?”
Your cheeks flushed as you looked at everything but him. “Don’t call it that!”
“Why can’t I? Is it not a pussy?” Riki grinned as he moved closer, his nose teasing your neck as he leaned down. Your breathing hitched as you subconsciously tilted your head, giving him easy access to your scent gland. “I was sad that I’ll have to wait so long to properly fuck you…”
His hand grasped your crotch, earning a stuttered gasp from you as your body tensed. Your hand gripped the desk behind you for stability as he harshly fondled you. “But fingering you until you get a proper pussy sounds hot. I’ll be making a pussy just for me to touch. For me to fuck. For me to knot whenever I please.”
“Riki…” you gasped. The thought was already intoxicating. Any fear you had about this new body part growing was long gone at the thought of Riki truly molding you into something just for him. You were only disappointed that you’d have to wait so long to get what your body so desperately craves.
Only two month… You can last two months…
“Do you like that? The thought of your body changing itself just from my touch?” He whispered, his hand gripping your cock through your shorts. Your body arched against the desk as you feel your legs part to give Riki easier access.
“Nngh… That’ll… That’ll make me good for Alpha.” You manage to whine, looking up at him with watery eyes. Riki’s eyes widen before he chuckled, pressing a kiss on your neck.
“You’re already a good omega for me, (Name). But I won’t lie and say you getting a pretty pussy won’t make me happy. I can already imagine sinking my fingers inside, stretching you wide before I stuff you with my knot. Would you like that, Omega? My knot stretching you, ruining you for me and only me?”
A strangled cry left your throat as the thought clouded your mind and your hands gripped the desk, your toes curling. Your body felt as if it was spasming until you felt a growing wetness in your shorts.
Riki released your crotch as he glanced down, a laugh leaving his lips. “You came untouched. Did I excite you that much?”
“Shut up.” You weakly whine, wanting to curl up into a ball and die.
“Ahem.”
You and Riki’s body froze as there was a slight knock on the door. There stood Miya, her face unimpressed.
“We are still here, by the way. Maybe close the door if you’re going to start having sex.” She said, “Also there’s breakfast, (Name)… come get it after you take a shower… again.”
This was it. You were going to die of embarrassment.
Riki looked as if he’d seen a ghost. You could tell he must’ve realized his mother heard his dirty talking. Hopefully they didn’t hear everything…
“Uh… We can talk about the whole fingering thing later.” You whispered.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
In front of him, he stood tall, overpowering. His scent was musky—drowning out any other scent in the room. Brown eyes flickered around the living room before settling on a framed picture on the wall near the TV.
You, so young and cute, a wide smile while Miya hugged you tightly against her chest. It was an older picture, around the age of thirteen. Yuzuru was standing behind the both of you, aged eighteen, a small slight smile on his lips. His large circular glasses taking up half of his face.
Daichi looked over Yuzuru now, sitting on the couch across of him. Glasses long gone and smile replaced a tight frown. It was a shame, Daichi thought to himself. Yuzuru was supposedly an omega but looked nothing like it.
He took another look at Yuzuru, wondering how he gained so much weight. Yuzuru wasn’t the stick thin omega he was back in high school. He was fuller, his mother must be over feeding him.
Yuzuru kissed his teeth together, catching Daichi’s attention. “If you’re done scrutinizing me, why are you here?”
Mrs. Furukawa gently patted Yuzuru’s lap, giving him a tight smile. “What Yuzu was saying.. Is what made you want to visit us? It’s been forever.”
Daichi grinned, opening his coat and pulling out an envelope. “It’s nothing special.” He said. “Yuzuru is almost in his late twenties and my colleagues mentioned something about a blind date for omegas to find an alpha. I’m sure… it would be helpful for your case.”
A pin could be dropped as Yuzuru’s eyes widen, his lips parting as his fingers dug into the armchair of the couch. He looked ready to blow, jump across this stupid coffee table and show Daichi what he was made of. But his mother grabbed his arm as she grabbed the envelope from Daichi.
“Is that?” She asked, her voice devoid of any emotion.
“Ah. Yes… You have (Name)’s address, yes? I want to talk to him.”
“Why would I willingly give you his address?” Yuzuru muttered.
“Well… It’s been ages since I’ve seen my little brother.. I wanted to check up on him.”
“You can call him.” Yuzuru whispered.
Daichi hummed. “I guess I could. I suppose I wanted to get a better look at you, Yuzuru. Since you seem to be so interested in me these days.”
Yuzuru froze, looking away. He noticed? What the fuck?
With the tension tight and heavy, Daichi left without another word.
ཆི❤︎ཆྀ
You were gently drying your hair when you grabbed your phone off the night stand. There was texts and emails that you didn’t care too much about responding to except one from a number you didn’t recognize.
It was just a picture that they sent.
You clicked on the picture and felt the color drain from your face.
It wasn’t just one picture. It was two.
One picture of an ultrasound.
And another of a wedding.
Daichi and a woman you’ve seen before.
But she was an omega… Why would someone like Daichi marry her?
But that wasn’t the most important thing you cared about. No, you cared more about who she was. Who she was before supposedly becoming Daichi’s wife, his mate.
Naoki’s ex girlfriend.
Sorry for the wait! I just recently moved to my college dorms, forgot to write lol. Hopefully it won’t take too long for chapter 3, there will be actual smut in that one, trust.. ask to be added to the tag list for riki’s story. Some people don’t show up when I try to tag them tho, sorry about that :/ also there’s a limit smh
Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @tehyunnie @lanoslamp @sweetheart4you @chill-guy-but-cooler @ofclyde @remdayz @flurrina @smellwell @iwishtobeacrow @kiiyoooo @love-kha1 @star-3214 @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @chososlittlestuttyboy @terapung @gay4letti @lixamplanet @oreoqueen @1account2blogs @hnazwan @blaxvoid @theorye @yanrandom @berrycolaa @darlinqvi @diamondnightsky23 @yourn0tmydad @https-tan-com @kiekole @cinder-angel @yuzuukix @sugar-p0p @anime-meme-sanctuary @caffineandoranges @barbatos-mybeloved @gaynesspersonified @sheepame @snowtiger00 @kgeyamaa @teoluvsyou @chweuphoria @sooobiinn @hope0o0 @yoon-zino @mef0rg0r @gojosdumpydump @me-when-life
Translations:
❝ お兄ちゃん、どうして私を守ってくれなかったの? ❞ — brother, why didn’t you protect me?
❝ なぜですか?苦しいよ、直樹。❞ — why? It’s painful, Naoki
#bottom male reader#x male reader#sub male reader#uke male reader#male reader#oc x reader#mlm ns/fw#smut drabble#male bottom reader#original character
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— the stranger / qimir x f!reader. the jedi have hidden many things from you about the dark side. like how good pleasure can feel and he is more than happy to show you. contents: dubcon, fingering, blood, death, light choking | wc: 881+
Everyone’s dead.
The other Jedi.
Your master.
Your friends.
Everyone’s dead, and you’re….you should be dead. Your blood should be pooling around your lifeless body, painting the green of the grass into something opaque and poetically mixing with the blood of your friends.
The friends you trained with.
The friends you love.
You should be lying lifelessly beside them. With honor and pride for fighting till the very end. That should have been your fate. Your ending. How this bloodbath too its close.
Not this.
Not backed against a tree by the monster who killed those friends you love so much, making you feel….good.
Good when you’re surrounded by death.
Good when you can smell burning flesh with each shuddering inhale that inflates your shaking body,
"It's really simple. So simple. The Jedi like to teach that it’s complex. Light, dark. As if the two can’t mingle, change. Warp. Meld together as one thing entirely. I can show you.” He had said as he stepped closer. Each syllable coming from his mouth matched his foot steps until he was right in front of you, and there was no longer anywhere to go.
Your saber long gone. Destroyed in the chaos of blood and bodies. The safety of a weapon, of an escape, is gone when there’s no space left between the two of you.
“It won’t hurt,” you flinched away from his fingers when he brushed them against your cheek. A twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Quite the opposite. There is more to the darkness than your precious Jedi have taught you. It can heal. It can teach.” His eyes swept over your heaving chest, following a trail up the column of your neck to your mouth, making a chill prick the bottom of your spine. “It can please. Give you a type of pleasure not even the flow of light can bring to you. Let me show you.”
Your jawbone ached when he grabbed it after you had shaken your head. After you all but spat in his face about how much of a monster he was. How he’s going to regret what he’s done. Making a stand for yourself with a voice as weak as you felt.
“You Jedi, so closed off in your ways. Never open to something more enlightening. Accepting the other possibilities of being. Of feeling. How can you be all knowing?” His fingers moved from your jaw down to your neck, and the race of your heart accelerated when he wrapped his fist around it. The light pressure had been enough to make your body go into fight or flight. Your hands coming up to grip his wrist. “Let me teach you. I can feel it,” his thumb tapped your pulse point, “in your blood. You’re not like the others. You’re smarter. Be smart.” His head tilted further into your space, making his mouth inches from yours, “you might find by the end of it you want me to show you more.”
That’s how you got to where you are now.
The Strangers hand between your thighs, while the other still holds its grip on your neck. His jaw twitching with every moan you try to hold back. His grip on your neck tightening when you try to bite your lip to stop yourself from letting any noise slip out. Making your mouth pull open, his mouth following the same motion in a pleased smirk.
You’d realized half way into this, half way through the haze, that you could have slipped loose. He’d given you a proper opening to do so. But you hadn’t. Had let yourself be tempted and consumed, willingly.
The fact only adds to the churning in your lower stomach.
The hand between your thigh making your legs shake, your body contorting against the tree. Rolling against his palm, your swollen clit rubbing along the heel of his hand as the two fingers inside of you curl and make you cry out into the night.
Your mind is a mess of pleasure and darkness that not even closing your eyes helps you sift through. To bring you back to the light you’ve had inside of you since birth. To ground yourself enough to use the many skills of the force you’ve been taught.
Each time your eyes close, the pleasure feels worse. More intense. Like the deadliest kind of hallucinogen—his voice, his fingers, his face are there. Images of his mouth on your neck, body, lips, replacing his hand, projected through your head like a fog engulfing your entire being.
It completely engulfs you, and you almost forget what it is like not to be consumed by the allure of darkness. Making your body ultimately crave more.
You don’t know if it’s real or not when you feel his lips brush against your ear and he says, “things that are this reactive to something so minuscule compared to everything else that can be given to it were meant to feel this good.” You shake your head, the walls of your pussy fluttering, swelling around his fingers. “You’re about to come on my fingers, what’s more proof than that that your body seeks the truth. You were meant for all the things the darkness can give.”
#qimir x reader#the stranger x reader#qimir smut#qimir x you#the acolyte x reader#star wars smut#the acolyte smut#the acolyte#qimir x y/n#manny jacinto smut#qimir fic#laur writes star wars
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To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.
❤︎ Synopsis. In a world of blood and power, you became his perfect wife—calm, obedient, and indispensable. But beneath your icy façade, a deadly game of lies and survival brews, and he’ll never know that you’re the one who could destroy him.
♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader
♡ Headcanon. The Bride of Blood - Part 1
♡ Word Count. 1,459
♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, sexual themes, BDSM
♡ His Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who first noticed you during a violent upheaval in the criminal underworld, where blood was spilled more than ink on treaties.
You were the perfect wife—elegant, calm, and obedient.
His men whispered about your grace, but he only saw the subtle precision in your movements, a dancer in a minefield.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who felt a perverse sense of peace watching you tend to his wounds after a firefight.
"You’re reckless," you murmured, stitching his torn flesh with steady hands. The sharp tang of alcohol filled the air, mingling with the metallic stink of blood.
His laughter was low and cruel. “And yet you keep mending me, zhena moya.” You didn’t flinch under his gaze, but your fingers trembled ever so slightly, betraying a crack in your otherwise impenetrable façade.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who surrounded himself with walls of loyalty and fear, yet you slipped through them like a shadow.
Your quiet efficiency made you indispensable; your loyalty, unquestionable. You never balked at the grotesque reminders of his power—the severed hands of a traitor, the guttural pleas of dying men.
"Why do you stay?" he asked once, watching you clean blood from the floor with detached precision.
"Because I vowed to," you replied, voice devoid of warmth. He smirked, taking it as devotion, never suspecting the mission beneath your skin.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who made you his wife in a spectacle of opulence and terror.
The wedding was a gilded cage, a feast of gold and crimson.
He kissed you beneath a chandelier made of diamonds and glass, while outside, his enemies burned in their cars, charred bodies marking the territory of his love. You smiled as cameras flashed, but your stomach churned at the sound of distant screams.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who trusted you enough to let you into his inner sanctum. Late nights spent poring over ledgers and strategic maps became a routine.
"Tell me, what do you see?" he’d ask, his voice honeyed with suspicion.
You pointed out weaknesses, vulnerabilities, your mind calculating probabilities faster than his most seasoned lieutenants.
He called you brilliant; you called it survival.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who can’t keep his hands off you, as if touching you is the only way he can prove to himself that you’re real.
His fingers are always tracing the curve of your spine, ghosting along the edge of your jaw, a silent claim. His touch lingers, heavy with possession, even when his mood is lethal and his hands are stained with blood.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who wakes you in the middle of the night, his body already pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. The sheets are kicked aside as he drags you beneath him, his weight suffocating and intimate.
“You’re my peace,” he says, though his touch is anything but gentle. He takes you slowly at first, savoring every cry, every tremble, before his control snaps and he devours you whole.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who fucks you in places you shouldn't be touched—
Against the marble counter in the kitchen, your hands slipping on the smooth surface as he drives into you; in the backseat of his bulletproof car while his driver pretends not to notice the muffled moans and the rhythmic creak of leather; even in his private jet, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he degrades you in Russian, the words dark and guttural.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who loves watching you come undone beneath him, your carefully crafted mask shattering in his hands.
He knows you try to hide your reactions, to remain composed, but it only spurs him on. “Don’t hold back, lyubov moya,” he says, his voice velvet-soft and cruel.
“Let me hear how much you need me.” And when you finally break, crying out his name, his smirk is equal parts victorious and feral.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who becomes almost animalistic when his jealousy flares. One stray glance from another man and he’s dragging you to his private quarters, tearing at your clothes.
“I’ll remind you who you belong to,” he growls, his hands rough and demanding. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, marked, and utterly consumed by him, your body a canvas for his obsession.
“Mine,” he’d growl, over and over, as if the repetition could make it true.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who has a near-obsessive fixation on filling you, stretching you, owning you in the most primal way.
“How are you not pregnant yet?” he muses darkly, his fingers tracing circles on your inner thigh. He pulls you onto his lap, his grip firm and unyielding.
“Maybe I need to try harder,” he whispers, thrusting into you without warning, his eyes burning into yours as he takes you again and again, his movements relentless, determined.
“You’ll give me an heir one day,” he murmured, his voice thick with possessive desire. “A little prince or princess with your eyes and my ruthlessness.”
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who couldn’t keep his hands off you, even during the most mundane moments.
Cooking breakfast? He’d slide behind you, his hands wandering beneath your robe. Reading a book? He’d tug it from your grasp, his lips finding your neck as his body pressed against yours.
"You’re a distraction," you muttered one night as he pinned you to the bed, his lips trailing down your stomach.
"And you’re my obsession," he replied, his voice dripping with lethal promise.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw sex as another way to own you, to remind you of your place in his world. But even he couldn’t deny the way your body haunted him, the way he craved your touch like a drug.
“You make me weak,” he confessed one night, his voice low and raw as he traced the curve of your spine. “And I hate you for it.”
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who began to suspect that you were too perfect.
The way you navigated his world of violence with clinical detachment. The way you always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even before he did. It wasn’t love, he realized; it was precision. A scalpel disguised as a wife.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw glimpses of something darker beneath your calm exterior.
The first time you shot a man—clean between the eyes to save his life—he swore he saw something flicker in your gaze. Was it fear? Regret? Or was it just the ghost of the person you’d been before? He couldn’t tell, but the thought consumed him.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who pressed you for your past one drunken night, his voice slurred with vodka and possessiveness.
"Who were you before me, malyshka? What did you dream of?"
You lied through your teeth, weaving a story of lost parents and humble beginnings. He crushed your hand in his, murmuring, "You're mine now. I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you." You forced a smile, choking on the irony.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who unwittingly began to unravel his own empire in his obsession with you. His paranoia sharpened with every stray glance from his men, every unfamiliar scent on your clothes.
"Do you love me?" he asked one night, his breath hot against your neck.
You hesitated—only for a second—but it was enough.
His grip tightened, bruising your arm. "Say it," he demanded, voice a low growl. "Of course," you whispered, the words like glass shards in your throat.
Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who built a kingdom of fear and blood but found himself undone by the ghost of a woman who had never truly been his.
A woman who kissed him with cold lips and watched him sleep with calculating eyes.
A woman who loved the mission more than she could ever love him.
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#yandere mafia boss#yandere mafia#mafia x reader#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yanderecore#yandere male#male yandere#yancore#yandere x you#yandere oneshots#yandere headcanons#male yandere x reader#yandere boy#yandere scenarios#yandere drabble#yandere male x reader#yandere x darling#yandere#obsessive yandere#possessive yandere#tw yandere#yandere blurb#yandere blog#yandere romance#yandere oc#oneshotx reader#yandere oc x reader#reader insert#fem reader
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We’ve Still Got Time
Summary: After receiving some life-altering news, you try to make Bucky understand that it's time to let the past go. Inspired by the song “Falling Slowly” (in my mind it was written just for Bucky ok 🥺) Pairing: Bucky x reader Word count: 3.1k Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, lots of tears, extreme fluff. A/n: English is not my first language, so sorry in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes. Enjoy! also, happy 2025 for us bucky girlies!!! our man is coming back soon! ✨
Bucky woke up to the sound of running water and a toothbrush being used. The white light from the bathroom spilled into the bedroom you both shared. The clock on his nightstand read 4:07 a.m. He slowly opened his eyes and turned to the side, realizing your side of the bed was empty. Furrowing his eyebrows, he wondered why you were up at this hour brushing your teeth. Unable to think of a reason fast enough, he decided to get up and check on you.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked in a confused tone, his hoarse voice carrying the weight of sleep. His hair was a little messy, and his metal arm reflected the soft light from the bathroom. He was shirtless, and his gray sweatpants hung just above his hips.
