#do you like one of them enough to destroy your stomach?

[townofcadence]

bloodlustiing:

"Ohh there you go, isn't that sweet? Just like old times. Though I admit, it was more fun when you had all the room in the world to scream until you lost your voice, and nobody could hear you. Such a shame you went and destroyed my home, isn't it?" He squeezes down on a handful of intestines as he says the word home. Enough to cause pain, but not enough to rupture. It was a very delicate balance. "But don't worry, you will be rebuilding it in due time." His hand relinquishes its grip on Artair's intestines, but don't leave his body cavity. No, instead it continues and travels upwards inside, claws scraping across organs and tissue alike. Almost as if he's just playing with his insides, causing as much pain as he thinks he can get away with. At one point he even leans to reach farther up and in, careful to nudge things out of his way very tenderly so he can nudge at Artair's heart a few times-- just to make it spasm a little bit. But he doesn't linger there for long. In fact he's fairly quick to return to Artair's intestines and begin to pull them loose and even out of his body. Intestines were quite the fascinating things after all, capable of doing all this with sometimes only the barest of trauma. But Ares is intending a different sort of trauma with them. He takes the handfuls of guts and places them on Artair's chest, so that he may take hold of them soon. "Hm. It's really not as fun when you can't do much, is it? Tell you what…" His eyes flash, and he raises his finger to lick some of the blood off of its tip. He's released his holds on his toy. "Run. Try to get away."

"Hhhh-hhh-hhhhh....." Artair can't answer, not that he would if he could. But he does make a strangled noise as he feels hands inside, scraping and squeezing and doing all these things that hands shouldn't do inside a body, that his head can hardly fathom being done. He is still crying and he chokes, again and again as Ares hollows him out with his hands like he is a glorified pumpkin he's gutting.

There is a threat in what he says, but he hardly pays attention, except to the spike of pain that punctuates his words with the authority Ares desires. The sound he lets out is soft, but the whole of his body shows how much he feels it, as he all but splits in two by the spine with each tug, pull, squeeze, and scrape. He chokes when Ares' fingers press against his thundering heart, gasping and on the mismatched rhythm he forces.

He doesn't fully comprehend the situation, when his guts are freed and laid over him in handfuls. He certainly doesn't know how to respond when they are placed in loops that go in and out of him on his heaving chest. Ares says something, and his body goes entirely limp. His hand moves of its own volition. He can't focus.

"Wh---- -what...-?" He squeezes out the word, and it's louder than a whisper, by the barest degree. His eyes on Ares are wide.

That tells him all he needs to know. He grabs what Ares has spooled out of him and shakily pushes it back in through the horrific gash, rushing because Ares has never had much patience when he wants something. He rolls, and his single arm braces the ground before he tries to stand.

His legs bend wrong, they don't abide his desperation and he collapses back to the dirt in agony. His breath leaves him in a gust and pain burns in serrations at his knees. With a groan, Artair curls, hand splayed over the open wound in his stomach. All of him is pain right now. That's all that exists, each erratic pulse of his heart pulling it through all his veins and spilling it in his blood and tears.

But that's what he was made for.

And then his hand moves forward, taking a clump of damp grass. Rain pelts him and Ares and slakes the ground with mud, but even through that, Artair tries to crawl. His hips takes his weight and so does his shoulder and his arm grabs the earth to pull himself further along. How he even moves, he doesn't know. But it is something. He has to survive. He doesn't know how it is possible, but he has to.

[gifti3]

[motomamita]

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.

[hvhvmoc]

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.

[sooniebby]

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

[inklore]

— 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.” 

[yanderefarm]

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."

[wandascosmic]

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

[gingersxng]

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.

[navybrat817]

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. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[minhosimthings]

Gilded Skin || 18+

Synopsis: A makeout session with your tattoo artist neighbour

Pairings: tattoo artist!Jay × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, Dom!Jay, sub!reader, fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, manhandling because idk I love Jay's hands, kinda pervert Jay, unprotected sex (not for you), swearing, use of "sweetheart"

A/N: for you my beloved @jaeyunluvr. Also possibly my last work for in a while since I'm getting kinda busy!

Tattoos.

Controversial (to some people) as they were, you loved them.

The mere thought of getting a tattoo scared you though, yes they were pretty, but number one, money and number two, needles. But soon enough, your friend, Heeseung, who was ironically a tattoo artist himself convinced you to pay a visit to the tattoo parlour.

Normally you would have refused, stating the usual excuse of 'I'm busy maybe next time?'. But lo and behold to Heeseung's ears you agreed this time.

"It's because of that hot guy there isn't it?" Heeseung snickered, his hands on the steering wheel as he drove you to the parlour.

'That hot guy' aka your new neighbour, aka the tattoo artist at the new tattoo parlour that had opened up down the street.

Even though it had been just a two minute walk's distance from you, Heeseung insisted on coming to the parlour with you. Although his actual motives were to see you absolutely melt infront of the man you had a cunt-destroying crush on, he kept on with the absolute lie that he was trying to be a supportive friend, and also obseve the artists at the parlor.

"He has a name you know." You rolled your eyes as Heeseung parked his car into the alleyway, "It's Jay or something."

"So we can no longer call him 'hot guy'?" Heeseung asked, seemingly amused by the way you were fiddling with your fingers, "Shame, I liked that nickname. What do you like about him anyway?"

What did you like about him. What answer could you have possibly given to that? Of course there were so many factors. The fact that he was your new neighbour but you still hadn't talked to him, the fact that he fed the street cats, the fact that he-

"His hands."

Heeseung's reaction was... appropriate to say the least. His choking on air made you roll your eyes, as you slapped his back to make him calm down. Then after a few moments of silence, he burst out laughing.

"His WHAT?" Heeseung held his stomach as raucous laughs escaped his lips, "Please don't tell me you're being serious right now." He doubled over again, almost hitting his head to the car's ceiling.

"Oh shut up, you're talking as if you're any better." You rolled your eyes, opening the car door, with Heeseung doing the same, "Remember last September when you-"

"Do not even start right now." Heeseung glared, slamming his car door shut, "Come on, don't want to keep the hands waiting do we?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out rather too quickly, you pushed on the neon pink decorated door, which opened with a tinkling sound. The smell of lavender hung around, an unfamiliar scent for a tattoo store, which was covered in rock posters from head to toe, along with a few blue beads here and there, the kind Heeseung liked to collect.

"Hey." You greeted the red haired girl behind the counter, "I have an appointment under the name Y/N."

The girl looked up and sent you a quick smile before looking down at her computer, her eyes whipping around before finding a spot she thought was satisfactory.

"Yep right here." She popped her lips together, "I'll see if anyone is free Ma'am, could you wait for a minute?"

You smiled at her as if to say yes and plopped down on the couch next to Heeseung, who had been analysing the store with a lot of vigour in his eyes.

"It's fancy." He whispered, eyeing the girl at the counter, "Let's just hope your man comes out and you can get to catcall him before he goes."

"I am not going to catcall him, im not you." You chuckled, getting distracted from the conversation when you saw a black haired figure from the corner of your eye.

"Is that-?" Heeseung didn't even have to finish his sentence. He knew, judging from the look in your eyes and the fact that your mouth fell slightly open, that this was the person he ever so passionately called "your man".

You were mesmerised.

No, mesmerised wasn't the right word.

You were starstruck.

Maybe your hormones were on a whole different level, maybe you had just been dick-deprived for a long time, or maybe it was the lavender fumes, but you truly thought you had seen a Greek God fill the vision of your corneas.

"Y/N. Y/N!"

You felt Heeseung's elbow jab you painfully in the side, which was effective in breaking you out of your stupor. You blinked a couple of times, to see the red haired woman and Jay looking at you in what seemed to be amusement.

The woman coughed to defuse the seeming tention, you swore you could feel Heeseung awkwardly smiling for your left.

Well they always say bad beginnings have good endings don't they?

"So," A steady hand carefully polished the silver of the miniscule needle, "Y/N was it?"

Though the air conditioning was turned onto a high, you could feel sweat drops form at your forehead, why were his hands polishing the needle so erotically?

"Y-Yeah. You're Jay right?" You managed to cough out, feeling yourself immediately melt into the chair leather chain again when his eyes fell on you. His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, seemingly darting around to catch it's prey, but never leaving one point of focus.

"Nervous?" Jay chuckled, "Don't be, unless you're chronically afraid of needles."

"I am." You laughed, leaning back a little more comfortably on the chair, "Probably shouldn't have gotten a tattoo then should I?"

"Perhaps not on your most sensitive area." Jay nodded, sitting in front of you, his legs spread wide open, did he realise how welcoming that was to you?, "Most people go for the arm, I'm surprised you went for your thigh."

"Heeseung told me it doesn't hurt much." You braced yourself in the chair at the sight of Jay's needle pressing into his tattoo machine, "He's a tattoo artist too."

"I should make a friend of him then." Jay chuckled, looking into your eyes, he could bore deepwells in them and you thought you'd forgive such a handsome man like him, "How did you meet him?"

"Are you-" you gave him a funny look, "Are you trying to make conversation with me?"

"It helps most of them." Jay shrugged and smiled at you, you noticed his dimple come off his cheek, the one you saw last week, whilst spying on him from your bedroom window.

"So, new neighbour who I've never talked to until now," Jay raised his eyes up to you, "How about some conversation to lessen the pain?"

You had always known since you were a child that you had the attention span of a butterfly, eyes always zooming from one place to the other, but you never knew all you needed was a handsome face and some pretty hands to get you to focus.

Jay's deep voice soothed into your nerves, effectively proving his theory of "more talk, less pain". You hadn't noticed much of the tattooing process, except for a few instances here and there when his knuckles brushed across the skin of your thigh, making you mold your orgasmic whimpers into 'painful' winces. You could physically hear Heeseung in your brain telling you about your pain kink.