“I’m sorry I woke you, Buck,” you replied, drying your face with a small towel. “I don’t know. I think I must have eaten something that didn’t sit well with my stomach. I just woke up feeling really nauseous. I threw up, but at least I feel a little better now.”
Bucky closed the distance between you, moving toward you slowly and giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. His expression was serious, his lips almost forming a pout.
“Why didn’t you wake me up? I feel bad knowing you were sick all by yourself.”
He held your face softly, and you looked up at him, scanning his features and silently admiring how concerned he always was for you. You couldn’t understand how someone so caring could think such terrible things about himself and carry so much guilt when this was the man he really was: calm, reliable, attentive. You prayed he could see it someday, too.
“I wouldn’t wake you,” you replied, caressing his cheek gently. “I know those nightmares have been coming back these past few weeks, haven’t they?”
He looked down, ashamed he hadn’t been able to hide them from you. You always knew.
He sighed and nodded, reluctantly admitting the unpleasant truth. His nightmares came in phases. Sometimes, they haunted him almost every night with terrible flashes from his past – people he had killed, accidents he had caused, futures he had destroyed. Or worse, scenarios in which you would get hurt. Sometimes, by him. Those were the worst ones. Other times they would come less frequently, almost letting him believe that he was making progress in his “healing journey”, as you liked to call it. But they eventually came back. To him, they were proof he would never truly be at peace, never able to leave the past behind.
“Yes, as usual,” he admitted. “But it’s okay. You don’t need to worry.”
“That’s impossible,” you replied, already recognizing his habit of downplaying things and subtly pushing you away, retreating into his world of self-loathing. “I’ll always worry. I just wish you would have talked to me about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said while engulfing you in a warm hug. He had a defeated expression in his features that made you even more worried. God knows what kind of thoughts he was having about himself. You wish you could take them away.
“Let’s just go back to sleep, so you’re rested and feeling better in the morning. Deal?” You smiled weakly and decided to let the matter go, for now. “Deal,” you agreed, letting him take your hand and guide you back to bed. For the next few weeks, you continued to have moments where you felt unwell.
You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your body started to feel different. Your stomach was more sensitive than usual, leaving you with the now-familiar waves of nausea. You felt sleepier at random moments during the day, and your stamina during training sessions at the compound suddenly diminished. You felt more out of breath during workouts and sparring. And food began to smell and taste different. One morning, the pancakes Bucky made you almost daily for breakfast smelled “eggier” than usual—you could smell the eggs in the batter from what felt like miles away.
After weeks of feeling like this, you thought it was probably due to low vitamin levels and decided you should schedule a routine doctor’s appointment soon.
But in one of your weekly sparring sessions with Natasha, you started to feel a slight dizziness, so you asked her for a time-out.
“Are you okay?” she asked, raising one of her eyebrows.
“Yeah, I just—I don’t know. I’ve been feeling kind of weak for a while now,” you admitted, closing your eyes and resting a hand on your forehead in an attempt to steady yourself. “I think I just need to get some blood work done. It’s been a while since my last check-up.” “Weak how, exactly?”
“I feel like I’m always tired lately. More worn out. And my appetite is all over the place.”
Natasha looked at you with a suspicious expression before asking an unexpected question.
“Hmm, feeling weak, huh? Have you taken a pregnancy test?”
Your eyes shot open, and you stared at her, trying to process what she had just said. “What?”
“Yes, have you?” Nat repeated, crossing her arms and leaning into one hip with a slight smirk as if she knew something you didn’t.
“I- No, I- I didn’t… My period is only two days late, which is sort of normal for me. Do you think I should?” you questioned her, not knowing if you were talking more to yourself or to her.
“(Y/n) yes, you should! Have you talked to Barnes about it?”
“Not really. I didn’t pay much attention to this. I didn’t have time to.”
The truth was, you and the whole team had been preparing for an important mission in a few months, one that had been weighing heavily on Bucky’s mind especially, since it involved Hydra. The team was set to infiltrate a secret Hydra base in Hungary in order to retrieve intel on potential undercover Hydra agents within S.H.I.E.L.D.
You were almost sure this was the reason Bucky’s nightmares had gotten worse. He tensed up every time you or someone else mentioned the mission, or during training, probably dreading the feeling of going back to a place so connected to everything that he wanted to forget. He tried so hard to hide it but for you, it was so easy to sense his anxiety. The way his blue eyes grew distant, drifting to the floor as if trying to escape his own thoughts. Or how his fists clenched, fingers pressing into his palms almost to the point of pain, while he tried to take deep breaths every time Steve went over the mission details with the group.
“Then take the test,” Natasha urged, stepping closer and putting a reassuring hand on yours when she noticed the frightened look on your face. “If you’re pregnant, you need to know before the mission. And you need to tell Barnes. You both need to decide if going on this mission is still an option.”
“But Nat” you began, squeezing her hand, feeling so scared and unprepared for the scenario she just mentioned. “I- I don’t know if Bucky is in a good headspace for this now. He’s been so off lately. The Hydra stuff has been really getting to him.”
Natasha offered you a comforting smile, her confidence and support unwavering.
“You’ll both be fine. I’m here if you need me. And Steve is, too.” Later that same day, you found yourself in a situation you never imagined you’d be in right now.
Trembling hands, tears streaming down your face, and your heartbeat drumming loudly in your ears. A white and blue pregnancy test sat on the marble counter of your bathroom. You stared at the word that appeared on the small screen.
+ Pregnant
You froze. You looked at yourself in the mirror and blinked a few times to make sure you weren’t dreaming. You weren’t. A wave of happiness washed over you. So much happiness. It was unexpected, yes, but you had always told Bucky he would be a wonderful dad. Yet every time you brought up the subject, he’d say he would like to be a father someday, but that it probably wasn’t a good idea. According to him, he could never be a good role model for a child.
Your first thought was running to Nat or Steve. You wanted to tell one of them and hear that everything would be alright, that Bucky would be alright with all of this. But it was already kind of late. They’re probably asleep by now, you thought to yourself. At the same time, you knew the person who really needed to know about this was in the living room, watching a random reality TV show with Sam.
You couldn’t bear to be alone another minute. The anxiety was overwhelming.
You decided to text Bucky and ask him to come to your room. If you went to the living room, there was no way Sam wouldn’t notice something was up, and you didn’t need another situation right now.
“Can you please come to our room, it’s urgent.” You texted and hoped he would check his phone as soon as possible.
Not even five minutes later you heard the door of your room open, followed by anxious footsteps entering the room.
“Sweetheart? Are you okay? I just got your text.” Bucky asked, his voice filled with concern.
“Hi, love” you said, stepping out of the bathroom and faking a half smile, searching for his hand and guiding him to the bed. You were terrified but at the same time you didn’t wanna scare him. “Come with me, I need to talk to you.”
“What happened?” Bucky questioned, his eyes quickly searching your face for any clues of what might have happened. You could see the worry creeping into his expression.
You sat next to him on the bed and held his hands tightly. The cold touch of his metal hand on yours offered a brief distraction from what you were about to tell him. You took a deep breath, still unsure how to begin. You decided that starting with some context might be easier.
“So, basically, for the past few weeks, I’ve started to feel a little… off. Do you remember the night you woke up because I felt sick in the middle of the night?”
“Yes, I do” Bucky answered calmly, trying to figure out where you were going with this.
“Well, besides that, I’ve been feeling different. My stomach has been constantly upset, my appetite has been strange, I’ve been feeling more tired than usual, and I–”
“(Y/n), are you sick?” Bucky interrupted, already imagining all the worst scenarios in his head.
“Buck, no” you replied quickly, closing your eyes and trying to breathe to calm yourself down. “Listen. As I was saying, I talked about these symptoms with Nat today and she… she asked... if I had already taken a pregnancy test.”
You paused, watching his face closely for a reaction. He seemed to freeze, taking a few seconds to process your words. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath – a breath that felt heavy with sadness. It broke your heart.
He opened his eyes again and they were glistening with tears. His eyes looked even more blue than they already were.
For a moment, you considered not saying anything more, but you knew he needed to hear it – all of it.
“So, I… I took a test just now,” you continued, your voice trembling as tears began to run down your face. “And it’s… it’s positive.” You wiped your nose with the sleeve of your sweater, struggling to keep your composure.
“I’m sorry” you said crying, heartbroken because this was the reaction you had been dreading. You felt like you had ruined his life.
Now, he was the one silently crying. He still held your hands, his thumb softly tracing circles over your palm, his gaze fixed on your intertwined fingers.
“Please, say something, Bucky,” you pleaded, the silence only giving your mind space to imagine horrible possibilities.
“No, I’m the one who should be saying sorry, (Y/n),” he finally said, his voice breaking as tears slowly streamed down his face. “This baby deserves someone better. You deserve someone better.”
“What are you talking about?” you asked, reaching out to hold his cheek, your heart breaking at the words that he had just spoken. “What do you mean, ‘we deserve someone better’?”
“Yes! Yes, you do!” he exclaimed, his voice rising as he finally let the storm inside him surface. “How is this baby going to grow up knowing all the awful things I’ve done?”
He got up from the bed, putting some distance between the two of you. He was still crying quietly, and it felt like he had been keeping this inside for so long. His body was facing the window. He couldn’t even look at you.
“You didn’t do those things, Buck. The Winter Soldier did,” you spoke clearly, hoping that he would somehow believe it.
“It doesn’t matter, does it? I still did it.”
“Of course it matters! You didn’t have a choice!” you raised your voice, frustrated at how he could still blame himself so much.
“Everyone tells me that, but it doesn’t help, you know?” he replied, turning his body back toward you. His voice was low. “When I lie down to sleep, I keep seeing their faces. I can still hear their cries, begging for help, for mercy.”
“Buck, I—I’m so sorry,” you told him, holding your tears back again. You’d give anything to take his sadness away.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be free from what they did to me,” he stated, his face showing a defeated expression. “I know Ayo got the Hydra programming out of my mind in Wakanda, but still… it’s all here,” he said, pressing his index finger to his temple. “I remember all of them, and I always will.”
You got up and decided to close the distance between you. You raised both of your hands to his cheeks and held his face gently, making him look at you. You needed him to hear every word you were about to say.
“Honey, look at me,” you began, your voice serious but soft. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel. And I want you to know I’d do anything – anything – if I could to make this suffering go away. It breaks my heart to see you in so much pain and not be able to do anything-”
“No, sweetheart, but you do,” he interrupted you, wiping the tears from your face. “You have no idea how many ways you’ve saved me.”
He closed his eyes and kissed your forehead. Both of you were crying again, and you could feel all his gratitude in that one kiss.
“You save me every day. It would be impossible for me to survive those nightmares if I didn’t have your face to look at every time I wake from one of them.” He gave you a sad smile while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand resting on your cheek afterward.
You leaned into his metal hand and kissed his palm. Your eyes were once again glistening with tears.
“Do you see this, James?” you asked, hoping that he would understand what you were trying to show him.
“This is you,” you continued, placing one hand on his heart. “This is Bucky Barnes. The man who has a metal arm and touches me like I’m the most fragile thing in the world. The man who makes pancakes for me every morning. The man who’s afraid of punching me too hard in our sparring sessions, even though he knows I’m a kick-ass agent.”
“That you are,” he agreed, both of you crying and laughing at the same time. You quickly wiped his tears away.
“The man who watches trashy reality TV shows with his friend on a Thursday night. This is you. And this is the man who is going to be the father of my child,” you finished, placing his flesh hand on your belly.
He continued to cry. You just prayed that your words would finally make their way into his heart.
“So tell me, how could you say I deserve better? That this baby deserves better?”
He was still looking at his hand on your belly, trying to understand how he could still be worthy of having a family after he had destroyed so many others.
“Look at me, Buck,” you called, guiding his gaze back to you. “You suffered enough. More than enough. You’ve warred with yourself for so long. It’s time that you won.”
He closed his eyes and tried to absorb the words he had just heard. It was so hard for him to accept that he deserved happiness, but he was so grateful that you have never stopped trying.
“You made it. We’re here, and you made it. Now we’ve still got time. We’ve still got all the time in the world for you to finally live. Your life, how you want it,” you continued, kissing the palm of his metal hand again. It was your way of showing him that you loved all of him, even the part that brought him the most pain.
“This baby is so lucky to have you as a dad. And to be honest, this kid is going to brag so much to the other children about how his dad’s got a metal arm.” For the first time, you heard an honest laugh escape from his lips. The sound was wonderful.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but it must have been something really good,” he replied, finally pulling you close and giving you a warm kiss.
“I love you- we love you.”
“I’m so scared. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to… be a role model for someone.” You could see the worry in his eyes. He was genuinely scared.
“Bucky, yes, you do. You just have to be you. I don’t need you to be perfect, I just need you to be here. Can you do that for us, Sergeant?”
He gave you a warm smile, filled with gratitude and hope - the hope you had just given him. He looked at your lips and kissed you once more, holding your belly delicately.
“Yes, I can, ma’am. Yes, I can.” he agreed easily “but.. speaking of sergeant, now there’s no way you’re going on that mission.”
“Excuse me? I’m still in the first few weeks of this pregnancy. And how about you? This baby will need both parents.”
“Okay okay, so we’ll let Uncle Steve decide who's going and who’s not. Deal?”
“Okay, sir. Deal.”
Well, you have suffered enough And warred with yourself It's time that you won Take this sinking boat and point it home We've still got time Raise your hopeful voice, you had a choice You've made it now ~~ Falling Slowly (from the musical Once)
Feedback is always welcome, feel free to comment, like and reblog! Hope you enjoyed 🤍
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x you#marvel x reader#marvel fanfiction#marvel imagine#tfatws#the winter soldier#the winter solider x reader#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes x female reader
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just some hot and heavy emperor thoughts
thinking about emperor geta, sitting sprawled on the bed with his legs spread wide. he has you sitting between them, your back pressed to his chest, his long arm wrapped around to your front.
his thick, skilled fingers toy with your clit, his free hand teasing your nipples; pinching, rolling, tugging. your back arches with pleasure, teeth pulling at your bottom lip and eyes staring straight into the crystalline blue ones that gaze back at you.
caracalla kneels at the end of the bed, ringed fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, the tip red and leaking and so eager to be inside you.
when geta plunges two fingers inside of your soaking cunt, you moan, feeling him curl the digits within your walls. his brother’s eyes never leave you, not once, and it makes you feel searing hot all over.
“you’re a good girl, isn’t that right?” geta murmurs against your ear, keeping you pliant and needy.
“she’s so good,” caracalla interjects, watching your expression contort as geta continues to work you with his fingers. he directs his next words to you. “being so obedient, taking what we give you.” his icy eyes seem to turn darker, like the deep blue of the bottom of the ocean. “you’re going to let me fuck you once he gets you nice and stretched out, aren’t you?”
it makes you ache, the way he speaks to you. goosebumps prickle along your skin at the mere thought of him having his way with you. however he wants you, for as long as he wants you.
a laugh rumbles from deep within geta’s chest, reverberating against your back. “think she likes when you speak to her that way,” he says to his brother, and caracalla grins like the devil.
“of course she does. greedy little whore,” he says, flashing his teeth, a glimmer of gold on one. “she likes being our little plaything, isn’t that right?”
you nod, feeling boneless as geta’s relentless fingers continue to fuck into you.
“use your words,” caracalla growls, jaw tensing.
“y-yes, my lord,” you reply, near trembling in geta’s hold.
he adds a third finger, making you cry out, and you feel his lips press to the crook of your neck. he nips at your skin with his teeth before soothing the area with his tongue, making you shiver.
tension builds at your core, tightening more and more in the pit of your stomach. you’re so close to release, your body squirming, and all you can do is watch caracalla watch you. the way he languidly strokes his cock nearly makes you drool; you want him to destroy you, to humiliate you, to make his mark on you.
geta groans, feeling your walls begin to flutter around his fingers. his brother merely smirks at you, eyes holding a devious glint.
“you’re close, aren’t you?” he coos, looking at you as if you’re simply so pitiful. “why don’t you cum for him, little dove?”
his encouragement sends you reeling, your body reaching climax as caracalla fucks his fist harder. your eyes fight to stay open, to watch the way he finally allows his head to tip back in pleasure, a moan escaping his pretty lips. you need to have his mouth on you — to have both of their mouths on you. geta’s fingers work you through orgasm, whispering praises into your ear the entire time.
and when you come to, catching your breath with your chest heaving, the smaller of the brothers sits smirking at you.
you know what you’re in for — that he’s going to make you finish over and over again until he’s decided he’s had enough — and you can feel your body aching with need all over again.
he beckons you to him, and you go, instantly.
#emperor geta#emperor geta x reader#emperor caracalla#emperor caracalla x reader#emperor geta smut#emperor caracalla smut#emperor geta fanfic#emperor caracalla fanfic#divider by strangergraphics
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pitfighter!vi after a breakup with you
warnings: angst, descriptions of injuries, substance abuse
an: i just farted this shit out idek if it’s good not gonna proof read
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the bottles seem to keep falling empty out of her hands and rolling onto the rotted wood of her bedroom floor, clanking into each other as vi downs them one by one. it’s been two weeks, fourteen goddamn days since she saw your tear-stained face, cursing at her, “i never want to see you again!” as you left her standing there in the cold, dark street. fourteen days.
in these days, vi has been nothing but drunk and bloody. she upped her fights to three matches a night, four if she’s high enough. her body aches from the amount of trauma it’s been through; a few broken ribs, knuckles bloody and raw almost to the bone, her left eye greenish-blue and slightly swollen.
nothing really hurts though, as long as she keeps putting the bottle to her lips—
“vi?” your voice called out, low and soft in her darkened bedroom. the light from the moon shined onto the floorboards and clutter. vi sat, knees bent and hands resting on them, back against the few cushions she called a “bed.” she didn’t really remember how she ended up on the floor, but she also didn’t even know what day or time it was, either.
she blinked a few times, seeing an outline of a body in the doorway.
she had to be hallucinating. it was the alcohol, it was… no way in hell you would show up here, how did you even get in? how did you find her? how in the fucking world did you-
“violet, what did you do…” your face came into the light, your eyes bore right into vi’s. she tightly shut hers and shook her head, trying to get you out of her mind.
warm hands cupped her face. you knelt down to be face level with her, your thumbs caressed her makeup-stained cheeks. “vi?” that little crease in between your eyebrows that vi loved so much was prominent as you worriedly surveyed the wounds and injuries all over her body.