"So any relationship goals?" Jay asked you, your eyes briefly meeting with his, as his fingers stopped to move across the cross section, "I know that's sorta personal, don't answer if you don't want to."

"No it's fine." You laughed, pretending as if you didn't maniacally want to answer the question, "I'm still single for now, and as for goals, I'm free for ramen tomorrow, and that's it."

"So how about ramen tomorrow then?" Jay smiled, looking up at you, his hands coming to a halt and resting softly on your thigh.

"Will we be eating or will we be talking like this?" You chuckled, your brain fog capturing you entirely as you had no idea what words were coming out of your mouth, "Because to be honest, I'd just be staring at either your lips or your hands if we do either of them."

The most painful part of getting a tattoo, according to the internet, was the beginning part, when you'd be so scared, because apparently fear paralyses you more than the actual tattoo process. But you now knew, the most painful part would probably be Jay's amused eyes staring at you, while your brain managed to catch up with what you just said.

"Oh- no! No I'm so sorry—i didn't mean-"

"It's fine sweetheart." Jay's soft voice stopped your panicking, he stifled a chuckle at your behaviour. Adorable, he thought.

"No I'm really sorry Jay, I shouldn't have said that." You apologised again, feeling the heat come upto your cheeks.

"Oh sweetheart." Jay chuckled, leaning in towards you, "Do you really think I had no idea of your pretty little face spying on me through your window?"

He knew?

"I must admit, you look cute in that flimsy tank top, which hides nothing by the way." His deep voice rang through your eardrums, "but don't worry, I won't press charges or anything on you for spying."

Your back pressed against the leather of the leaning chair, as Jay put his tattoo machine down. Taking off his gloves, his tongue swept across his lips in a swift motion, as his hands trapped you in a cage, laying on either side of you.

"May I?" Jay asked, not even waiting for permission, he already knew the next thing to come out of your mouth was a pathetic whimper.

Without a moment's waste, his soft lips landed on yours, hands rubbing to take off your shorts.

You soon became lost in his presence, lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. his tongue pushed past, kissing you like his life depended on it.

"Fuck sweetheart." Jay said, "You taste good."

You moaned quietly into his mouth, feeling his fingers trail down and start to rub your clit. Your hand came down to grab his cock, already half hard, and you could feel him growing with each stroke you gave him.

His fingers slipped past your clit, toying with your opening and eventually plunging in as deep as he could with the angle he was at. Your head fell back, resting on the leather of the chair as your pussy fluttered around his fingers.

“fuck, you're so tight.,” he managed to say through gritted teeth, chuckling as you let out a stifled whimper, "You like that baby? You like my fingers hm?"

He began to set a fast pace, one of his hands gripping your hip to keep you in place for him and the other hand next to your head. you could see the veins in his arms as it flexed beside you, no doubt he was trying to hold back.

Small whimpers came out of your mouth with each thrust, but then you heard it. Footsteps outside the room, you had forgotten you were in a public place in the heat of the moment. The footsteps died down after a few seconds.

“Just gonna have to keep those pretty sounds in. Wouldn’t want them to hear you,” You clenched down at that.

He chuckled, a devilish, almost cruel sounding chuckle like he had something in mind.

“oh you like that, huh? Like the idea of someone walking in on us fucking in here, watching us. Watching you come apart on my fingers. You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby? Dirty fucking slut.”

At that moment, he made it his mission to make you cum, hard. keeping one hand clamped around your mouth to stifle your moans, your eyes practically rolled back into your head when his fingers touched a particularly sensitive position, the new position making his fingers fuck impossibly deeper into you.

As you were nearing release Jay pulled away standing up, quickly unbuckling his pants to unveil his already hard twitching cock eager to pound into you.

“gonna let me fuck you princess? gonna be a good girl for me?” he says, stroking his dick as he swipes his thumb over his slit wiping away his precum yet it still spews out, covering thumbs in the substance

He held the base of his cock, dragging the tip in between your wet folds, before slowly pushing himself into you, causing a groan to escape from the back of his throat.

His hands grabbing onto your hips, he began to slowly move his hips watching your pussy swallow his cock.

“You feel so fucking good” he said as he began to pick up the pace. Your hand moved up to your mouth blocking out the moans leaving your lips, doing your very best to stay quiet enough so others wouldn’t hear your lewd sounds.

Jay's thrusts became rough, his hand releasing your hip entangling his fingers through your hair tugging on it as he pounded into you. “You’re such a good girl, taking me so well”. 

“fuck…you’re so tight” he says, pulling your legs up to sit on his shoulders as he thrusts inside you at a steady motion, fucking you deliciously in missionary. His eyes stare at your tits that are bouncing with each motion he pulls you in.

“fuck baby..i’m gonna cum…gonna cum inside” he says as he gets that dumb look on his face, he squeezes your breast with white knuckles as something to hold on to while his eyes roll back in his head, a beam of his sweat falling on your chest.

your orgasm comes as his does, his dick twitching inside of your cunt making it almost impossible to keep going.

“m’gonna cum too…” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing him further into you to feel his cum covering your walls. the warm liquid coming fast inside you.

as Jay pulls out, he’s met with his mess, the pool of his cum leaking out of your cunt.

His fingers make their way down and pump inside of you, the squelching noise of your wet pussy filling the room. His fingers make their way out of your cunt and up to your mouth, pushing in his cum covered fingers inside your mouth.

“Suck sweetheart.” he demands, and so you do. You suck the mixture of cum off of his fingers while maintaining eye contact, his thumb cradling your chin for support. You could get intoxicated on those eyes for centuries.

Jay's thumb swept out of your mouth swiftly, as his lips landed on yours again, pressing you into a sweet and chaste kiss, breathing heavily as he pulled away and supported your tired structure with his strong arms. You could see the veins flex on his hands.

"So how about that ramen date tomorrow hm?" Jay asked, his dimple once again appearing on his cheek, "that is, if you can handle staring at my hands while I eat."

"A ramen date, if I can walk by tomorrow." You chuckled, "So, I guess this messy hair is because I was struggling too much out of pain while getting the tattoo? Or should I tell Heeseung something else?"

"Tell him how good of an artist I am." Jay chuckled, "And that his friend won't have to spy through bedroom windows anymore."

"Was I really that noticeable?" You rolled your eyes playfully, as Jay handed you your shorts.

"Sweetheart you have no idea."

[chris-prank]

Ya i need to punish Dr. Seraph for ruining my plans/ripping my hero suit. Clothes are very expensive these days :(

So we tear his off and pound into him :3 !! ^^ ❤️❤️💯💯😍😍🔥🔥

Sub Yandere villain sidekick x Top GN hero reader

CW: NSFW, doggy style, top reader and slight teasing

So I got carried away and ended up writing around 1K words of smut…

Just like last time the reader is GN, it’s vague enough so you can choose if the reader has a dick or a strap-on.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

“Do you know how much it costs to make a superhero suit? And don’t even get me started on the anonymous fees!”

Real frustration could be heard in your voice as the unpleasant memories of dealing with your supplier came to mind. But you swiftly chased them away to focus back on the man tied up under you.

“I’m s-sorry, if I k-knew I would ha—”

You placed your finger on his lips, shutting him up immediately.

“I don’t want shallow excuses or explanations, I want you to repay me properly.”

Dr. Seraph looked up at you with confusion. He knew what your intentions were, you had made them abundantly clear, yet he couldn’t connect the dots. How is him being tied up with bondage tape directly related to destroying your suits? Furthermore, he was wondering why you even had bondage tape in the first place! The mad scientist wasn’t complaining of course, but it’s not like it was efficient to apprehend criminals in any way, except…

You must have brought it with you just for this specific outcome! That’s it! You had planned on taking him for yourself! Oh, how quickly he convinced himself this was the truth and how flattered he was about it. And no matter how insane this conclusion was, he was indeed right.

He waited for you to take your finger off him to ask for clarification, but before he could open his mouth you effortlessly flipped him on his stomach, making the man yelp. You weren’t finished as you grabbed his hips, pressing his backside against your pelvis. That was enough to make this genius's brain go blank. He was already turned on by the predicament he had found himself in, but now a primitive desire had taken over any sense of logic he still possessed.

“Since you seem to love ruining my superhero suits, I think it's time for me to do the same with your uniform. That's the only punishment I’ll accept.” You caress his waist back and forth before adding, “I’m sure you’re fine with that, right?”

“Mm..y-yes.” He responded with a feeble voice.

You smiled to yourself, happy that he was so responsive. You took a handful of the fabric in your fist and pulled. His pants ripped apart like paper, making you feel like you were unwrapping a birthday gift. You tore until every inch of his private parts was exposed. The man gasped at this vulgar sight and buried his head back into the pillow.

You, on the contrary, admired your work. In this position, Vincent had the most perfect arched back and his ruined pants gave him a particular disheveled look. Soon enough, you had taken off your suit from the waist down, tossing it to the side without a care. A rush of excitement came to you when you felt Dr. Seraph pressing himself against your groin while letting out subtle whimpers.

You grope both of his ass cheeks as a response, before spreading them apart. With precise movements, you poured lubricant on top of it and prevented it from leaking all the way down by spreading it on his asshole. You stopped and instead rubbed your tip against his entrance to make it wet as well. After you were done, It was slightly glistening in the dim light of the room. By now, his noises had gotten louder, his legs trembling in anticipation.

“Are you ready Vincent?”

Hearing you say his real name made his cock and hole twitch.

“P-please, p-put it in.” He whined, impatience filling his voice.

He had already put aside the fact that this was supposed to be a punishment. He didn’t care if you destroyed his clothes, he had other ones, but there was only one you. Hell, he would let you tear down his entire wardrobe if it meant he could be fucked by you every night.