“are you real?” vi’s voice was coarse, it didn’t even really sound like her. it was like she was talking through water, outside of her body.
you felt tears welling up in your eyes as you heard the broken woman sitting slumped in front of you. “yes, yes i’m real.. i’m here.”
vi’s opal eyes looked into yours, a certain yearn and heartbreak in them.
“i’m so sorry..” she slurred her words, “i fucked up so bad, y/n. you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and i destroyed it just like everything else.” her head hung low on her shoulders as she looked to the floor, hiding her face in her blackened-pink hair. “you loved me in a way no one ever had, saw through all my bullshit. you-you even fucking showed up right here, right now, after all of the shit i yelled at you.. all the things i did….” a sob racked through her body. she was tipping over, the weight on her shoulders becoming too much, and you found yourself catching her with your body. vi clung onto you, wrapping her strong bandaged arms around your lower waist as she buried her head into your stomach. you stayed on your knees, making you just a little taller than her.
vi broke in your arms. she (tried) to hold it in these past couple weeks, not allowed herself to think too much or be alone for too long. of fucking course, as soon as you come in, all of it comes back to her. (it doesn’t help that’s she’s incredibly drunk or how tired she is, either)
“you came back, why did you come back?” vi’s voice was shaking as the inky tears stained your shirt, causing your heart to break even more for the girl in your arms.
“loris came to me, told me you were.. you weren’t well. you’re doing three fights a night, vi? why the hell would you do that, huh?” your fingers gently caressed her head, holding her broken body to your chest.
when vi didn’t answer, you carefully lifted her head. her eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed.
had she fallen asleep in her drunken state?
“violet, baby, wake up” you stroked her cheeks, but she was out like a light.
you helped her get into her bed, took off her shoes and carefully wiped off her makeup with a wet wash cloth from her dirty sink. she didn’t stir once, not until you got up from her to leave. her hand softly grabbed onto your forearm, and she slurred something that sounded like “stay with me” but you weren’t completely sure.
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MY SHAYLAA😭😭😭😭🚬😪
#pit fighter vi#vi x reader#vi x you#pitfightervi x you#vi arcane#violet arcane#vi x caitlyn#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn kiramman#arcane#vi angst#vi x y/n#caitvi#cait x reader#cait x vi#vi oneshot#pitfigher!vi x reader#pitfighter!vi x you#pitfigher!vi angst
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yandere crime lord x sadistic male reader
cw;; torture, burn wounds, blood, gore, stockholm syndrome, yandere, drugs, kidnapping, murder, smoking, cruel reader
here he is.... my most fucked up bby girl. i wrote this a little differently than the others... i had a different vibe in mind.
achilles is the eldest son of a notorious mob family, the second most powerful in charge right under his father. he makes lots of big decisions, like his recent attempts to take over a smaller gang with cruelty and force. unfortunately being a sexy big shot comes with its own little vices, achilles likes smoking for instance. nasty habit especially for someone in his position, doesn't he realize how vulnerable he is when he's taking a smoke break? so easy for you to drug.
you flick some of the cigarette ash towards the man in question. he's on his knees arms tied behind his back and duct tape over his mouth. he keeps shooting you dirty looks. it's funny.
"such a waste..."
you run a red room service on the dark web. essentially, anyone with enough money can hire you to kidnap and torture whoever they want. some people hire you to make elaborate snuff videos with their desires all written out for you, other people let you and your audience decide what kind of torture would take place over your live streams. that's where the handsome man in front of you came from, the gang he'd been destroying had bought your services.
you had already explained that to him, as well as mocked him for his cigarette habit. now you were letting one of the cigarettes burn before your stream actually started, you didn't actually smoke it choosing instead to let him watch you waste it. his scowl was hot.
his screams were hotter. the first hour in, you had him covered in cigarette burns and his stomach flinching away from your touch. the second hour in, he had multiple gashes all over his trembling body. the third hour in, he had finally started to sob and his body was covered in lovely bruises.
"sorry guys, we can't kill him yet. but that means we get a toy for a little while!" you gripped his hair and brought his tear stained face up to the camera. "say goodbye to our friend!"
and that ended your first stream with your new toy. you cleaned him up and brought him to his new room.
"you'll probably be the show tomorrow unless I get another job. eat up." you gave him a nice dinner and pulled the duct tape off his mouth.
"... when will I die?"
"dunno. good work chilles, sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."
that's how it began. the guy ended up being your show about half the week for the next two months. never enough to kill him and every day you cleaned up his wounds and took good care of him. he never cursed you or complained about his place he would ask you questions and thank you for the food. it was pleasant conversation, he was a nice companion in your otherwise drab life.
it was halfway into the third month when you got news that those gang members who hired you were dead. you'd been waiting the whole time for them to pay for you to kill achilles and now it was never coming. at least you made good money from your streams in the meantime.
"you're free to go." you stood in the doorway of achilles's room.
his eyes looked at you, slowly widening as he realized what you said. "wh.. why?"
"m gonna drug you up and drop you in front of your house. you won't know where you were but I'd really appreciate if you didn't try to come after me at all. "
"why are you letting me go? did something happen?"
"you should quit smoking by the way. maybe i won't be able to get you-"
you saw something in his eyes snap. those eyes that had been practically blank the whole time even when the torture made him lose his voice from screaming. now they were dark and hazy, significantly more threatening than he'd been before. he crawled on his hands and knees to your leg and looked up at you with tears in his eyes.
"why....? am i not.. did i do it wrong? i can be a good toy."
you were caught off guard by his reaction. "uh... well uh the guys who hired me like... they died without paying me to kill you. so like... i don't have a reason to keep you?"
"how much?"
"huh??"
"how much do you need to keep me?"
you reached down and gently carded your hand through his hair. "you don't want to stay here, dumbass."
"yes I do." he nuzzled his head into your hand.
"you really want to stay here and get tortured until you die? use your brain."
his darkened eyes looked up at you with the most pathetic look. "i want to stay with you."
"fuck" he's cute? he's cute. "ok...jesus, lets do this. you go home, get reunited with your family, try to get back to normal life. and I'll contact you so if you still want to be LITERALLY tortured over living your normal life I'll bring you back. ok?"
"you'll actually come get me, right?"
"yeah. I'll get you and I won't even make you pay."
"I'll be back soon." he rubbed his head against your leg. "please get your favorite tools ready."
#top male reader#dom male reader#male reader#yandere oc#sub yandere#yandere x male reader#yandere ideas#yandere x reader#yandere crime lord
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Dreaming Seamless Dreams [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]
Title: Dreaming Seamless Dreams [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]
Synopsis: Follow-up to And The Danger Danger Drawing Near Them. what happens when Shigaraki Tomura decides he gets to keep you?
Word count: 3000ish
Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, non-graphic noncon, noncon groping, depression, loss of appetite
When it’s quiet–which is not always, depending on who decides to stay awake and how soundproof the current hideout is–you think too much.
Like right now. It’s too quiet, and your thoughts are starting to hop around. Jumping from thought to thought. Thoughts about the rose-tinted past, the uncertain future–though the future was perhaps not any less uncertain than your present.
It becomes too much, too easily. Tears inevitably pool in your eyes. Your throat gets tight, your stomach hurts. You curl up and curl up until you can’t possibly twist inward anymore than you already are, leaving you with one pitiful lament:
Why do you have to think so damned much?
Maybe it’s because Shigaraki isn’t here at the moment. He’s talking to the League, you think. It must be at the other end of the building, because you don’t hear a peep from anyone. No arguments, no shouts, no excited agreements on what hero they were going to try to kill next.
Just you and your thoughts and the dim buzz of the world at night. Insects, somewhere outside. The occasional groan of a night wind. The sound of the world itself, fuzzy, buzzy in the background.
And when you’re actually alone in bed like this, arm curled up against the pillows propped under your head, tucked into a blanket, you can pretend. Pretend that it’s your bed, in your room, and with the quiet and lack of your captor here, well–
It’s almost like it was before.
The thought hits your gut hard. Tears instinctively reach your eyes, and you’re glad Shigaraki isn’t here to wipe them away. You do it yourself, like you would have done before all this. You didn’t appreciate your life enough, you’ve since realized.
A quiet life where all you did was work your job and come home and occasionally go out with friends for little things. Coffee dates, heading to the bookstore, shopping for clothes. Ooing-and-ahhing over the little changes of life dropped into every conversation.
A quiet life where you were free to do what you wanted, when you wanted. Where you weren’t a prisoner (not that he’d call you that, no matter how many times you said it earlier on) bound to the whims of someone who claimed to love you, even though his love was more want than love.
A quiet life where you didn’t hear people talking about destroying the world through the wall.
The thought gets choked out when your breath hitches. It hurts too much to think about, the loss of your old life.
And anyway–
The door creaks open and Shigaraki pauses in it. Like a monster in the closet doorway, hovering, waiting for just the right moment to strike.
Your eyes squeeze shut like a child, willing the image of genuine sleep to project over you like some sort of hazy fairy tale. Willing yourself, too, not to take a peek and look at him. If you don’t see the monster, it doesn’t see you. Or so you used to think, as a child. When naivety was normal, and not wish-fulfillment.
Maybe tonight, he’ll go to bed without demanding something from you. Maybe you can pretend to be home, in your own bed, and ignore the hum of his wants.
The weight of his gaze covers you like an extra blanket before he mumbles, “I know you’re awake.”
Ah. It’s pointless to keep pretending. So you shift yourself up in the bed and let the blanket drop from your chest, exposing the used t-shirt he gave you to sleep in. One of his, of course. You still don’t look at him, not directly. You settle for staring at his legs. He’s wearing shoes.
“Where were you?” The question comes out softer than you meant it. If you’re too soft, he thinks you’re being sweet on him. The reality is that you’re just too damn tired to argue sometimes. Maybe he knows that, actually; maybe he likes it better that way.
You can hear the damned smirk on his mouth when he finally speaks.
“Did you miss me?”
That damned smirk fades, you know this through sheer muscle memory, when your unspoken no hangs in the air between you.
He’ll be annoyed, that you weren’t more receptive to him. That can be bad. It can be good, though, on occasion. When he’s too annoyed, he sometimes decides to huff and puff and leave you alone.
But not always. It can make him angry; make him grab your arm and yank you around, pull you close and remind you of his quirk. Death under his fingers, rot and dust, so stop acting like such a damned brat all the time.
In the middle, though, there is a strange sort of ambivalence in him when you don’t do what he wants. It’s worse, in some ways, when he acts like this. Like nothing you say has any effect. You’re nothing, weak, a buzzing, useless thing that might as well be quiet for all the good protest does you.
It reminds you just how little say you have in everything.
Because sometimes–like tonight, you realize, in just a few moments–it doesn’t seem to matter much to him at all. Because in the stretch of a few moments, he’s on the bed, tugging off his shoes and tossing them to the floor with a loud clunk.
Because he doesn’t just remove his shoes–his trousers and shirt goes with it, leaving him in his boxer shorts and worn-out socks and nothing else.
“I don’t–” you begin, when he begins to crawl his way up the mattress, towards you, towards the blanket you feebly bring up against your t-shirt clad chest. The words get stuck in your throat as he grips the blanket, a finger on each hand carefully tucked to the side, and yanks it down.
You don’t miss the warmth so much as you miss the ghost of protection it gave you.
“Wait,” you try again, as his body takes the place of the blanket. Just as warm, but far more intrusive, caging you in with nowhere to go. His hair hangs down against his cheeks as he takes
you in, and even in the dimness of the room–the moon filtering in through tattered curtains letting you see enough–his intentions are apparent.
Before you can protest further, his hands are on you. He unceremoniously gropes your chest and you let out an awkward sound that is far too much like a pathetic bleat as his fingers grope and squeeze; first your chest, then down, down, past your stomach and lower. Tickling and itching and unwanted.
“Stop.” The word finally comes out, peeled off like an old bandage. “I don’t–I don’t want you to–not right now. Not tonight.” You can’t fend him off forever. You know that. But when he’s good–and this is a stretch of the word, you know–he does listen to you.
He’s not listening now.
Because he doesn’t stop. Instead he leans forward, and presses a hot kiss against your mouth. There’s too much warmth, from his breath, his tongue, his body against yours.
“Not tonight,” he tells you, batting aside your protests like a gnat. Another kiss against your mouth, and you fight the urge to press it shut. “I want you,” he continues, voice lower, darker. His fingers flutter against the edge of the shirt and lift it up, pushing it against your collar bones, exposing you fully.
His breath comes in slow and he leans back just a little, taking you in. What must be your flushed expression, you think. Helpless and prone under him, bound to his whims.
Bound to listen to his thoughts, too, when they come low and sickly sweet.
“You’re so pretty, you know?”
So you’ve said, you think, bitterly, as his hands go to pull down the waistband of his trousers.
“Shigaraki–”
“Tomura,” he corrects. There’s a force behind his voice that wasn’t there before, and you feel yourself shrink inside.
“Tomura,” you force out, even though the name tastes dry on your tongue. But maybe if you act sweeter, he’ll listen. Maybe so. “Please. I don’t want to.”
Maybe he considers it. Maybe not. Regardless, he leans in again, this time pressing his kisses against your neck. Your chin jerks up slowly at the sensation. It’s not the first time, not the last time either, that he gives you hickies.
“Well, I do want to,” he murmurs, the words melting into your skin with his breath. He must feel you still underneath him, the way you stiffen, the way your breath comes in tighter. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it feels good. I promise.” His teeth drag against your skin and you feel his fingers fumble against your underwear.
You will hate yourself in the morning for the relief you find in his promise.
–
It gets harder to live like this. Harder to do anything other than sleep and cry and regret. Some days, you don’t get out of bed at all. You don’t eat, you can’t be bothered to ask for a shower or even a toothbrush. Thoughts of treats–books you want to read, a game you’d like to play–get pushed to the back of your brain with anything else that no longer matters much.
Why bother, when the world is coming out so wrong?
It is Tomura who tries to drag some life out of you. Tomura who makes you shower, who watches you eat, who tells you to get up and walk around the room. Who sits you down in front of a video game and shoves the player two controller into your hands and says, curtly, “Don’t make me die on this level or you’ll regret it.”
One day you even tell him that it’s hypocritical, because he doesn’t take great care of himself. How often does he subsist on scraps of junk? How often does he sleep too little, or not at all? It’s bullshit, to expect you to do all of that when he can’t be bothered.
At this, his expression shifts and you almost start to feel sick with worry, but then, it becomes clear. He looks–happy. Not happy like he is when you submit underneath him, a greasy sort of joy that makes your stomach hurt.
But almost–light. Almost bright. Almost a sort of happiness that peels away a layer on him and shows you something else underneath.
“You’re worried about me, huh?”
It’s a slap in the face. It’s also, sort of, maybe, a little bit true.
“I’m not,” is all you can say, but he only smiles and shakes his head.
“It’s cute,” he says, before pointing at your half-finished meal. Some yogurt with a vague fruity flavor, a piece of bread, some slices of beef that was too overdone. “Now eat the rest. You need protein.”
It’s ridiculous, the way he hovers over your meals sometimes. Usually just on the days where you don’t want to get out of bed or do anything but stare at the wall and contemplate how life led you here.
You stab at the yogurt with your spoon and have half a mind to throw it at him. Only half, though, so you have to be satisfied with your yogurt-stabbing. Petty thought it is.
“Don’t test me,” he says, that edge of warning still there–always there, you think. Always ready to be pulled out of his pockets like a bare hand, all 5 fingers at the ready. “Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”
He’s right on that mark, at least. What you want doesn’t matter anymore.
What hurts the most is the question that immediately comes afterward, like an unwanted fly in the house:
Did it ever matter?
–
“It hurts.” Your voice rings hollow, even to your own ears, despite the earnest wish to put some truly nasty petulance behind it. But true petulance, the kind that made your gut warm and brain smarmy, required an energy you no longer had; not here, in these cramped spaces, this isolating life.
(Isolating, you think, but not isolated. Not with the leader of the League of Villains clinging to your every breath. Not with the constant chatter and clatter of the League, sometimes far away, sometimes right on the other side of the wall.)
Tomura Shigaraki’s hands still, and the comb gripped in not-quite-all of his fingers goes still against your scalp. For a moment, you think he’ll huff out a sigh, and threaten to punish you. Tie you to the headboard or the radiator and leave you there to think about things;
“It wouldn’t hurt,” he says, continuing to tug with the comb, “if you would stop squirming.” A nearly fruitless effort on his part: while you’d relished the initial gifts of self-care you were given once you “calmed down enough,” you eventually realized there was no point to it.
Why bathe, why keep your hair nice, why do anything at all but lie down in whatever bed you were given at the latest League hideout and contemplate the utter shithole of your existence?
Easier to rot in bed, to cry yourself to sleep, to squeeze your eyes shut and try to block out his arms around you, his breath on your neck. His words in your ears; how much he loves you, he wants you, you’re his-his-his.
Nothing to be gained, from a life like that. No, that’s not quite right, is it? You do have one thing–and it’s a modest consideration, in your isolated, depressing world. But even you can’t deny the satisfaction of bothering him.
It’s the one thing you still have any control over, after all.
“I wouldn’t be squirming,” you shoot back, voice tight and tart, “if you weren’t combing my hair.”
There is something satisfying in the brief stillness that follows–the quiet shock when your barbs have just enough audacity to make him shut up–before the air crackles with a familiar heavy irritation.
You know what’s coming even before he does it.
“You–” He bites down on the word, foregoing the comb to scratch at his own neck. When you crane your own neck to see, there they are: the scratches, which might turn into deeper gouges depending on how his mood shifts. Enough to bleed, sometimes, depending on how hard he digs.
It’s enough to make your breath hitch. Uncomfortable memories come flooding in. The days when you were unruly. When you spit in his face. When you told him you hated him, you hoped All Might would kill him, that you’d never feel anything but spite and hate and–it was like you were back in your house.
Back in the closet with fear making your stomach clench so hard you thought you were going to puke. Back when he destroyed your door and your life in one fell swoop. Back when you heard those damned words–”You’re pretty”--and the world went upside down.