You grab his hips with one hand, making sure he would stay up right, and you positioned yourself with the other to stuff him full. Vincent threw his head back and cried out a lewd moan as your cock disappeared in his ass. You weren’t even down to the base that he was already gripping the sheets, nails digging through it. You also noticed it had gone in easy, a bit too easy even considering the lub.

“Someone has been preparing himself for me.” You teased, sinking deeper inside him.

Blood shot directly to the man’s face and to his cock, much to his embarrassment. He was already rock-hard, but the simple fact of implying that he has been stretching his insides for you, almost made him cum on the spot.

“Nggf…I-I didn’t…A-aahh! Mng—”

“Oh but you’ve been fucking yourself at the thought of me, haven’t you?” One of your hands grabbed onto his dick, giving it a few strokes while you added, “don’t worry I’m not mad.”

Vincent tried to hold in a sob by biting down his lips, as the mix of both different kinds of pleasure assaulted his nervous system. Though, nothing could prevent the tears from rolling down his eyes and into his mouth while he tried to answer you, emphasis on “tried”.

“Y—Mngh…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, as he felt your pelvis against his butt, meaning ou were completely inside him.

You waited until the mess of a man had visibly relaxed, before pulling back and thrusting inside again with more speed. The sounds of flesh smacking together and Vincent’s moan filled your ears like a melody. The way you bucked against him without mercy was contrasted with your thumb gently rubbing his hips in a praise like gesture.

There was one thing that was bothering you, as you glared at the upper half of his body. You had rolled up his coat a little when you were massaging his waist earlier, yet it wasn’t enough. You took the base of his uniform and ripped it in half all the way to his neck, the roll of your hips never faltering. Satisfied, you bent down and kissed his newly bare shoulders.

“That’s much better, don’t you think?” You took the chance to nibble there too, “And now your outfit is ruined, just like all my suits.”

“Nnhg Uh-uhh.” Whines and moans, mixing together as Vincent wished to speak.

You smile against his skin, satisfied with this little punishment.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I tried to match your freak, so I hope you enjoyed it 💅🏻

(Oh and I can tell you that Dr. Seraph will have a lot of explaining to do the next day when he arrives in a wheelchair at a meeting.)

[sanarsi]

Everything we did that summer

step-uncle!no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: You resisted getting close to Joel, afraid of what might happen then. Well, his affection for you destroyed everything you had worked for. Warnings: +18, MDNI, age gap (reader is in college, Joel is 56), STEP-UNCLE!Joel, unprotected PIV, fingering, pussy eating Wordcount: 3,6k An: Uncle Joel is my wet dream that I don't want to admit to. But I'm letting you feel the shame with me. Enjoy xx Music I worked with: Cry Baby - The Neighbourhood

Masterlist

"Stop being offended. We're only going for a few days. You can stand sitting on your ass by the ocean," your mother muttered. You rolled your eyes and focused on the view outside the window again. Sand and water. Nothing else. Why did he have to live in such a remote place?

"Honey, take it easy," Tommy said, placing his hand on his wife's thigh. The woman sighed loudly and fell back into her seat. "She will surely cheer up when she sees how nice it is there," he assured her. "Right, kid?" he asked, glancing at you in the mirror. As usual, smiling and full of positive energy. You had no idea where he got the strength from. Living with your mother was tiring.

"Yeah," you mumbled under your breath. That was enough to make your mother furious again.

"Why you don't like him actually?" she asked, gesturing too vigorously with her hands. Tommy fell silent, curious about the answer to that question himself. No one understood why you couldn't get along with your uncle from the very beginning. Step-uncle.

Well, the answer was simple.

Joel Miller was like forbidden fruit. Damn handsome and mysterious. Your wet dream.

That's why the first time you looked into his dark, piercing eyes and shook his big, rough hand, you decided you would never do it again. For your own safety.

"He's weird," you said, disgusted.

"Weird?" the woman repeated in an almost squeaky voice. You winced at the sound and clenched your jaw tighter, knowing you were treading on thin ice. "What do you mean he's weird?" You shrugged and glanced in the mirror, meeting Tommy's gaze. He smiled at you comfortingly, so whether you wanted to or not, you smiled back.

Tommy was okay. He was the only one who could keep your mother's temper in check. No small feat, so you were impressed.

"I don't know. He's just weird." You didn't want to go into details. You didn't want to talk about it. You felt ashamed of the way you thought about him. Ashamed that it was his name you whispered every time you touched yourself.

"Joel's a little isolated but he's a good man," Tommy said, glancing at your mother. "I'm sure you'll get along. A few days as a family never hurt anyone," he added, tightening his grip on his woman's thigh and glancing at you with a wink.

Oh if he knew how wrong he was.

From a distance you could see a small house right by the beach. It was nice. You yourself would like to live in a place like that. You didn't wonder why Joel decided to move here. Another thing that put you off him even more.