You’d felt nothing but fear that night, being dragged away from your life among strangers–the girl kept tittering and someone made an ugly remark about what he wanted with you and all it had taken was a stern look from Shigaraki and everyone went silent. Except for you, sniffling, crying, begging for this not to happen.
But it did happen, and he took you, and he could be mean but not always. You could tell, when he was going to be mean. There were signs. His voice got tighter and tougher, he snapped more easily. And he scratched, usually.
Like now, his fingers digging into the skin, with–
Blood. Suddenly there is the familiar taste of it, all warm iron leaking onto your tongue. In your fear and flinching, you must have bit down on your cheek without realizing it and Shigaraki must have realized.
Must have seen the way you flinched and shrunk into yourself at the sight of him getting too annoyed. Bordering on angry. Bordering on being the Shigaraki on the news who kidnapped you that night, not the one clings to you in bed, who presses kisses to your cheek with scratchy lips, who offers to let you play his video games if you eat your whole lunch this time.
He likes it better, you think, when you see him like that.
Because now he’s cursing, crouching, kneeling in front of you with thumbs wiping away the hot messy tears.
“Shh,” he croons. It’s a familiar sensation, too, this feeling of his thumbs rubbing down your cheeks. He does this on the days you don’t get out of bed, sometimes. When the tears simply fall, leaking onto the pillowcase, and you can’t tell him exactly why you started–other than the basic truth. That you want to go home. That you don’t want to be here.
He keeps it up, this ritual, until you stop sniffling; until your body comes down from the mountain high of anxiety and lets you sail down to something a bit more like a gentle calm.
He waits until you look at him again, eyes all puffy, to speak. His voice is softer now. Less irritation, and more instruction. Like you’re some beloved pet who needs to be talked to before they go off to the veterinarian for their shots.
“If I don’t take care of your hair,” he says, and a thumb reaches over to tuck a piece behind your ear, “you’ll get knots.” He picks up the comb again, and this time you feel too worn out to fight. “You could get infections on your scalp.” To this, you murmur, something noncommittal.
A bit of a smile in his voice–and on his face–now that you’re quiet, letting him do it, even when he hits a knot and it tugs your head sideways. When you sniffle, he coos, and you vow not to sniffle, whimper or anything remotely pathetic for the rest of the night.
If you can manage it, with what he says next.
“After this,” he says, and the smile takes on an edge you don’t like, low and warm, “we’ll see about getting you a bath.”
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Collared
Day 29 → BDSM 💋 Toto Wolff
Warnings: 18+ content
Kinktober Masterlist
The bar pulses with low, red lights, casting shadows that stretch and bend with each flicker of the candles lining the tables. You sit quietly at the table, trying to focus on your breathing, the rhythmic pounding of the bass beneath your feet, the way the leather of your collar tightens just slightly around your throat every time you swallow.
It’s supposed to be comforting. A reminder. But tonight, it feels like a noose.
Across from you, your boyfriend — no, your Dom, the man who’s supposed to make you feel safe — leans back in his chair. His eyes are cold tonight, detached in a way they rarely are. You glance up at him, searching for something — anything — to read in his face. But he’s unreadable. The cool, collected mask he puts on when he’s decided to shut you out.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you anymore,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut through the music. He leans forward, arms crossing over the table, as though the weight of his words needs extra support.
Your stomach drops.
“What do you mean?” You manage to ask, even though your voice wavers.
He sighs, rolling his eyes, and the way he does it makes you feel small. “You’re not … cut out for this. For us.” His eyes flick to the collar around your neck, a disgusted curl of his lip. “You’re a horrible submissive. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
The words hit you like a physical blow. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You want to argue, to explain, to tell him that you’re trying — you’ve always been trying. But the words stick in your throat like shards of glass, and instead, all you manage is a strangled, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry’s not enough,” he spits, loud enough for the tables around you to hear. He looks over his shoulder, and now you can feel the eyes on you. People are staring. Whispering. “You’ve embarrassed me for the last time. I’m taking my collar back.”
Your heart stops. “Wait-” But before you can finish, his hands are already at your throat, unclasping the leather with a precision that’s almost practiced. He holds it up, examining it like it’s some trivial thing, and then — God, no, please — he tosses it on the table like it means nothing.
Your knees give out. You don’t even realize you’ve fallen to the ground until you hear the gasps from the crowd around you. You try to get up, try to stop the tears, but the panic is rising in your chest, fast and hard, and suddenly you can’t breathe. Your hands fly to your throat, but the collar’s already gone. There’s nothing left. He took it.
You’re nothing.
Your chest tightens, your vision blurs, and the world around you fades to a dull roar. You think you hear his voice — maybe he’s still talking — but the words are swallowed by the pounding in your ears.
“Get up,” he snaps. “Jesus, you’re pathetic.”
The room tilts, and then someone’s hands are on your shoulders, strong and steady. Not his hands. Someone else. You blink through the tears, your head swimming, trying to focus on the tall figure looming over you.
Toto Wolff.
You know him instantly. Everyone does. He’s a legend in these circles — the Dom that no one can touch, no one can ever seem to get claimed by. And right now, he’s looking down at you like he’s going to destroy the man who just broke you.
Toto’s voice is low, but firm, addressing your ex with an authority that leaves no room for argument. “Get out.”
“What the fuck-” your ex starts, standing, but Toto’s hand is already raised, a warning.
“You don’t want to do this.” His eyes narrow, and there’s something so deadly in them that it makes the entire room go still. “Leave. Now.”
For a moment, it looks like your ex might fight back. His jaw clenches, fists tightening at his sides. But the weight of Toto’s presence is overwhelming, and slowly, too slowly, your ex stumbles back. He shoots one last hateful look at you, but it’s fleeting. He’s nothing here. Not anymore. He slinks away into the crowd, muttering under his breath, but you don’t hear it. You can’t hear anything.
You’re trembling. Still on the floor, your hands are cold, numb, clutching at your sides as though you might disappear if you let go.
Toto crouches in front of you, his hands hovering near you, but not touching. Not yet. He’s careful, respectful. “Breathe,” he says softly. His voice is steady, soothing, as though he’s done this a hundred times before. “I need you to breathe for me, okay?”
You nod, trying to take in a breath, but it catches in your throat. It’s too tight, too raw.
“I know,” he murmurs. “But you’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.” His hand brushes against your arm, and it’s warm, grounding you. “Can you stand?”
You don’t know. You’re not sure if your legs will work. But before you can answer, Toto’s already moving. Gently, he slides his arms around you, lifting you with an ease that makes you feel weightless. He cradles you against his chest, one hand resting on the back of your head, the other under your knees.
You bury your face in his shirt, and the tears come faster now. You can’t stop them. You’re shaking, the sobs wracking your body, but Toto holds you closer, murmuring something under his breath that you can’t quite hear. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, a metronome of safety in a world that just collapsed.
“Shh,” he soothes, his lips brushing against your hair. “It’s okay. Let it out. You’re okay.”
He carries you through the crowd, and you barely notice the way people step aside for him, the way they avert their eyes. He’s not just powerful here — he’s respected. Feared. No one would dare challenge him, not tonight. Not when he’s got you in his arms, broken and fragile.
Toto kicks open the door to a private room, the noise from the bar fading as he steps inside. It’s quiet here. Safe. He sets you down gently on a plush couch, kneeling in front of you, his hands still resting on your arms as though he’s afraid you might fall apart again.
“You’re safe,” he repeats, and this time, you believe him.
You wipe at your eyes, embarrassed by the tears. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so-”
“Don’t.” His voice is soft, but firm. “You don’t apologize for this.”
You shake your head, struggling to find the right words. “I should’ve been better.”
Toto’s brow furrows, and for the first time, you see something like anger in his eyes — not at you, but at the thought of someone making you believe that. “No,” he says, and it’s almost a growl. “You were perfect. He didn’t deserve you.”
The weight of his words settles into your chest, and for the first time in what feels like hours, you take a full breath. It feels strange. Like maybe he’s right.
Toto studies you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls a pillow from the couch and places it on the floor in front of him.
“You need to kneel?” He asks, his voice gentle. “For yourself?”
You nod, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for. All you know is that the world feels unsteady, and you need something — anything — to hold onto.
Toto doesn’t hesitate. He helps you slide off the couch, guiding you to your knees, but not in a way that feels humiliating. It feels … right. Like maybe this is where you’re meant to be. At peace, for once.
He settles in front of you on the couch, his legs spread, his hands resting in his lap. “Look at me,” he says softly.
You lift your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark, but there’s something tender in them, something that makes your heart ache in a way you can’t quite describe.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and it’s the first time in hours that you feel like maybe — just maybe — everything will be okay.
***
Toto watches you closely, his eyes never leaving your face as you kneel before him. His expression is calm, steady — grounding. You’re still trembling, but the storm inside you is slowly starting to settle. The silence stretches between you, warm and safe, the first real calm you’ve felt in hours, maybe days. You’re breathing again, slower, more measured.
“Good,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice low, smooth as velvet. “You’re calmer now.”
You nod, unable to find the words, still reeling from everything that’s just happened. The weight of your ex’s cruelty, the embarrassment of being stripped of your collar in front of everyone—it’s all still sitting heavy in your chest, but with Toto here, holding your gaze with his strong, steady presence, it feels … manageable. Barely.
He’s quiet for a few moments, and then his voice cuts through the silence. “I need you to talk to me.” The command is there, laced through his words, but it’s gentle, coaxing.
“About what?” You ask, your voice shaky, unsure.
“About him. Your ex,” Toto says, his eyes narrowing slightly, though not at you. “What was that relationship, really? What did he do to you?”
You hesitate. The flood of emotions is still too fresh, and you’re not sure where to begin. Part of you wants to hide from it, shove it all down where it can’t hurt you anymore, but the way Toto looks at you—like he’s not just asking for your words, but for the truth—you find yourself unraveling.
“It wasn’t always like that,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not at first.”
Toto tilts his head, watching you with careful, measured patience. “But it changed?”
You nod, swallowing hard. “He started getting … impatient with me. Like I could never be good enough, no matter what I did.” Your hands twist nervously in your lap, the shame crawling up your spine. “It didn’t matter how hard I tried, it was never enough for him.”
Toto’s jaw tightens, but his voice remains gentle. “What would he say?”
You blink back the tears threatening to fall again. “He’d tell me I wasn’t obedient enough. Or that I was too needy. Too emotional. He said I made him look bad in front of his friends.” The words spill out faster now, like once they started, there was no way to stop them. “I thought if I tried harder, if I just did better, he’d see that I was … I don’t know, worthy of him? But nothing ever changed. He just kept pushing me down. And I-” Your voice cracks. “I let him.”
Toto’s fingers twitch in his lap, as though he’s barely holding back the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms again. But he stays where he is, giving you the space to continue.
“How long were you with him?” He asks, his voice dipping low, as if he already knows the answer will hurt to hear.
“Two years,” you say, your voice small, like the weight of it is too much to bear. “Two years of trying to be good enough. Of hoping that one day he’d just — he’d see me.”
“And he never did,” Toto finishes softly, the understanding in his voice breaking something inside you.
You nod, the tears slipping free now, running hot down your cheeks. “No. He never did.”
Toto shifts forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and the intensity in his eyes softens. “You don’t have to be ashamed of that.”
You blink up at him, startled by the words. “I-I should’ve known better,” you whisper, your voice thick with self-blame. “I should’ve seen it sooner. I stayed too long.”
“No,” Toto says firmly, shaking his head. “You trusted him. That’s what you’re supposed to do in a relationship like that. You gave him your trust, and he abused it. That’s not on you.”
You look away, your chest tightening again. “I still feel like it is.”
Toto’s voice drops even lower, steady and unwavering. “Then you’re wrong.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes you want to believe him. Maybe it’s the absolute certainty in his tone, or the way his gaze never wavers, but for the first time in what feels like forever, the self-doubt that’s been gnawing at you doesn’t feel so all-consuming.
You wipe at your cheeks, sniffling. “I don’t know what to do now,” you admit, the vulnerability in your voice both terrifying and strangely freeing. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
Toto’s brow furrows, his attention sharp, like he’s assessing a problem that needs solving. “What do you mean?” He asks, though there’s a note in his voice that suggests he’s already starting to piece it together.
You hesitate, shame creeping back up your throat. “He — he’s the only one on our lease,” you say slowly, the words bitter on your tongue. “He always said that as the Dom, he should have full control of everything. Our finances. Our apartment.” You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t have anything now. He made sure of that.”
Toto’s eyes darken, and for a moment, his hands clench into fists before he forces himself to relax again. “He controlled your money?”
You nod, feeling smaller than ever. “He said it was part of being a good submissive. That I had to trust him with everything.”
The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite place. But Toto doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, the muscle in his jaw working as he processes what you’ve said.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “You’ll stay with me.”
You blink, surprised. “What?”
“You’re not going back there,” Toto says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll come with me. You’ll stay at my place until you get back on your feet.”
You shake your head, the shame overwhelming. “I can’t. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You won’t be,” Toto says, his voice as steady as ever. “You need a place to stay. I have more than enough room. And …” His eyes soften again, just slightly. “I’d rather you be somewhere safe. Somewhere you can heal.”
Your heart skips a beat at the word *safe*. It’s been so long since you’ve felt truly safe, since anyone’s cared enough to offer you a lifeline like this.
“But I don’t want to intrude,” you protest, still not fully convinced.
Toto leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “You won’t be intruding. I’m offering this because I want to.” His voice lowers, a gentle but firm command. “Say yes.”
You open your mouth, but the words are tangled up inside you. There’s something so powerful in the way he speaks, in the way he sees you, that makes it hard to resist. Not that you want to. You want to say yes. You just … don’t know if you deserve it.
Toto must sense your hesitation, because he reaches out, resting one large hand on your knee. His touch is warm, solid, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.
“You’re not alone in this,” he says softly. “You don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore.”
The knot in your chest loosens just slightly, and you nod, unable to hold back the tears any longer. They fall, hot and fast, but this time, they’re not from fear or shame. They’re from relief. The kind that comes when you realize you don’t have to fight alone anymore.
“I’ll stay with you,” you whisper, the words feeling like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.
Toto’s hand squeezes your knee gently. “Good girl.”
The praise hits you in a way that surprises you. It feels like balm on a wound, like maybe — just maybe — you’re not as broken as you thought you were.
Toto stands, towering over you for a moment before he offers you his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
You take his hand, and he pulls you to your feet, steadying you with a hand on your back as you find your balance. The room feels smaller now, quieter, as though the storm that had been raging inside you has finally begun to calm.
Toto picks up your discarded collar from the table, turning it over in his hands for a moment before tucking it into his jacket pocket. “You won’t need this anymore.”
You nod, the weight of that statement not lost on you. It feels like a chapter closing, like you’re finally walking away from something that’s been holding you down for far too long.
Toto leads you out of the room, his hand still resting on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd that seems to part for him without a second thought. You keep your eyes forward, not daring to look at the faces that had watched your humiliation earlier. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re leaving with Toto, and that’s all that matters now.
***
The guest bedroom is beautiful, opulent even — more luxurious than any place you’ve ever stayed. The bed is soft, the linens expensive, the walls tastefully decorated with muted tones. The space should feel safe, like the sanctuary Toto promised it would be. But sleep doesn’t come easy. It never does, not anymore.
You toss and turn under the sheets, your mind a storm of memories you can’t escape. The room may be beautiful, but your head is still trapped in the dark. You pull at the covers, kicking them off as your body grows restless, heat prickling at your skin. The emptiness at your throat burns, and you unconsciously reach up, fingers grazing your neck, searching for the collar that’s no longer there.
You find nothing but skin. Bare. Exposed. Unprotected.
The panic wells up before you can stop it. It surges in your chest, quick and violent, like you’re drowning in your own bed. You tug at your throat, pulling harder as if trying to force the collar back, trying to make yourself feel whole again. But it’s gone. He took it, and he left you with nothing.
In your sleep, you whimper, and the sound builds into a cry — frantic, desperate. You thrash against the sheets, tugging harder, scratching at your own neck. The empty space where your collar used to be feels like a gaping wound. You scream, raw and choked, and your hands fly to your throat again, nails digging into skin.
Suddenly, strong hands are on you — grabbing your wrists, pulling them away from your neck with firm, unyielding strength.
“Stop,” a voice commands, deep and steady.
You jolt awake, gasping, your heart hammering in your chest. The room is dark, unfamiliar, and for a moment, you don’t know where you are. Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as you struggle to orient yourself.
“It’s okay,” the voice says, softer now, soothing. “You’re safe. I’m here.”
Toto.
Your eyes finally focus, and you see him crouched beside the bed, his large hands gently holding your wrists. His grip is strong but not painful—just enough to stop you from hurting yourself. He watches you with concern, his face bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.
“I … I-” You choke on your words, your body shaking uncontrollably.
“You were dreaming,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur in the darkness. “You were hurting yourself. I had to stop you.”
You look down at your wrists, realizing how tight his grip had been. But it wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t like him. It was to protect you. Slowly, your breathing starts to steady, though the tremors in your body remain.
“I couldn’t breathe,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “It felt like I was choking …”
Toto’s expression hardens, but not with anger. There’s a deep sadness in his eyes, a kind of understanding that makes your heart ache. He releases your wrists slowly, carefully, as though he’s afraid you might break again. His hands linger near you, close enough to grab hold if you need him to.
“I shouldn’t have let you sleep alone,” he says quietly, almost to himself. He stands up, his tall frame towering over you, casting a shadow over the bed. “I thought … I thought you’d be okay.”
“I don’t know how to be okay,” you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I don’t know how to sleep without feeling like I’m falling apart.”
He watches you for a moment, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. There’s a decision forming in his eyes, a quiet resolve that you don’t fully understand yet.
“You need me to take control,” he says, his voice low and certain. It’s not a question — it’s a statement.
Your breath hitches in your throat, but you nod, unable to find the words. He knows. Somehow, he knows exactly what you need.
Toto moves with purpose, walking over to the nightstand. He opens the drawer with a smooth, deliberate motion, his eyes still on you, gauging your reaction. Inside, nestled among other carefully chosen tools, lies a paddle — sleek, polished, made of dark wood. He pulls it out, holding it in one hand as if testing its weight.