The car slowly stopped and your gaze immediately fell on the man who was standing in front of the house, frowning in the sunlight. Your heart sped up for a moment.

"You have to say hello. No discussion," your mother ordered, narrowing her eyes at you in warning. You didn't react, staring blindly at her. You probably didn't even understand what she was saying to you, but it was too late because she and Tommy left the car. You got out right after them and watched as Joel hugged your mother in greeting. Their words drowned out the waves crashing against the shore.

You put your hands in your jeans pockets and looked at your sneakers before taking one last deep breath and heading towards them. Your stomach tightened in a knot as you watched both brothers hug each other tightly with longing. Their laughter grew louder as you stopped a few meters away from them.

“Getting old?” Tommy asked teasingly. Joel rolled his eyes with an amused grimace.

“Gained weight?” he retorted. Your mother laughed as her husband pouted.

“I feed him well. He has a weakness for lasagna,” she said with a warm smile before placing a kiss on his cheek and he wrapped his arm around her waist. You felt nauseous at the sight of their happiness. But that was because Joel’s gaze fell on you as your parents whispered sweet nothings to each other.

“Hi kiddo,” he spoke first, coming closer. You swallowed the lump in your throat slowly and nodded.

“Hi,” you replied softly. You couldn’t help but turn into a good girl in his company. The dominance radiating from him made you simply submissive. You didn’t sit through it.

“They drag you out of the house?” he asked, glancing at your parents who were heading to the car to get your luggage.

“As you can see.” You tried to smile but it came out as a grimace.

“A few days without the internet will do you good.”

Oh god, why did parental comments sound like an invitation to go to bed with him. Fuck.

“But don’t worry, I won’t let you get bored,” he added with a wink and tapped you under the chin teasingly before he went to help with the luggage. You blinked a few times, blindly staring at the sand.

Oh shit.

The sun had almost set below the horizon as loud laughter echoed around. Everyone was sitting by the bonfire on the beach, drinking beer and eating far too greasy food. You didn't even listen to their tipsy conversations and just stared at the sea waves. The cool breeze and hot fire caressed your face, let your thoughts stop running for a moment.

Suddenly you heard a heavy groan so your gaze fell on Joel, who was just sitting down next to you.

"Fuck, I'm really getting old," he snorted under his breath shaking his head in disbelief. You noticed that your parents were on their way home.

"Where are they going?" you asked following them with your gaze until they disappeared behind the door.

"Your mom needs company to use the bathroom," he said and took a sip of beer. You watched as his Adam's apple moved with each swallow and a lonely drop ran from the corner of his mouth. Your mouth began to dry up admiring the view knowing that it would haunt you the next time you sank your fingers inside you.

“Want some?” he asked, holding the bottle out to you. You glanced at his hand that was wrapped around the glass. It could wrap around your neck as well. Fuck.

“Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, taking the beer so as not to touch his fingers. You took a drink even though you hated beer. You grimaced at the bitter taste, to which Joel laughed under his breath.

"Still not drinking?" he asked, watching you with amusement as you handed him the beer.

"I had one for my twenty-first birthday. It’s enough for the rest of my life," you replied, glancing at him before you fixed your gaze on the fire. The burning fire was much better than the fire you felt inside you because of his gaze.

"That's good. Alcohol is shit," he nodded, then took another sip of beer. You rolled your eyes, smiling under your breath. "So what? College? Work?" he asked, trying to somehow break the silence between you.

You might not have liked him, but he never noticed that. You were always just... quiet. Shy around him. He assumed it was normal because you hadn't been a family forever.

"Both," you nodded, shrugging.

"Well, look at you. You've grown into a resourceful young woman," he elbowed you teasingly in the side. You couldn't stop your growing smile as you glanced at him again.

"I don't want to be a burden to them. They're sick of me already." You smiled, but not with your eyes. Joel grimaced at that.

"Oh, come on. They definitely can't get enough of you." He tried to comfort you because he didn't want to see you sad during the few days you were at his place.

"They almost had a fight because of me before we came here. Believe me, they're sick of me," you laughed under your breath. Joel watched in silence as you stared into the fire, your forced smile slowly disappearing.

“But it’s all good now. They laugh like children and I have a feeling I’ll have to wear earplugs at night,” he said with a smirk. You looked at him, grimacing in disgust.

“Ew,” you groaned and laughed. It immediately felt better.

Joel had a fatherly instinct that was still there, even though Sarah was already an adult and had her own family. Seeing you smile filled him with a fulfillment he couldn’t explain or fight.

“Grown-ups have to fight sometimes. Otherwise, they’d kill each other in their sleep.”

You snorted at his humorless words. You were the only reason they wanted to kill each other so his words didn't work as a comfort. But at least he tried. And that was enough to make you feel even worse about the place he occupied in your thoughts. You hated him and yourself even more.

"And you?"

"What about me?" you asked indifferently.