Your heart skips a beat. You know what this is. You’ve seen paddles before, felt them before. But there’s something different about this moment. The air between you shifts, thick with anticipation.
Toto steps back toward the bed, his presence commanding but not overwhelming. “You trust me?” He asks, his voice quiet but firm.
“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. There’s no hesitation in your answer. You do trust him. More than you ever trusted anyone else.
“Good,” he says, satisfaction flickering across his face. “Then listen carefully. I’m going to help you, but you need to let me take over. No thinking. No questioning. Just do as I say. Can you do that?”
You nod, your heart racing, the tension inside you slowly unwinding at the promise of his control. The weight of your decisions, the confusion, the pain—it all feels lighter now, like maybe you can let go for just a moment and let him carry it.
“Words, liebling,” Toto says softly, reminding you with gentle authority. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you reply, louder this time, your voice steadying. “I’ll do as you say.”
A faint smile touches his lips, approval shining in his eyes. “Good girl.”
He walks back to the side of the bed, motioning for you to sit up. “Get on your knees, facing the headboard.”
You comply without question, moving to the center of the bed and positioning yourself as he instructed. Your body feels tense, but it’s the kind of tension that promises release. You’re not scared—not of him. You trust him with every fiber of your being. The fear that had wrapped itself around you earlier is slowly unraveling, replaced by something else, something warmer.
Toto moves to stand beside you, the paddle still in his hand. He trails one finger down your spine, the lightest touch, but it sends a shiver through you. His voice is calm, deliberate. “You need to be reminded of what you’re worth. You need to feel it.”
You bite your lip, anticipation building in your chest. “Yes, sir.”
There’s a pause, and you can feel him watching you, reading you. “Do you know your safe word?” He asks, his voice quiet, but the seriousness of his question is undeniable.
You nod. “Red.”
Toto nods in approval, his eyes dark with focus. “Good. You say it if you need to.”
Then, without another word, he raises the paddle and brings it down against your ass — not too hard, but firm enough to send a jolt through you. The sound of wood meeting flesh fills the room, sharp and clear. You gasp, your body instinctively tensing, but the pain is quickly followed by a rush of warmth.
Toto leans down, his mouth close to your ear. “You can take this,” he murmurs. “You’re strong enough. You’ve always been strong enough.”
Another strike. Then another. The rhythm is slow, measured, and you find yourself sinking into it. Each smack of the paddle pulls you further from the chaos in your mind, grounding you in the present moment. There’s no room for doubt here, no space for the fear and confusion that usually haunt you.
It’s just you, him, and the steady beat of the paddle.
“You’re not broken,” he says between strikes, his voice steady and low. “You’re not weak. Don’t ever let anyone make you believe that.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but not from pain. It’s the words, the weight of them sinking in. For so long, you believed you were weak, that you were nothing without someone else to validate you. But now … now it feels different.
You feel different.
“Say it,” Toto commands, his voice firm. “Say you’re strong.”
“I’m strong,” you gasp, the words catching in your throat.
Another strike, harder this time, but the warmth it leaves behind spreads through you like a balm. “Again,” he orders.
“I’m strong,” you repeat, louder this time, the conviction in your voice growing.
Toto lowers the paddle for a moment, his hand resting on your back, warm and steady. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well.”
You breathe deeply, the tension in your body slowly melting away. Each strike, each word of praise, is like a piece of the armor you didn’t know you were building. By the time he sets the paddle down, you feel lighter than you have in years.
Toto pulls you into his arms, guiding you back down onto the bed. You’re trembling, but it’s not from fear. It’s from release. From the overwhelming sense of safety that only he seems capable of giving you.
“You’re safe now,” he whispers, cradling you against his chest. “I’ve got you.”
And for the first time in a long time, you believe him. You’re safe. You’re strong. And with him, you can finally start to heal.
***
Morning light filters through the wide windows of Toto’s dining room, casting soft, golden hues across the hardwood floor. The house is quiet, serene in a way that makes you feel like you’re in a different world — far removed from the chaos of the night before. As you sit at the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the warm blankets from your sleep, the memory of Toto’s firm, steady control lingers, calming your racing thoughts.
You spent the night in his guest room, but not alone. After the paddle, after the soft words and the gentle touches, Toto stayed with you, holding you until you fell asleep, cocooned in the safety of his presence. It was the first time in what felt like forever that you didn’t wake up gasping for air.
Now, with the sun rising, you feel a strange mix of emotions. There’s a sense of peace you haven’t felt in so long, but there’s also a flicker of nervousness. You wonder what happens next. What does Toto expect from you now that the night is over?
Dressed in one of the soft robes Toto left for you, you make your way down the wide hallway, following the smell of coffee and something warm cooking. As you reach the dining room, you see him — Toto, seated at the long, polished table, a newspaper spread out in front of him and a plate of food waiting beside it.
He looks up as you enter, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. “Good morning,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, like the rumble of an engine. There’s a softness to his tone, a warmth that sets you at ease.
“Good morning,” you reply, shy but hopeful. You take a step toward the table, and then hesitate, biting your lip. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but you’re not sure how to say them. The air between you feels lighter, but still charged with the weight of everything that happened last night.
Toto tilts his head, sensing your hesitation. “What is it?” He asks, his eyes never leaving yours.
You swallow, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. It’s a simple request, but one that feels loaded with meaning. “May I …” You pause, gathering your courage. “May I kneel for you?”
For a moment, Toto says nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he puts down the newspaper, folding it neatly and setting it aside. His eyes soften, and the faintest trace of a smile pulls at his lips. “Of course,” he says, his voice gentle but sure. “You don’t need to ask.”
Relief washes over you, and you feel your body relax as you move toward him. There’s something about kneeling for him that feels right — like it’s where you belong, like the world makes sense when you’re at his feet. You sink to your knees beside his chair, the cool floor beneath you grounding you as you settle into the familiar position.
Toto watches you carefully, his gaze filled with quiet admiration. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends a rush of warmth through you, filling the hollow spaces left by doubt and fear.
You look up at him, your hands resting on your thighs, waiting for his next move. There’s no rush, no urgency — just the steady rhythm of your breathing and the quiet hum of the house around you.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, his voice low and intimate. It’s a simple question, but the way he asks it makes you feel seen, cared for. Not like an obligation, but like someone who matters.
You nod, your stomach fluttering. “Yes, sir.”
Toto reaches for the plate of food beside him — fresh fruit, toast, and eggs, all arranged neatly. But instead of setting it in front of you, he picks up a piece of fruit, holding it delicately between his fingers.
“Open,” he instructs, his voice calm but commanding.
You part your lips, and he gently places the fruit in your mouth, his thumb grazing your lower lip as he pulls his hand away. The sweetness of the fruit spreads across your tongue, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. It’s such a simple act — being fed by hand — but it fills you with a deep sense of connection, like you’re being cared for in a way that goes beyond words.
Toto watches you, his eyes dark and focused, as if he’s studying your every reaction. “Good?” He asks, his voice soft.
You nod, swallowing the fruit. “Yes, sir.”
He picks up another piece, this time offering you a small bite of toast. “Tell me how you slept,” he says as he feeds you, his tone conversational but still holding that edge of authority.
You chew slowly, thinking about the question. “I … I slept better than I have in a long time,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t wake up … panicking again. Not like I usually do.”
Toto’s gaze softens, and he nods, as if he expected that answer. “You felt safe,” he says, more a statement than a question.
“Yes,” you reply, looking up at him. “I did.”
He feeds you another bite, his eyes never leaving yours. “That’s how it should be,” he murmurs. “You should always feel safe. You deserve that.”
His words are like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your emotions. For so long, you believed that you didn’t deserve safety or kindness — that you were only worth something when you were serving someone else’s needs. But Toto’s care, his quiet authority, makes you feel like maybe you’re worth more than that.
He offers you another bite of fruit, and you take it without hesitation, the act of being fed by him making you feel more connected, more grounded in the moment. You don’t have to think or worry. All you have to do is trust him, let him guide you.
Toto sets the plate down after a while, wiping his hands on a napkin before reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is soft, tender, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly, his voice thick with understanding. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush anything. You take your time. You come to me when you’re ready.”
You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. “I … I don’t know what to do now,” you confess, the vulnerability in your words making your chest tighten. “I don’t know where to go or how to start over.”
Toto’s hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he says, his tone reassuring. “You’re not alone anymore. I told you last night — I’ll help you. You’re safe with me.”
The sincerity in his words makes your throat tighten with emotion. You never expected to find someone like Toto — someone who could take control without making you feel small, who could care for you without making you feel weak.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with gratitude. “For everything.”
Toto smiles, a small but genuine smile that makes your heart swell. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Just focus on taking care of yourself. That’s all I ask.”
You nod, feeling a warmth spread through you. There’s still so much you don’t know, so much you’re unsure of. But in this moment, kneeling at Toto’s feet, being fed by his hand, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you can start to heal.
Toto reaches for his coffee, taking a sip before glancing down at you again. “Do you want to stay here with me?” He asks, his tone casual, but you can hear the underlying importance of the question.
Your heart skips a beat, and you look up at him, searching his face for any sign that he might be offering this out of pity. But all you see is quiet determination, a calm certainty that tells you he means every word.
“I … I don’t want to be a burden,” you say softly, though the thought of leaving fills you with a quiet dread.
Toto shakes his head, his expression firm. “You’re not a burden,” he says, his voice unwavering. “You never were. And as long as you want to be here, this is your home.”
The weight of his words settles over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel the stirrings of hope. Maybe this is the fresh start you’ve been searching for. Maybe, with Toto’s help, you can finally begin to rebuild the pieces of yourself that were broken.
“Then … yes,” you say, your voice steady but soft. “I want to stay.”
Toto’s smile widens, and he nods, as if that was the only answer he was expecting. “Good,” he says, his tone final, as though the decision has been made and that’s the end of it. “You’ll stay with me, and we’ll figure it out together.”
As you kneel there, with Toto’s hand resting lightly on your shoulder, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found the place where you truly belong.
***
The sun is warm against your skin, a soft, golden light that glimmers across the surface of the pool. The water is crystal clear, reflecting the bright blue sky overhead. You’re stretched out on a plush lounger, eyes closed, feeling the tension melt away from your body as the heat sinks into your muscles. For the first time in what feels like forever, you can actually breathe.
Toto’s house is like a sanctuary — a far cry from the cramped, tension-filled apartment you’d shared with your ex. Here, everything feels expansive, open, and safe. The sound of the water gently lapping against the edge of the pool is the only noise around, a soothing backdrop to the peaceful afternoon.
You turn over onto your stomach, adjusting your bikini to soak in more of the sun’s rays, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to forget about everything that’s happened. Here, in this moment, there’s no anxiety clawing at your chest, no panic bubbling just beneath the surface. Just the warmth of the sun and the soft breeze ruffling the leaves of the nearby trees.
It’s strange, being here without Toto. He left for work this morning, after making sure you had everything you needed, and though he’s been gone for hours, you still feel his presence lingering around the house. It’s comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. You can’t help but wonder what it will be like when he returns, how he’ll look at you, what he’ll say.
The thought brings a small smile to your lips, and you close your eyes again, letting the peacefulness of the moment wash over you. For the first time in ages, you’re not afraid of what the future holds. With Toto, things feel … different. Better.
By the time the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the pool, you’ve already showered and changed into a light sundress, feeling refreshed and relaxed. The house is quiet when you make your way to the dining room, but you know Toto will be home soon.
As if on cue, you hear the soft hum of an engine outside, followed by the sound of the front door opening. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flutter of nervous excitement in your chest. You glance toward the door just as Toto walks in, his tall frame commanding the space without even trying.
“Good evening,” he says, his deep voice sending a familiar warmth through you.
“Good evening,” you reply, your voice soft but steady. “How was work?”
He smiles, a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. “Busy,” he says simply, walking over to you. His eyes linger on you for a moment, taking in your relaxed posture, your bare feet against the hardwood floor, and the soft fabric of your dress. “I see you’ve been enjoying the pool.”
You nod, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “It’s beautiful out there.”
Toto steps closer, his presence as calming as ever. “Good,” he says, his voice low. “I want you to feel at home here.”
You do. More than you ever expected.
He gestures toward the table, where dinner is already laid out, simple but elegant, with a bottle of wine breathing in the center. “Shall we eat?”
You take a seat across from him, and the two of you settle into an easy rhythm. There’s no awkwardness, no tension — just the quiet sounds of silverware against plates and the occasional murmur of conversation. As you eat, you steal glances at Toto, watching the way he moves, the way his eyes darken when he catches you looking at him.
It’s peaceful. But there’s something else simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken but palpable. You can feel it in the way Toto’s gaze lingers on you, in the way his voice drops an octave when he speaks. There’s a tension, but it’s not the kind that makes you anxious. It’s the kind that makes your pulse quicken.
After a while, Toto sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair. His eyes find yours, and there’s a new intensity in his gaze, something that makes your breath catch.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “About us. About what you need.”
Your heart skips a beat, and you swallow hard, suddenly feeling exposed under the weight of his gaze. “What do you mean?” You ask, though you have an idea of where this is going.
Toto’s eyes never leave yours as he speaks. “I think you know,” he says quietly. “Last night was just the beginning. There’s more to this, to us, than what we’ve explored so far.”
You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words. There’s something about the way he says “us” that makes your heart race, something about the promise of what’s to come that sends heat pooling in your core.
Toto leans forward, his eyes dark and focused. “I want to know if you’re ready for more,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “If you want to do a scene with me.”
The question hangs in the air between you, thick with anticipation. You can feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitching slightly at the thought. A scene. With Toto.
You’ve imagined it — more than once, if you’re honest with yourself. But hearing him say it, seeing the way his eyes darken with desire as he asks, it makes everything feel real in a way that sends your nerves tingling.
“I … I think I’d like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Toto’s lips curl into a small, satisfied smile. “Good,” he says softly. “Finish your wine, and I’ll show you the playroom.”
Your heart is racing as you take the last sip of your drink, the anticipation building with every second that passes. When you finally set your glass down, Toto stands, offering you his hand. You take it without hesitation, and he leads you through the house, his grip firm but gentle.
He leads you to a room you hadn’t noticed before, down a long hallway at the back of the house. The door is heavy, made of dark wood, and when he opens it, your breath catches in your throat.
The room is stunning.
It’s large, with high ceilings and soft lighting that casts a warm glow over the polished floors. Along the walls are racks of gear — everything from ropes to floggers to paddles, all meticulously arranged. In the center of the room is a large, padded bench, and beside it, a St. Andrew’s cross. It’s a dungeon, but one that’s been designed with care and attention to detail.
Toto walks you further into the room, his presence calm and steady, but you can feel the shift in the air. There’s an unspoken power here, something that makes your skin tingle with anticipation.
He picks up a set of wrist ties from a nearby rack, running his fingers over the soft leather. “We’ll start with these,” he says, his voice low. “They’re comfortable, but secure. I want you to feel safe, but I also want you to surrender.”
You nod, your breath coming faster now as the reality of the situation sinks in. You’re about to do a scene with Toto Wolff — the man who has been nothing but gentle and caring with you, but who is now looking at you like he’s ready to take control in a way that leaves no room for hesitation.
He steps behind you, his hands brushing against your wrists as he fastens the ties, his touch firm but not painful. “Let me know if it’s too tight,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck.
“It’s perfect,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling slightly with nerves and excitement.
Once your wrists are secured, Toto steps in front of you, holding a flogger in his hand. It’s light, with soft leather strands, not designed to hurt, but to tease, to stimulate.
“Tell me your safeword,” he says, his voice steady.
“Red,” you say, your throat dry with anticipation.
He nods, satisfied. “Good girl.”
Toto steps back, giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling of being tied, the weight of the flogger in his hand a promise of what’s to come. His eyes are dark, focused, and there’s a hunger there that makes your knees weak.
Without another word, he begins, the flogger landing softly against your skin, a gentle rhythm that builds with each stroke. It’s not painful, not yet — it’s more like a caress, a reminder that you’re here, in this moment, with him.
As the strokes continue, the sensation shifts from gentle to something more intense, and you feel your body responding to it, your breath coming faster, your skin tingling with each impact. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips.
Toto’s voice cuts through the haze of sensation, calm and steady. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you breathe, your head spinning. “I feel good.”
He nods, his movements never faltering. “Let go,” he murmurs. “Surrender to me. I’ve got you.”
And in that moment, you do. You let go of everything — the fear, the doubt, the pain of the past — and you give yourself over to Toto, trusting him completely.
For the first time in a long time, you feel whole.
***
The restaurant is exquisite. Soft lighting glimmers off crystal glasses and polished silverware, casting a warm, intimate glow over the white-clothed tables. The hum of quiet conversation fills the room, an undercurrent of sophistication and elegance that’s perfectly in tune with the setting.
It’s one of those places you’d only ever heard of — an elusive three Michelin-starred restaurant tucked away in the heart of London, where every dish is a masterpiece and every detail, no matter how small, is perfectly curated.
You glance across the table at Toto, who’s sitting across from you, calm and composed as ever. He’s wearing a tailored suit, dark and understated, but it fits him in a way that makes it clear he’s no stranger to this world of luxury. There’s something about the way he holds himself, a quiet authority that commands attention without ever needing to ask for it.
You, on the other hand, feel a bit like an imposter in this world. The dress you’re wearing — sleek, black, and impossibly flattering — had been a gift from Toto, something he’d picked out for tonight. It fits like it was made for you, but you still can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re playing a role in a scene that doesn’t belong to you.
Toto catches your gaze and smiles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes your heart skip a beat.
“You look nervous,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “Everything alright?”
You nod quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, just … I’ve never been somewhere like this before.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “It’s just dinner,” he says, his tone teasing but gentle. “No need to be nervous.”
You know he’s right. It is just dinner, but there’s something more tonight — something unspoken but heavy in the air between you. For the past few weeks, everything has been perfect. Since the night Toto took you in, since he showed you what it meant to truly be cared for, things have only gotten better. You’ve never felt more seen, more understood. He’s given you space to heal, to grow, but he’s also taken control in ways that make you feel secure, grounded.
And yet, tonight feels different. There’s an anticipation simmering beneath the surface, something you can’t quite place. It’s been there ever since you left his house this evening, when he helped you into the car, his hand lingering on your waist just a second longer than usual.