"You have someone to fight with too?" he asked gently. You blinked a few times before looking at him like he was an idiot. Joel snorted quietly seeing the answer on your face. "Okay, I understand," he nodded amused raising his hands in surrender.

There was silence for a moment.

"So is it a girl or a boy?"

"Oh my god," you groaned miserably and hid your face in your hands feeling your face starting to burn with embarrassment.

"What? I'll support you in every decision," he started explaining with a wide smile.

"No and no," you replied looking at him. “People my type don’t pay attention to me,” you blurted out thoughtlessly. You wanted to punch yourself in the face when you saw the interest in his eyes. Idiot.

“Don’t exaggerate. You’re pretty, funny, and intelligent. Most people would look at you on the street.”

“But not older men.”

“Especially older men,” he corrected you seriously. Silence fell as you stared at each other. Joel had already had a few beers, so his eyes sparkled more than usual and you were still overwhelmed by everything girl. He didn’t move, staring into your eyes as if he was frozen. Every muscle in your body tensed painfully. He didn’t say anything, so you didn’t either. So why-

And then his gaze fell on your lips.

For a split second, before you heard your mother’s laughter and his gaze immediately pierced the fire. Your heart pounded in your chest like a bell until the very end.

And even lying on the couch in his living room, you couldn't get it out of your head when his gaze went down.

The next day you decided to cut yourself off. You had been lying on the beach since morning, sunbathing and listening to music. No one dared to disturb you.

No one except Joel.

His shadow blocked the sun from your view, making you wince. You took off your sunglasses and took your headphones out of your ears when he started talking to you. You mumbled questioningly, to which he rolled his eyes.

"Tommy and your mother went to the store," he announced. You frowned.

"And?" you mumbled further, not knowing why he had come to you.

"Want to see something?" he asked with a smile. You looked at him uncertainly and was about to refuse when he interrupted you. "You'll like it."

And that was enough.

A few minutes of walking on the beach in his company was quite a challenge for you. The only thing you could do with your hands were the ribbons on your swimsuit panties. Even his questions couldn't distract you from how good he looked in a loose shirt and shorts.

It was a crime to look so good at his age.

"Here." His voice tore you out of your thoughts. You looked around seeing only a mountain of sand in front of you. You looked at him and he was already nodding in the direction you were supposed to go. So you did. And he was walking right behind you.

And no one knew that his gaze was scanning your half naked body for a moment.

You slowly entered a large sea cave. You looked around in shock. The water reflected the sun's rays on the stone ceiling, making everything look more magical. You smiled widely and glanced at Joel who was watching you with satisfaction.

"I told you you'll like it," he said proudly.

"This is amazing." You started walking around and looking at everything. The most important thing immediately popped into your head. "Do you have a phone?" you asked, glancing at it.

"Yeah, why?" he asked, leaning against the stone wall.

"You'll do a photoshoot for me. I need something for Instagram." Joel blinked a few times, not even knowing what to answer.

"For what?" he frowned, confused, but obediently took his phone out of his pocket. You sighed and waved your hand dismissively.

"Some kind of app," you said indifferently because he wouldn't understand anyway. He raised a suspicious eyebrow, glancing from you to the camera on his phone.

"But not for money?" he asked uncertainly.

"Joel! No!" you said, outraged that something like that could have even crossed his mind. A sigh of relief left his lungs before he nodded.

For the next half hour, you posed like models from magazine covers. The sand stuck to your skin and the water had long since soaked your hair. But Joel took it to heart to be your photographer.

"Chin a little higher," he said, looking at the phone screen. You smiled wider and did as he told you. "Beautiful," he muttered under his breath, taking a few photos.

"I don't know how models can do that all day," you groaned in pain and shifted on the rock you were currently lying on.

"We can finish now. I think I took so many photos that you won't be able to look through them by the evening," he said, amused.

"A few more and we can go," you nodded.

"Then you'll have to try a little longer." You laughed and changed positions. You sighed, taking the final pose and looked in his direction.

A few more photos went into the gallery.

"Yeah, let me just..." he mumbled and approached you. His fingers carefully gathered your hair that had stuck to your face. His heated fingers ran over your cold skin, causing a shock effect. "That's better," he smiled warmly, so despite the urge to throw up your breakfast, you smiled back.

He stepped back again, taking a few photos. He looked at the phone screen and was silent for a moment.

"Okay, I have an idea," he said and approached you again. "Lean back, resting on your hands," he explained, so under his watchful eye, you endured what he ordered. He placed his hands on your shoulders, gently squeezing his fingers to adjust their position. You watched him with a lump in your throat.

He was too close.

"Hip a little forward."

Without waiting for your reaction, he grabbed your hips and gently moved them towards him. You barely held back a moan when he touched you like that. Your heart was pounding in your chest like crazy.

"And your legs."

He ran his hands over your thighs, but your quiet moan made him freeze. You felt fear wash over your body as he fell silent, staring at the spot where his hands touched your skin. You breathed heavily, trying to control your body's reaction to his proximity. But you couldn't.