The waiter arrives to clear your plates, and you offer him a polite smile, though your mind is elsewhere. The main course had been an experience in itself — delicate and flavorful, the kind of dish you’d never forget. But now, as you sip the last of your wine, you find yourself unable to focus on anything other than the man sitting across from you.
Toto hasn’t said much since the food arrived, but there’s a certain intensity in his silence, a weight to the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. When dessert is brought out — an intricately plated creation of chocolate and caramel — you glance at Toto, waiting for him to start.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his hand slipping into the pocket of his suit jacket. For a moment, your stomach flips with confusion.
Then, he pulls out a large black box, the kind you’ve only ever seen in high-end jewelry stores, and sets it on the table between you. The room seems to grow quieter, though you’re sure it’s just your nerves making everything else fade into the background.
Toto watches you carefully, his expression soft but serious. He opens the box, and your breath catches in your throat.
Inside is the most beautiful collar you’ve ever seen. Solid white gold, sleek and elegant, with delicate diamonds studded along the edges, catching the candlelight in a way that makes them shimmer like stars. It’s not ostentatious, not overly extravagant despite its luxury — it’s simple, perfect, and breathtaking.
Your eyes widen, your hand instinctively flying to your throat, where the absence of any collar has been a reminder of everything you’d lost. The weight of your ex’s cruelty still lingers in the back of your mind, but in this moment, that’s not what you’re thinking about. All you can focus on is the collar in front of you, and the man offering it to you.
“Toto …” you breathe, your voice shaky with emotion.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve thought about this for a long time,” he says, his voice steady, but there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in his words. “You’ve been through so much. You’ve given me your trust, and I don’t take that lightly.”
You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you blink them back, your heart pounding in your chest.
Toto continues, his gaze unwavering. “I want you to know that this — this collar — isn’t just a symbol. It’s a promise. A promise that I’ll take care of you, protect you, and guide you. If you accept it, it means you’re accepting me as your Dom. Officially.”
You’re speechless, your mind racing, your heart swelling with so many emotions all at once that it’s hard to process. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you never thought you deserved after what happened with your ex. But Toto … Toto is offering it to you freely, without any hesitation or doubt.
He leans forward slightly, his eyes softening. “I want you to be mine,” he says, his voice low, filled with sincerity. “But only if that’s what you want too.”
Your throat tightens, and you can’t hold back the tears anymore. They slip down your cheeks, but you don’t feel embarrassed. Not here, not with him.
“I …” You struggle to find the words, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Toto smiles softly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, reassuring. “You don’t have to say anything. Just tell me what you feel.”
You look down at the collar again, the beautiful, shining piece of jewelry that represents so much more than just an accessory. It represents trust, care, safety —everything you thought you’d lost forever. And now, with Toto, you realize it’s all possible again.
“I want this,” you say, your voice trembling but certain. “I want you. I want to be yours.”
Toto’s smile deepens, a look of pure, unguarded affection crossing his face. He stands slowly, moving around the table toward you. You rise from your chair as he approaches, your heart hammering in your chest as he gently takes the collar from the box.
“May I?” He asks, his voice soft but filled with meaning.
You nod, unable to speak, too overwhelmed by the moment.
Toto steps behind you, his hands warm as he gently brushes your hair aside. You feel the cool weight of the collar as he fastens it around your neck, the clasp clicking into place with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s not tight, but it’s firm enough to remind you that it’s there — a constant, grounding presence.
He steps back in front of you, his eyes searching yours. “How does it feel?”
You lift a hand to your throat, your fingers brushing over the smooth metal. It feels … right. Like it was always meant to be there.
“It feels perfect,” you whisper, tears still shining in your eyes.
Toto’s expression softens even more, and he cups your face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth and affection. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”
Your chest tightens, and you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face, despite the tears. “I think I’m starting to.”
Toto leans down, his lips brushing softly against your forehead, a gesture that’s both tender and protective. “You’re mine now,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “And I’m yours.”
The weight of those words settles over you like a warm blanket, comforting and reassuring. In Toto’s arms, with the collar around your neck, you finally feel safe. Safe, loved, and most of all, home.
***
The bar is just as you remember it — dark, atmospheric, and pulsing with a kind of energy that once felt daunting but now, with Toto at your side, feels like a familiar rhythm. You had known this moment would come eventually, but the thought of returning to the place where everything fell apart had lingered like a storm cloud in your mind for weeks.
Yet tonight, as you walk through the entrance with Toto’s hand resting firmly on your lower back, it feels different. You’re not the same person who left this bar shattered. You’re stronger now, grounded in ways you never thought possible.
Toto leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you alright?” His voice is low, gentle, but the command behind it is unmistakable. He’s checking in, as he always does, ensuring that this is what you want.
You look up at him, giving a small nod. “Yes, sir,” you say softly, the words carrying a weight of truth and certainty.
He smiles down at you, his hand squeezing your waist briefly in a silent message of reassurance. “Good girl.”
Your body reacts to his praise, warmth spreading through you. Every time he says those words, it’s like a jolt of electricity, but tonight, it’s especially potent. You’ve come here with a purpose — not just to face the ghosts of the past, but to show yourself and everyone else, including your ex, that you are no longer that fragile, discarded version of yourself.
The bar is packed tonight, the same familiar crowd — subs and doms, some here to watch, others here to play. You scan the room briefly, and then your heart stops. Your ex is here. Sitting in one of the corner booths, drink in hand, his eyes scan the room — until they land on you.
You freeze, and for a split second, the memories of that night come rushing back — his voice, cruel and dismissive, the public humiliation, the way your knees had given out beneath you. But then you feel Toto’s presence beside you, solid and unwavering. His grip on you tightens, pulling you out of the past and back into the present.
Toto follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as they land on your ex. There’s no need for words. He knows exactly what’s running through your mind, and his jaw sets in a way that tells you he’s already decided how the rest of this night will go.
He bends down to your ear once more, his voice a soothing contrast to the tension in the air. “I think it’s time to show everyone exactly who you belong to.”
Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. You nod again, this time with more confidence. “Yes, sir.”
He leads you through the crowd, toward one of the platforms reserved for public scenes. It’s in full view of the bar, the perfect stage. Your ex watches, his eyes locked on the two of you, but you don’t look away this time. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you feel nothing but indifference. He has no power over you anymore.
Toto stops in front of the platform, turning you to face him. He brushes a thumb over your collar, the one he gave you at dinner just a few weeks ago, and you swear you see pride flash in his eyes.
“Are you ready?” He asks, his voice a quiet command.
“Yes, sir,” you respond, your voice steady.
He steps up onto the platform first, motioning for you to follow. You do, climbing onto the raised platform as the crowd’s attention starts to shift toward you both. There’s an air of anticipation, curiosity — everyone here knows who Toto is, and it’s rare to see him take part in public scenes. But more than that, they know you now too. You’re not the timid girl from before, you’re Toto’s submissive, and that means something in this world.
Toto walks to a sleek black bag he placed earlier at the side of the platform. From it, he pulls out something that makes your breath catch: a pair of dragon’s tongue whips. They’re long, thin, and flexible, made from braided leather that tapers into a sharp, stinging tip.
Most doms wouldn’t dare use them in a public scene — they require immense skill and precision to wield properly. In the wrong hands, they can cause real harm. But Toto … you trust him completely.
He turns to face you, holding the dragon’s tongue in his hand. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the rest of the room fades away.
“Kneel,” he commands softly.
You drop to your knees instantly, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. You glance out into the crowd, and your ex’s eyes are glued to the scene. You can see the shock in his expression — this is something he never could’ve done. He didn’t have the skill, the control, or the understanding of what it truly means to be a Dom. And now, he’s watching you submit to someone far more powerful, far more worthy.
Toto steps behind you, the dragon’s tongue sliding lightly over your bare shoulders. “You’ve been such a good girl for me,” he says, his voice low but full of affection. “And tonight, I’m going to show everyone just how beautifully you submit.”
The first strike lands, light but firm, sending a sharp sting across your back. You gasp, but it’s not pain you feel — it’s release, surrender. The second strike comes, and then the third, each one carefully controlled, perfectly measured. Toto is a master of his craft, and with each lash, you feel yourself falling deeper into the scene, into the space where nothing exists except his voice, his commands, and the sensation of the dragon’s tongue against your skin.
The crowd is silent now, watching with rapt attention as Toto works, his movements graceful and precise. You can feel their eyes on you, but you don’t care. You’re not performing for them. You’re here for him, and him alone.
“Good girl,” Toto murmurs after a particularly sharp strike, his voice like a balm against the sting. “You take it so well.”
Your ex is still watching, but his face is pale now, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something darker — jealousy, perhaps, or regret. But you don’t focus on him. You focus on Toto, on the way his voice grounds you, the way his touch brings you back from the edge.
When the final strike lands, your body is buzzing with sensation, your mind quiet and peaceful in a way that only Toto can bring. He steps in front of you, setting the dragon’s tongue aside, and kneels down to meet your eyes. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.
“You did so well,” he whispers, his eyes filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you.”
Tears well in your eyes, but they’re not from pain or sadness. They’re from the overwhelming sense of belonging, of being cared for in a way you never thought possible. You look up at him, and the only words that come to your lips are the ones you know he wants to hear.
“Thank you, sir.”
Toto smiles, a rare, unguarded smile that’s just for you. He stands, helping you to your feet, and guides you gently off the platform. The crowd parts as he leads you toward a quiet corner, away from the eyes of the bar. He sits down in one of the plush armchairs, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively.
“You were perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Absolutely perfect.”
You nestle into him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the scene, but your mind is calm. You’re safe, you’re his, and nothing else matters.
Toto reaches for a bottle of water, uncapping it and holding it to your lips. You drink gratefully, letting the cool liquid soothe your throat. He continues to take care of you, checking in with soft, reassuring touches, whispering praises that make your heart swell with warmth.
And as you sit there, wrapped in his arms, you glance across the room to where your ex is sitting. He’s watching still, but now, there’s something defeated in his posture, as if he finally understands what he lost. But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re not his, and you never will be again.
You belong to Toto now, and that’s all you need.
***
The sun is low, casting a golden glow across the living room, filtering through the sheer curtains that sway gently with the breeze from the open windows. You’re sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch, legs folded beneath you, waiting for Toto.
The anticipation hums in your veins, a familiar pulse that always settles low in your belly whenever you two are about to engage in a scene. It’s a quiet evening at home — rare, given how often you’ve been traveling with him to races lately. But tonight is just for you and him, no paddock, no chaos, no cameras. Just intimacy.
Toto emerges from the hallway, his presence commanding, even in the casual black shirt and dark jeans he wears. The simplicity of his clothes contrasts with the intensity in his eyes as they lock on you, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You nod — your answer always the same when it comes to him.
“Come here, liebling,” he says softly, the endearment rolling off his tongue in that deep, soothing voice of his. You rise and step closer to him, the distance between you disappearing as he pulls you into his arms, kissing the top of your head gently before guiding you toward the center of the room.
Tonight’s scene is something more intimate, more casual than the ones you’ve typically done before. It’s not about spectacle or showing anyone else what you can endure — this is just for him, for the trust between you. He’s chosen a light flogger for tonight, one you both know well, designed for sensation rather than pain. It’s more of a way to ground you, to connect with him in the quiet of your home.
“Strip,” Toto commands, his voice a velvet command that wraps around you like a safety net.
You begin to undress, taking your time, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. You fold your clothes neatly beside the couch before turning to face him, hands clasped behind your back, your breath already coming in soft, steady waves.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, stepping forward to lift your chin gently, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip. His approval is everything, and the warmth in his gaze fills you with that familiar, addictive need to please him.
Toto motions for you to kneel, and you drop down, your knees pressing into the soft rug beneath you. He takes a seat in the armchair across from you, leaning back casually as if this is any other evening, as if what comes next is just a natural extension of your time together.
He picks up the flogger, running the leather strands through his fingers slowly, deliberately, letting you watch. The anticipation builds, tightening your muscles with every passing second.
“Do you trust me?” He asks, even though the answer has already been given a thousand times over.
“With everything,” you reply, your voice steady.
The first strike lands across your shoulders, light and measured, a soft hiss of air leaving your lungs. It’s not pain — it’s connection. Every swing of the flogger, every strike that follows, is a conversation between you. The leather caresses your skin, each touch more intense than the last, your body warming under his control, but never overwhelmed. You float, suspended in this perfect, peaceful place, completely in sync with him.
Toto’s voice grounds you. “Such a good girl for me,” he whispers, and your heart swells with pride, each strike a confirmation of your submission, of the bond you share.
He continues, alternating between strokes and soothing touches, checking in with you through words and the soft brush of his hand across your skin. You lose yourself in the rhythm, the flogger a steady, pulsing reminder of the safety and love you’ve found with him.
So engrossed are you in the scene, you don’t hear the front door creak open. You’re barely aware of anything beyond Toto’s voice and the sensation of the flogger against your skin. But then, the unmistakable sound of someone gasping cuts through the haze.
“Uh … what … the …” George Russell’s voice cracks, full of disbelief.
Your head snaps up in shock, and Toto stills, the flogger dropping to his side as he turns, slowly, to face the unexpected intrusion.
George is standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open in pure horror. His face is pale, and he’s gripping the door handle like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s not even trying to look away — he’s too shocked to move.
“Oh my God,” George breathes out, his voice strangled. “I — what the hell — what — Toto!” His voice rises in panic as he throws his hands over his face. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”
Toto stands calmly, his expression a mixture of amusement and mild frustration, as if he’d been interrupted during an important meeting rather than an intimate scene. “George,” he says in his usual calm, measured tone, “you really should knock.”
“I didn’t think I had to knock at your house!” George cries, his voice muffled by his hands still covering his face. “I thought you were just … I don’t know … watching TV or something, not-” He cuts off, his voice trailing into a horrified squeak.
You’re frozen on the spot, embarrassment flooding your face, your body still kneeling on the floor. The moment is so absurd, so unexpected, that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You glance at Toto, and his calm demeanor seems to anchor you once more. But George — poor, poor George — he looks like he’s just witnessed something that will haunt him for the rest of his life.
“I — oh my God, I need bleach for my eyes,” George moans, stumbling backward toward the door. “I need therapy. I need to forget this ever happened.”
Toto steps forward, his hands raised as if to calm the younger man. “George, calm down. It’s not-”
“Calm down?” George interrupts, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Toto, I just saw you whipping your girlfriend in your living room! What part of this is supposed to be calm?”
At this point, you can’t hold it in anymore. A giggle escapes you, completely unexpected and uncontrollable. The absurdity of the situation, the sheer panic on George’s face — it’s all too much. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it’s no use. Laughter bubbles up, and before you know it, you’re leaning back, laughing so hard you can barely breathe.
Toto glances at you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He can’t help it either — he starts laughing too, a deep, rich sound that fills the room.
George stares at the both of you in disbelief, his hands still hovering near his face, but slowly, realization seems to dawn on him. “Are you two seriously laughing at this?”
Toto nods, wiping at his eyes. “George, it’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think?” George sputters. “What else could it possibly be?”
Toto walks over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “George, Y/N and I are adults, and we have an understanding in our relationship.”
“Well, I don’t want to understand! I want to un-see!” George exclaims, pulling away. “I came here for strategy discussions, not … this! Why didn’t you text me you were busy?!”
“I didn’t think we’d be interrupted,” Toto says, shrugging with a grin. “Clearly, I was wrong.”
George groans again, burying his face in his hands. “I need to go … bleach my eyes or … meditate or something.”
Toto chuckles, patting him on the back. “I’ll send you the race notes later, alright? Just knock next time.”
George spins on his heel, practically sprinting for the door. “Yeah, yeah. Never coming over without notice again. Noted. Bleach, then therapy. Lots of therapy.”
The door slams behind him, leaving the house in a stunned, laughing silence. You look over at Toto, still kneeling on the floor, your body trembling with laughter. He kneels down beside you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face, his smile wide and relaxed.
“Well,” you say, catching your breath, “that was unexpected.”
Toto raises an eyebrow, still chuckling. “You could say that.”
You both dissolve into laughter again, the absurdity of the moment too much to handle. When the laughter finally subsides, Toto pulls you into his arms, kissing your temple gently.
“At least now we know George will knock in the future,” he teases, his voice filled with warmth.
You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and loved, even in the midst of the chaos. “Maybe we should lock the door next time, just to be safe.”
Toto hums in agreement, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. “Next time, liebling.”
And as you settle back into the peaceful quiet of the evening, the memory of George’s horrified face will be something you’ll both laugh about for years to come.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#toto wolff#toto wolff imagine#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff x you#toto wolff fic#toto wolff fluff#toto wolff fanfic#toto wolff blurb#toto wolff smut#kinktober#f1 fluff#f1 smut#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#toto wolff x y/n#mercedes amg f1#formula 1
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enough for you
wanda maximoff x fem!reader, natasha romanoff x fem!reader
summary: in which your girlfriend natasha makes you feel like you're never enough. (based off enough for you by olivia rodrigo)
word count: 2069
tags: angst, toxic relationship, insecurity, arguments, cheating, reader feels unloved (and unworthy of love), poor reader can never catch a break, cryptic mention of reader's mother being dead, self- hatred, reader's so sad, nat sucks (like a lot), but wanda comes through at the end like she always does and they have a little meet-cute :), i wrote this in one sitting while listening to enough for you on a loop
part two: so american
You sigh as you try to do your makeup in your mirror as flawlessly as possible. Every blemish or mark on your face needed to be covered up so you could look perfect for Nat. You were desperate to measure up to the gorgeous women Nat has dated before you and for that, you needed to look absolutely pristine.
In the past year, you’ve done so many new things you weren’t fond of just for Nat to like you. From nearly destroying every single muscle in your body at the gym just to measure up to her rigorous exercise routine, all the way to learning how to cook and bake every single one of her favorite foods until it was all you two ever ate despite your dislike for the majority of her preferred meals, you’ve tried so hard to be everything that Nat liked so she wouldn’t get sick of you.
You frown slightly, Nat has never once acknowledged your kind gestures and actions, nor reciprocated them.
“I’m just not the compliment type, Y/N, just drop it,” she had told you one time when you had confronted her on why she never acknowledged your efforts.
You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded wordlessly.
***
“I made you your coffee,” you told Nat as she entered the kitchen in the morning. 2 creams, no sugar, just how you like it.
Nat nodded and took the mug from you, sitting down at the table and barely paying any attention to your gesture.
Clearing your throat, you tell her, “I also got up early this morning to buy tickets for us to go to that band I know you’ve been wanting to go to for a while.” You cross your fingers behind your back, hoping for her to tell you you’re good enough for her just this once.
“Sorry, babe, Carol already got them for me,” she responds, your heart falling to your stomach. Putting her empty mug in the sink, she plants a kiss on your lips. “Besides, you don’t even know the lyrics to their songs.” She leaves you on your own in the kitchen.
I know all of them by heart because of you.
***
“Hey, Y/N?” Nat asks you one night on the couch.
“Yeah?” you respond, turning to face your girlfriend.
“I don’t really feel like myself these days.” Nat pauses. “Do you know what might help?” Despite the content of her question, you still smile, because this was your chance. This was your chance to show her that you might truly be worth loving.
“First, I’m always here if you need to talk,” you say softly, but Nat makes no sound of acknowledgment next to you. “And second, make your own decisions you believe will be beneficial to you, just for yourself, and do the things that bring you fulfillment,” you explain.
Nat finally turns and looks at you thoughtfully. “How did you figure that one out?”
“I read your self-help books,” you reply sheepishly. I read all of them.
“Wow, you’re pretty smart,” Nat replies, going back to the movie the two of you were watching together.
And you smile for the rest of the night because that’s the first compliment Nat has given you since you first started dating a year ago.
***
You and Nat had a fight. It isn’t the first time, but it’s the first time it’s hurt you this much as you truly take in your current reality.
You’re crying in your shared room, Nat leaving you to go out for drinks you assume.
Earlier tonight, you made the stupid mistake of asking why she was never there for you, it was during the heat of the moment, but your outrage felt justified due to the fact that she missed your award ceremony for your article in medical research (the third time this year she’s missed one of them but you did your best to forgive her before this), and she had simply scoffed at you telling you that it wasn’t even a big deal anyways.
But this one was a big deal to you.
It was research that could have saved your mother.
“I nearly get killed every time I go out on the job, Y/N! Some stupid neuroscience article is nothing compared to that!” she yelled at you, exhausted from her day at work.
Your eyes flooded with hurt as Nat’s filled with regret.
“Wait, I’m sorry,” she said remorsefully.
The first sign of remorse she’s ever shown you.
“It’s fine, Nat,” you reply, trying to keep your tears at bay. You weren’t even in neuro, but that didn’t matter. Not to her. “Just go out, like you wanted.” You wave her off to go upstairs to your room.
“Y/N, wait-”
You didn’t listen, shutting the door before collapsing to your knees as you started to sob.
Stupid, emotional, and obsessive. That was what you were.
***
Nat has been home late for the past few nights, your worry increasing with each passing day. It’s probably something to do with work, but something feels off.
“Where were you?” you ask Nat as she enters the front door. “I was worried sick.”
“I’m fine, Y/N. I just got held up at work,” Nat doesn’t make eye contact with you.
“Oh, okay,” you say softly, feeling oddly small compared to your girlfriend. “Couldn’t you have called?”
“For god’s sake, Y/N, my phone was dead. God, you’re so clingy,” Nat bites back, walking past you to go straight up to your room and slamming the door.
You sigh, heading for the guest room since you know Nat won’t let you sleep next to her tonight.
Suddenly, you hear Nat’s phone go off. And you realize that she had left it by the front door.
Picking it up, you notice, that it’s at nearly full charge.
Your brows furrow as you see the message your girlfriend received.
Carol: Had a great time tonight, Nat.
You don’t stop crying until the sun rises, one phrase ringing through your head the whole night.
What are you doing wrong?
***
“Am I not as interesting as the girls she’s dated before me?” you cry to Yelena as she rubs your back in comfort.
“My sister is an idiot,” Yelena mutters, seeing how your relationship with Nat is tearing you apart.
“What?” you choke out through your tears.
“I think you love her more than anyone she’s ever had, and she couldn’t care less.”
“She’s breaking my heart, Lena,” you sniffle. “But more than that, she’s breaking me.”
You cry harder into your best friend’s arms.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” you sob into her shoulder.
***
“Where were you?” you ask Nat as she comes home past midnight once again.
“I was at the compound, we had a villain that got out so we had to take care of him.”
You nod, but Tony already sent you the camera footage for tonight after you told him about your issues with your girlfriend and you know she was with Carol.
“Are you sure?” you inquired.
“Yes, Y/N,” Nat says exasperated. “For god’s sake, why are you never satisfied with whatever I do?” she says walking past you.
“I don’t think that’s true,” you tell Nat from behind her.
“What?” she says, turning around to face you.
“You’re never satisfied with me,” you state. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted is to be good enough for you, but nothing I ever do for you seems to make you happy.”
Nat scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know you were with Carol tonight,” you reveal.
“No, I wasn’t,” she denies.
“Tony sent me the footage, I know there was no villain. I know you’re cheating on me, and I know that you never cared about me,” you state.
“Fine, whatever, I’m going to bed,” Nat says, completely disregarding you and everything she’s done to destroy the person you once were.
“We’re done, Nat,” you tell her as she walks up the stairs to your once-shared room.
Nat waves you off like you’ve never meant anything to her.
And maybe you never did.
***
“I loved her so much, I still do, and all she did was use me, then throw me away like I meant nothing to her,” you tell Yelena at the drink bar. Nat was away on a mission, so Yelena thought it might be fun for you to join her at one of the Avengers parties.
“Don’t worry Y/N,” Yelena tells you. “I could tell her to apologize to you, but clearly she’s got some issues to figure out within herself before she can resolve any outside.”
You nod wordlessly.
What Yelena says then surprises you, “But honestly? She should be the one feeling sorry for herself.” You look at her curiously. “Someday, there will be someone out there who will love you as deeply as you love them.”
“I don’t know, Lena,” you say softly. “Nat was everything to me.”
“Someday, Y/N, you’ll be everything to somebody else.”
***
1 year later
You’re running late for work, rushing out the door of the coffee shop, and you don’t notice the fact that you’ve bumped into someone until your coffee spills all over the floor, making you gasp.
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry,” you tell the figure in front of you, and suddenly you freeze, at the sight of her glimmering emerald green eyes. Like Nat’s, but eternally softer. Eternally more curious.
“Oh, no worries,” she says with a smile, pulling a few napkins out of her purse.
“I didn’t spill any on you, did I?” you ask the woman, your mind a mess due to your embarrassment at spilling your coffee, but still quite fuzzy at the sight of her undeniable beauty.
If you weren’t so much of a useless homosexual, you would bend down and help her clean the coffee she’s currently wiping away. Much like how she’s wiping away your ability to form any sort of cohesive thought.
“No, I’m ok,” she laughs, standing up once more once all the coffee’s gone. “C’mon, let me buy you a new one.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh, no, it’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s completely my fault for bumping into you-”
“I want to,” she cuts off with a soft smile.
“Oh,” you say softly. “Okay,” you finally resign to the comforting look she gives you.
“Let me just make a quick phone call,” you let her know, hoping she doesn’t leave.
“Take your time,” she assures.
You smile gratefully.
Your phone call was to call in sick to work for the second time in your life –you didn’t have a busy day today and you were running late anyways– and it was all to spend time with a pretty girl.
On any other day you’d probably laugh at how pathetic you were, but this woman made you feel an odd sense of uncertainty within your life.
Like nothing had ever made sense before her.
Once you hang up the phone, you turn to see the woman already standing there, a white to-go coffee cup with a bit of steam escaping the spout.
“Here’s your coffee,” the woman hands you the cup with a big smile as you pocket your phone. You inspect the label, your mouth parting slightly in shock once you see all of your preferred customizations. Done perfectly.
“How do you know my coffee order?” you ask.
“I took the label off the old one,” she says, showing you the sticker in the palm of her hand. “Want to sit?” She points to the array of round tables within the cafe.
“I don’t even know you,” you say slowly. I called in sick to work for you, it’s a little too late for that.
The brunette woman laughs before holding out her hand for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Wanda,” she says.
“Y/N,” you respond, shaking her outstretched hand as your face flushes slightly at its softness.
“See? Now we know each other,” Wanda says cheekily.
You nod with a shy smile, following her to the table in the back as the two of you settle down into a small conversation.
Somehow, the two of you spend the rest of the day talking and laughing, and you think it might be the best day of your life.
Little do you know, Wanda thinks so too.
part two: so american
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff fanfiction#wandamaximoff#wanda maximoff fluff#marvel mcu#mcu#wanda x you#wanda x y/n#wanda marvel#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader
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Puppy Love
Pairing: f!reader cocker spaniel hybrid x Ateez big!dog hybrids
Genre: smut 18+, fluff
Summary: how would the members act around you when you’re in heat? Some of them can handle it better than others but some have it a bit tougher..
Notes: breeding, breeding kink, pregnancy, bigdick!yungi, knotting, unprotected sex (don’t), degrading, praising, manhandling, marking, heat, much testosterone, aggression, muzzling, fighting, oral, anal sex, cuddling, kissing, bulge kink, scenting, humping, lots of creampies, teasing, bondage. May have forgot something!
a/n: this has been in the making for awhile and I’m finally done and before anyone comes at me.. I know I didn’t make Yunho a golden retriever, cause in this case I felt like a golden isn’t that big, I feel like a Pyrenees dog suits him better. They’re bigger and looks almost like a golden. Thank you!
Words: ??
Akita!hybrid Hongjoong
Hongjoong is a dominant akita hybrid.
He will stand between you and danger, growling and baring his teeth.
He likes to protect you and keep you close, always by his side.
Hongjoong is a bit rough in the bedroom.
He likes to be a bit aggressive and manhandle you.
He is not afraid to mark you, leaving little bruises and hickeys.
He likes when you are on your hands and knees, your ass in the air and your tail raised.
He likes to grab your hips and pound into your pussy, his cock stretching you.
Hongjoong loves taking control and being dominant.
He will pull you onto his cock and have you sit there, your tight heat enveloping him.
Hongjoong loves it when you ride him.
He likes seeing the faces and noises you make and how your tits bounce as you fuck yourself on his dick.
He loves hearing you beg and moan his name, your pretty mouth open and spit drooling down your chin.
Hongjoong also is into breeding kink.
He loves the idea of filling you up with his cum and knocking you up.
His eyes will be glued to your stomach and he will have a hand on it, rubbing the small bump.
Hongjoong would dote on you and take care of you throughout the pregnancy and after the pups are born.
The akita hybrid would be extremely protective and will growl at anyone who gets near you and his pups.
Bauceron!hybrid Seonghwa
Seonghwa is a pervy and dominant bauceron hybrid who loves to fuck..
He is a dom.
Seonghwa is addicted to how good your pussy feels around him, so much so that he could stay inside you for hours at a time.
He wouldn't even care if his cum was already gushing out of your hole, he wanted to keep you on his cock and locked to him, he wanted to pump your little tummy full of his puppies.
The sight of your body, so small and delicate compared to his own, it made him wanna fuck you till you broke.
Seonghwa also loves to fuck you in the living room where anyone could walk in and see you getting destroyed by him, the thought of other people watching made him cum so hard.
But he don’t want anyone else to touch you, only him, he was the only one allowed to fuck you and make you his.
He loves to mark you up, his big teeth would sink into the junction between your neck and shoulder while his knot would be lodged deep inside of you, he liked the taste of blood and seeing the dark bruise blossom over the bite mark.
It makes his alpha instincts purr happily, knowing that the others would be able to smell him on you and they wouldn't even dare try and touch you.
Seonghwa is just obsessed with breeding you and seeing the proof of his cum dripping out of you, he couldn’t get enough.
All perverse actions aside, when he finally got to be a father he would be the softest and happiest ever, he would protect you and the puppies at all costs and do everything to keep you safe.
Pyrenees!hybrid Yunho
Yunho is an excited pyrenees hybrid.
He is constantly bouncing around and wants to do something.
He likes to play games with you and chase each other around the house, his fluffy ears twitching and his tail wagging.
Yunho is a big dom.
He will take charge and flip you over onto your hands and knees and pound into your pussy.
His cock is slightly bigger than a human's and he will make you beg and cry out.
Yunho is a breed and breeding kink kind of hybrid.
He will always have his hands on your hips, squeezing the skin, and his eyes glued to your ass and pussy.
He has no problem with breeding you.
When you are in heat, he is more than happy to mount you and breed you, his cock pushing inside and his knot growing.
He loves to press down onto the huge bulge under your skin, feeling how deep inside he is, all the way up in your cervix.
He doesn’t care who is around when his dick is buried inside of you. As long as he gets to fuck you full.
Aftercare is a must for Yunho, he loves being rough with you but he always feels that he needs to show you the double amount of love and affection afterwards instead.
He’ll cuddle you in his arms, his warm chest calming you down after your highs.
Will be very protective around you and your puppies, but won’t be as aggressive towards other males as the other hybrids.
Dobermann!hybrid Yeosang
Yeosang is a very laid back but kinda rough dobermann hybrid.
He’s another hybrid that’s very protective over you and would do anything to keep you out of trouble.
He’s guarding you day and night.
In bed he’s very rough but also gentle time to time, there’s very much biting and marking during sex, he loves to sink his long whites into your skin and hear you whimper.
He’s more a dom than a sub.
He would never call you any degrading words ever, he would praise you to the fullest.
He loves to fuck you missionary when he can see your pretty eyes look up at him when he puts his cum into you.
He loves when you tug at his pointy ears as he goes rougher and harder, it gives him more confidence.
People would say he wouldn’t hurt a fly but this hybrid can switch from cute to scary very quick.
Tho he has a soft side he can get aggressive when his hormones are at its highest, he often ends up in a fight with some of the other hybrids when they’re in heat and is forced to wear a muzzle until he’s calmed down.
Nothing can come in the way of you two, he’s overly protective of you especially when you’re pregnant with his litter.
His little tail is wagging when he see how safe you feel in his presence.
Husky!hybrid San
San is an soft and laid back husky hybrid.
He also loves to play with you and chase you around, nipping at your curly ears and tail.
Once he has you pinned under him, he will rub himself all over you, scenting you with his natural husky smell.
He loves to eat your pussy, his long tongue lapping and licking your folds.
He has no shame, his big ice blue eyes staring up at you as his tongue swirls around your clit.
You love his perfectly dorito shaped ears and how his tail wags when he pleases you.
You don’t mind giving him attention and loving on him, letting him hump your leg and grind his cock into you.
He has no problem cumming early and then wanting to go again and again.
He is a very happy boy and has no shame. He doesn't care what others think and has no boundaries.
San is a switch.
He loves when you ride his cock, bouncing on his dick and grinding down on him.
He likes the sight of your tits bouncing and his cock disappearing inside of your pussy.
San is a bit possessive and a bit clingy. He will constantly be attached to you and has no problem scenting you, especially around other male hybrids.
No one is to touch his bitch!
He will give them a warning growl and glare, maybe even give them the “wolf smile”.
A real gentleman through your pregnancy, he’ll literally be on his knees for you and be very gentle with you.
Loves to caress your swollen belly, maybe even talk to it.
San will also give you little kisses and lick at your cheek and ears, nipping playfully and tugging.
He is the perfect daddy.
Great Dane!hybrid Mingi
Mingi is a big and intimidating looking but actually is a softy and himbo great dane hybrid.
His sex drive is off the charts tho and when he met you, a small cocker spaniel hybrid his hormones went through the roof.
He’d be kinda rough with you in bed and let’s not talk about his big cock pounding into your small cunt from behind..
He uses his power and big body as an advantage to manhandle you and hold you in place.
Mingi is an Alpha and a proud one. He loves when you get needy and clingy and even more needy during your heat, soaking wet and begging for his knot and cum.
He loves seeing your belly swell and your body change to accommodate his pups.
Mingi also loves to breed your ass, his long thick cock stuffing your hole full of his cum as you moan and whine under him.
He likes to be a little degrading, calling you names like slut and whore while he fucks you, making sure you know your place and that you are only there for him and his pleasure.
He likes to leave bruises on you, marking his territory, making sure everyone knows you belong to him. Sometimes tho he gets a little to testosterony and actually hurts you, a week or two with a muzzle usually helps him calm down.
When you’re pregnant with his pups, he is the most protective out of the hybrids. Usually shouts at strangers to “fuck off” with his deep strong voice when they’re nearing you.
Mingi has his nose pressed into your stomach every night, purring and cooing to his pups inside of you.
He takes care of you throughout the pregnancy and then he spoils you even more once the pups are born.
Mingi is all about you and the pups and you couldn't ask for anything better, and if someone as much as come near you or the puppies, the guard dog instincts kick in.
Dalmatian!hybrid Wooyoung
Wooyoung is a dalmatian hybrid and he is the biggest flirt.
He will constantly flirt with you and touch you, his hands running over your body.
Wooyoung will be the one to initiate sex.
He will always have a hand on your thigh or waist and will be the first to kiss you.
He is a switch.
He likes to take and be in charge but will also enjoy it when you take control and use him for your pleasure.
He likes being a good boy.
Wooyoung would enjoy being tied up and restrained, forced to just lay there and take your cunt.
He likes it when you sit on his face and use him.
You are never bored with Wooyoung around.
He is a very active person and enjoys having fun.
He is playful and loves to cuddle. Wooyoung would enjoy being tied up and restrained, forced to just lay there and take your cunt.
He would make you chase him around and wrestle, tackling you and pressing his nose into your neck and shoulder, breathing in your scent.
Wooyoung loves being taken care of, but he loves taking care of you as much.
He likes to act spoiled and have his head in your lap as you play with his hair as he whisper sweet nothings to you.
He’s one of the calmer hybrids when it comes to you being pregnant, as long as strangers don’t come too close to you, then he may have to step up but as long as they keep their distance it’s not a problem.
He’ll love to play with the pups and help as much as he can, he shows them the do’s and don’ts and how to be a good boy/girl just like their father.
You couldn't ask for anything else from this boy.
Leonberger!hybrid Jongho
Jongho is a big soft yet serious leonberger hybrid.
He loves spending time with you, just doing lazy stuff.
He has no shame when it comes to sex.
He is constantly teasing you and gives you stares.
Jongho is a huge dom.
He likes to take charge and use you.
He likes to tie you up and tease you.
Jongho also loves to praise you for being a good little girl.
Jongho loves eating pussy.
He can do it for hours.
He has a lot of energy and can last forever.
He loves the taste of your juices and can spend the entire night eating you out, his tongue deep inside of you.
He enjoys having you sit on his face and grind your pussy against him.
But to be honest he rather fuck you real good instead, giving you his pups.
He won’t be too protective over you but one wrong move and it’s over, doesn’t like going into conflicts but if he has to he will.
Jongho is an extremely caring hybrid and will always be there to cuddle and comfort you and the puppies, showering you in love and kisses.
He is an absolute giant sweetheart.
#ateez#ateez imagines#ateez fanfic#ateez scenarios#ateez smut#kpop smut#hongjoong#hongjoong smut#seonghwa smut#seonghwa#yunho smut#yunho#yeosang#yeosang smut#san smut#choi san#mingi#mingi smut#wooyoung#wooyoung smut#jongho smut#jongho#ateez hybrid
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Just come home
꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎
Pairing: Han X gn reader
Summary: Being overweight, you're constantly fighting an internal battle and this time, your boyfriend confronts you.
Genre: Comfort/hurt
Word Count: 2.1K
Eating disorder resources
Trigger warning: Mentions of weight, implied eating disorder, body insecurities, low self-esteem, brief mention of diets, not eating, and meanspo
A/N: I feel like this isn't enough requestee. I literally need to grab your face and physically comfort you. I need to tell you that things will be okay and just because you look a certain way, it doesn't mean people secretly dislike you. The people that really love you will be there no matter what.
Comparison will destroy you in this life if you let it. Love will find you and despite whatever you think, you still deserve to eat good food. That goes for all of you, you are worthy of food, no matter what you look like. Please take care of yourselves <3
_ _ _
In this life, a body is everything. Every shape, every size, and every way the clothes sit. Do they hang or are they tight? Should a body have curves or be thin enough to see the rib cage? To have a body is beautiful, but too many people tend to forget that.
The comments and whispers from people. The poor self-perception that you drown in when you see the mirror. The way the fat in your body lays in the wrong spots. The stomach that juts out and the flab on the end of your arms that hangs. There is always something and lately, it just felt like you were a victim of your own body.
Everyone deserves to feel comfortable in their body, but when was the last time that you truly felt valid when you looked in the mirror? When was the last time that you realized the shirt you were wearing was cute? When was the last time you liked the way your face looked when you smiled? The roundness was something to be embraced instead of hated.
Has there ever been a swell of gentleness within you? Had you ever wrapped yourself in a hug and reminded yourself that you were worthy of things, even when your brain pushed those thoughts away because of the way you looked? If it were anyone else, you’d remind them that they were loved.
It didn’t matter if there was extra fat upon their hip bones or if their stomach pushed out over their waistline. Nobody deserves to be hated for how they look. Change can always occur and while change happens, people don’t have to hate themselves. They can embrace their flaws and yet, when you looked in the mirror, your flaws were all you could see.
The way the shirt curled around your stomach. The way your chest looked wrong. Every time you shifted an arm, so much fat shifted with it. Your neck was too big and your face was too round. Your collarbone was invisible and when was the last time you saw it?
Taking photographs and going out, it seemed impossible like this. Insecurities clouded your head and they were all you could think about. You were a painting gone wrong. Your body was flawed and nobody could save you from your internal combustion.
The numbers on the scale were all you thought about and you were toying with a deadly game. What was the quickest way to lose weight? The easiest? How long could you go without eating? How fast could the scale drop the numbers? You just wanted to shrink.
Clothes shopping was a nightmare. When you went out and finally found your size, you expected it to fit, but the dressing rooms were always full of tears. Shirts didn’t cover the bottom of your stomach. The fabric was too tight around the top of your arms.
Pants only went up so far and wouldn’t tug up over your thighs. Maybe you could get them on and just when you thought you had the perfect pair, the button wouldn’t button. The zipper wouldn’t go up any higher and you were left defeated.
Your body was a tomb and you were a soul waiting on the next one. Maybe the next body would be smaller. Maybe you’d be able to see your collarbone and your wrists would be dainty. You would be able to wear the necklace without the necklace extender.
In the next life, if you were lucky, your insecurities wouldn’t force you into long sleeves in the uncomfortable heat. You wouldn’t have to hide in baggy pants and oversized t-shirts. Your shape would be something to show off and not something that felt like you had to hide.
They say embrace insecurities, but at this weight, it was impossible. Shame filled your body and your bones. The whispers of doctors warning about higher risks of diseases laced your ears at night. The embarrassment at the doctor’s office when they weighed you steered you away from routine checkups.
Lately, you couldn’t be bothered to go outside. You pulled away from your friends and the things you tried to enjoy, you couldn’t do it anymore. You were silent about your struggles, but you were crumbling inside. Everything was being torn apart and there was nothing that you could do.
And lately, your boyfriend was starting to notice it. The first time he noticed you pulling away from a kiss, he thought he did something wrong. A frown sat on Han’s face and he watched you disappear with confusion in his eyes.
Did he say something wrong? Were you realizing he was flawed? Did he do something that made you feel like you weren’t good enough?
And then you pulled away from him when the two of you were in bed spooning. You rolled away, mumbling that it was too hot and you didn’t want to cuddle, but the two of you always cuddled. Hurt filled his heart and he mumbled an agreement as he turned his back to you, still wondering what he did wrong.
The third time, you pulled away from him, the two of you were outside. You were holding hands and heading to a nearby cafe. Occasionally, the two of you would indulge in a sweet treat and an evening walk. That night turned into one of those nights, but you let go of his hand.
Instead of walking beside him on the sidewalk, you let go of his hand and moved behind him. He reached back for your hand, but you pulled away and mumbled something about how the sidewalk felt too big for the both of you, but he didn’t understand. The two of you always walked side-by-side on the sidewalk, so what was wrong?
And that’s when he began pulling away from you. He didn’t have the courage to try to ask you what was wrong. He knew it deep down, you probably found someone better. Maybe he was too much and you couldn’t take it anymore.
Every day that passed, it seemed like the two of you were playing some sort of game. Time was ticking and he was waiting for you to pull the plug. He waited for the call at work and he checked for a break up text, but it never came.
“Hyung, are you sure they’re not struggling with something?”
It was Felix that caused him to snap out of his daze at work. He was feeling down and Felix noticed it first. When Han began describing your behavior, Felix began to worry, not about Han, but about you. Han’s behavior had been perfectly normal, but yours was so unlike you.
Felix’s words haunted his head all day and when he got home, he couldn’t stand it. You were scrolling through your phone when he got home. Desperation hit its peak with you and it took your mentality to the darkest corners of the internet.
Pinterest boards with skinny bodies and dainty fingers. Faceless photos of people that you wanted to look like. All the outfits you wanted to recreate when you finally reached your goal weight. The hairstyles you’d try and all the trips and adventures you’d indulge in once you were finally camera ready.
Hundreds and hundreds of meanspo quotes. Every time you thought about cheating on your diet, they appeared in your brain. You were training yourself to deny food, even when your body needed it to survive; a soldier turning the gun on themselves in the front line of a war.
“We need to talk.”
Han’s words sent fear vibrating through your body. As you turned off your phone and looked up, your heart sank. He’d finally seen you like you saw yourself, you just knew it. Tonight would be the night he’d pack up his items and leave.
You sat on the plush couch paralyzed by that fear. You couldn’t speak, so you were forced to listen as he spoke. You held your breath and waited and waited and waited, but it never came.
“Um, listen.” Han began to pace upon the beige carpet, unable to meet your eyes. “I just want to ask if you’re okay. I-I’m starting to think that maybe I did something wrong and maybe I hurt your feelings somehow.”
“And if I did, I’m really sorry. It feels like you’re pulling away from me and I-I don’t like that. I love you,” he nervously glanced up and then looked back down. “I love you a lot and if there’s something I can do to fix that, I-”
“What?” Your voice came out hoarse and your eyes clouded with tears.
“I don’t know. You just… you just seem like you don’t love me anymore. Over these past two weeks, you seem different and I need to know if it’s me.” He walked over towards you and slumped to his knees. His hands found yours and he gently squeezed them.
“If it’s me, please tell me what I did. I don’t like the way you’re acting lately. I don’t want to see you so detached and so quiet. I miss you so much.”
You couldn’t see him as tears fell from your cheeks. You sucked in a deep breath and wiped away your tears. “It’s not you. It’s not that I don’t love you, I swear.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t love me.”
“What?”
“Look at me, Han. Truly and seriously look at me! I look like a whale!” A lump formed in your throat, but you kept going. “How are you not embarrassed to be around me? To be photographed with me? To be seen around me? I’m almost double your size and-”
His head shook frantically and he squeezed your hands again. “Baby, no. Don’t say that about yourself. Is that how you see yourself? Sweetheart, no.”
“Shut up!” You snapped angrily. You ripped your hands away and stood up. He jerked backwards and stared at you with wide eyes.
“Look at me! How can you even love me when I look like this? You should be ashamed of me! I don’t look right! Look at this body!”
It killed him. Something inside of him broke. Through the ways of the twisted world and through your self-hatred, you couldn’t see how he viewed you. You couldn’t see how much he loved you and it cut his heart straight in two.
He scrambled to his feet and reached out. Gently, he cupped your cheeks in his hands. “I never want to hear yourself talk about that way ever again. Not a peep. You are one of the most beautiful people that I have ever laid my eyes upon and I will do whatever it takes to make you understand that.”
“If I didn’t love you, if I didn’t like the way you looked, I’d never be with you.” Your face scrunched up as he went on. “But I’ll always love you. If you choose to lose weight or even if you gain more, I will continue to love you.”
“We’re in a relationship and your struggles are also my struggles. How many times have you told me that?” His eyes searched yours desperately. He leaned forward and pressed the warmth of his forehead against yours.
“So why-” His voice cracked. “If you’re struggling with this so much, why didn’t you bring it up? Why did you suffer in silence for so long?”
“Because I’m so afraid that if you really see me for how I look, you’ll leave,” you finally whispered.
“Never. I see you every day. I try to hold you every day, but I really haven’t been able to do that for the past two weeks. Do you want the truth? The truth is that I miss you. I miss you so much.”
“I miss holding your hand and being near you. I miss grabbing your cheeks and gently squishing them as I kiss you. I miss falling asleep to the scent of your shampoo and I miss holding you.”
“I’m sorry.”
He pulled away, shook his head, and gently wiped away your tears. “Don’t be sorry, just please let me love you. Let me hold you and if you want to cry about this in my arms, go ahead. If you need to scream, do it. Just please, stop shutting me out. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.
“You’ll always deserve me and so much more. I’ll always want you. I’ll always want your body. Do you know what you are for me? You might be a person, but to me, you’re not just that. Baby, you’re my home.”
Entirely defeated from the emotional weight of the conversation, you didn’t fight as he tugged you to the couch. He sat down and pulled you on top of him. His arms wrapped around your body and you buried your face into the side of his neck.
Back where you belonged, he internally reminded himself to text Felix and thank him later.
| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |
Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45
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#stray kids#stray kids fanfic#stray kids drabbles#skz fanfic#han jisung#han x reader#han jisung stray kids#han comfort#han jisung x reader#han jisung x you#han jisung x y/n#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz#skz comfort
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Love Isn't Enough
Pairing: Dark!Jax Teller x Female Reader
Summary: You love Jax, but not enough to stay.
Word Count: Almost 1.5k
Warnings: Angst, implied dubcon/noncon, attempted breakup, bittersweet ending, Jax Teller (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: More Beach Fun Nonsense! Hope you lovelies enjoy. @writercole requested Jax Teller and a visit Under the Boardwalk (dark) with prompt #38 in bold. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You zipped up your bag after you put the last of your clothes inside. You expected a weight in your chest as you looked around the bedroom, but you weren’t upset at all. The place looked lived in, but it wasn’t a home. Charming was no longer your home. You could practically see the smirk on Jax’s face as he said “I told you so” since he suggested for you to leave and settle down somewhere else a long time ago. You didn’t listen then, but you were taking his advice now.
It was time to move on.
“I’m all about that fairy tale, baby.”
While you felt nothing when you packed your bag, your heart ached with each step you took. Jax Teller loved you and you didn’t want to leave him behind, especially when you still loved him, too. Just because the love was there didn’t mean you had support or respect. Not the way the club did. They would have a part of Jax that you would never quite reach and they couldn’t expect you to just fall in line or keep your mouth shut when your man did something dangerous or worse.
“You wanna be an old lady? Act like it. Do what you're told!”
There was something wet on your cheeks when you went to grab your keys. You sniffled as you wiped them with the back of your hand. When did you start crying? How many tears had you shed over the man who promised not to break your heart? It was tiring putting yourself back together and no amount of amazing sex or empty words could fully seal the cracks.
If your relationship taught you anything it was that love wasn’t always enough.
You didn’t regret it though. Life was too short for regrets. You got to experience love and many couldn’t say the same. You weren’t sure if you’d ever meet someone who sparked as much passion within you as Jax had, but you hoped he could defeat his demons without you tethered to him. Both of you could forge your paths and maybe they’d one day merge again.
“I love you, baby.”
“I’m sorry, Jax,” you whispered into the darkness of the living room.
“What are you sorry for?”
The keys fell from your hand as you spun toward the couch, your heart close to beating free from your chest. The flame from Jax’s lighter illuminated his face from where he sat and for a moment he looked like a demon, tortured and beautiful. He flipped on the lamp beside him and took a long drag from his cigarette, his stormy eyes drifting to the suitcase before they went back to you. His normally slicked back hair appeared disheveled as he blew out of a puff of smoke, like he couldn’t stop running his fingers through it.
He still took your breath away whenever you laid your eyes on him.
As much as you wanted to go to him and pull on those strands as you rode him, you wouldn’t. Sex wasn’t going to steer you from your decision. Besides, he used it as a weapon and you didn’t have the strength to clean up your wounds when you walked away.
“I didn’t hear you come home,” you answered.
He tilted his head and took another drag. “You’re sorry that you didn’t hear me come home?”
You swallowed as his gaze went back to your bag. “No, I’m sorry because I’m heading out,” you said, your stomach sinking as the words hung in the air.
Jax continued to smoke and you didn’t dare move as he took his time, the familiar scent of the smoke doing nothing to ease your nerves. You almost wished he yelled or destroyed something instead of stewing in silence. It put you on edge.
“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He finally asked, his voice so quiet you almost missed the question.
“I don’t know yet,” you said, tears springing to your eyes as he put the cigarette in the ashtray and got to his feet. “I just can't stay here.”
“So, you’re not just heading out. You’re going away. You’re leaving me,” he stated, clenching his fists as you moved back. He didn’t sound surprised. Just hurt and angry. Hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do.
“You told me to leave a long time ago. I should’ve left then, but I loved you and I thought that was enough for us,” you explained, a tear sliding down your cheek. You couldn’t back down though. “I still love you and I probably always will, but you’re married to the club. That’s your true love and I’m tired of fighting a losing battle.”
The stricken look he gave you almost made you apologize, but it was too late to turn back. “I’m the President and the club is family, but they aren’t you.”
“Jax-”
“Come here. Now,” he ordered, but there was a familiar gentleness in his gaze that he only showed with those he cared for. It was almost enough to make you cave. “Just sit and talk to me. We can figure this out.”
You slowly shook your head. “There isn't anything to figure out.”
“So, that’s it then? You're leaving?” He asked, raking a hand through his hair. “How many times do I have to prove to you that I love you? But no, it’s never good enough for you, is it? Love isn’t enough?” He scoffed when you shook your head again. “That’s bullshit. I need you and you need me, so don’t just-”
“That’s just it, Jax! I don’t need you!” You snapped. Both of your eyes went wide and you weren’t sure which one of you was more stunned by the statement. “When I did need you, you weren’t there. The club always has and always will come first. My eyes are finally open to that.”
“Baby…” he breathed out, his shoulders falling when you held up a hand.
“I love you. I do,” you promised. God, you loved him so much it fucking hurt. The pain had to end at some point. “But I don’t need you or this life. Not anymore. I’m done.”
You needed to say the words, so why did they feel hollow?
Jax snapped himself out of whatever shock he was in before he stomped toward you. With a gasp, you backed yourself against the wall. He never raised a hand toward you, but you had seen that fire in his eyes before. Anyone in his path ended up destroyed by that fury. Would he leave you on the ground in a pile of ash?
“You aren’t leaving me. We aren’t done,” He grabbed your chin, his grip tender when he could’ve crushed you. He pointed toward the bedroom, but kept his eyes on you so you knew how serious he was. “So unpack that bag and get it in our fucking bed.”
You searched his gaze, trying to find a trace of the man you loved instead of the stranger in front of you. “You can’t make me stay.”
He crushed his lips against yours, drawing a whimper from you. This wasn’t the kind of passion he typically showed you. This was a form of control. Like the club, he wanted you to bend to his will. Make you submit. Could you do that?
Was it safer or cowardly to give in?
It didn’t hurt so much when you opened your mouth to him and let him take over. The dull ache between your thighs would fade quicker than the cut to your heart. A betrayal of a moan escaped as his tongue dueled with yours. It didn’t take him long at all to win that battle. Jax would always win.
Was it worth fighting even if you lost? Yes. At least that way you could say even if you didn't win that you tried.
You couldn’t take a breath even when his mouth left yours. His lips left a blazing trail toward your ear, but it left you cold instead of warm. “Yes, I fucking can,” he snarled, your legs shaking as he pulled you away from the wall. “Tell me the club means more to me when I’m inside you. See if you can leave me when I’m fucking you into our mattress and showing you how much I love you.”
“Jax, please,” you begged, trying to pull free from his hold as he dragged you to the bedroom. He wouldn’t force you to sleep with him, would he?
“Beg all you want, baby. I won’t stop ‘til you know your place is here with me.”
Was this why Jax told you to leave a long time ago? To save you from the man he had become? It didn’t matter. It was too late to escape.
And maybe, in his own twisted way, he’d prove that love would be enough this time around.
I hope I did this justice! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
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