His gaze slowly traveled over your body to your eyes, which were filled with fear mixed with something else.

And Joel knew very well what it was.

Even though no one had looked at him like that for a long time, he hadn’t forgotten what desire was.

And he should… He should have been the first to think of the fact that he was your uncle and was touching you inappropriately. But he couldn't.

He couldn't stop the blood from flowing to his cock and his hands from going up on their own. You parted your lips, panting heavily when his hands were on your hips again, squeezing them almost painfully.

"Don't look at me like that," he almost growled through his tightly clenched jaw. Shivers ran through you.

"I can't, I'm sorry," you said tearfully. You felt terrible about how helpless you were in his presence. And he felt even worse when he realized how much he wanted to take advantage of it.

“You don’t want this, baby girl.” He tried to hold on to the last bit of his brain that was thinking correctly.

You could barely catch your breath as you straightened up, nodding like you were drunk. “But I do,” you said, grimacing in helplessness.

Joel growled under his breath before you both met your lips in a split second. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, moaning into his mouth as his tongue immediately found yours. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you closer to him until he was perfectly positioned between your thighs.

Soft moans escaped your lips at the desire you had never felt before. Each of his rough kisses ignited a bigger fire inside you. You moaned as if he was at least bringing you to orgasm with just his kisses.

“Jesus, fuck,” he growled feeling his cock harden painfully from the sounds that left your lips. He wasted no time and his fingers quickly pushed the material of your panties to the side, running two fingers over your wet slit. A growl of pleasure mixed with your squeal as he lowered his fingers inside you.

“Oh god,” you gasped unable to catch your breath as his fingers began to fuck you, hitting your weak spot every time. Your loud moans echoed off the walls of the cave as you fell back against the stone.

Joel looked down at your pussy from which juices were dripping down his hand. He didn’t hesitate for a moment to taste you.

He bent down and greeted your clit with a deep kiss. You tensed up, arching as you came as if by magic.

Joel purred contentedly as your orgasm began to trickle down his hand. But he didn't pull away from you for even a moment, because he had just started playing with you.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling hard as you began to thrust your hips in rhythm with his movements. His fingers sped up a bit as he began to circle your clit with his tongue, leading you straight to another orgasm. And all he had to do was curl his fingers inside you and you began to tremble under his mouth as you came again.

"What a good girl," he mumbled into your pussy before pulling away.

The oxygen finally reached your lungs but Joel quickly deprived you of it. You lifted your head to watch as he ran his cock along the length of your wet slit.

He watched everything hypnotized as he slowly dipped the tip into you. That was enough for your eyes to roll back and your head to fall back against the rock. He pulled his hips back and entered you a little deeper again. And so several times until you were perfectly prepared for his thickness.

You could barely moan when you felt how perfectly he filled you. Just like you always thought. Just like he always did in your wet dreams.

He began to move his hips sensually, watching in delight as your pussy tightly embraced him.

"This sweet little pussy is leaking like she’s never had a cock inside of her," he groaned as you clenched around him. You cried out feeling like you were on the edge of a cliff with his slow and deep strokes. Perfect to bring you to the edge of another orgasm.

“Your cock,” you gasped in response. That was when his gaze dared to move to your face for the first time, lost in pleasure. You looked like his most beautiful sin. And he couldn’t help but speed up his thrusting into you just to see you trying to catch your breath.

The sight made his cock quiver deep inside you. Now he couldn't tear his eyes away from your face. He thrust harder and faster feeling himself hardening with every movement in your tight pussy. And when you came with a scream, he didn't stop.

He panted heavily pushing his cock into you until all you saw were stars. He growled digging his fingers into your skin to hold you in place when you tried to pull away the moment his orgasm knocked on the door.

He groaned as if he was experiencing fucking ecstasy and cummed deep inside you. He bent down resting his cheek on your breast and panted heavily listening to the rapid beating of your heart.

"Fuck," he gasped heavily and slowly pulled out of you causing you to moan. He allowed himself a moment of rest because at his age such an effort was quite a challenge.

He groaned straightening up finally and looked down at the work he had done. He reached for his phone and aimed the camera at you. The sound of a picture being taken echoed through the cave.

“Yes, it was my idea,” he smiled proudly and you just snorted helplessly.

[pucksandpower]

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.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Minor character deaths. Major character injuries. Canon typical violence/graphic descriptions. Whoopdeedoo 9.2k words for you!

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

The lake lay flat and motionless as a mirror, like a pool of paint someone had spilled over grey stone. It extended past its dark borders, seeping into the ground beneath your feet and drenching the soil until it was thick as winter slush. You shivered just to stand in it. 

Ione stumbled on the soft, marshy ground of the southeast blindspot. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to winnowing. 

“Gods have mercy,” she swore beneath her breath, tugging at her cane from where it sank inches deep into the earth. There was a sucking sound as Ione gave another irritated pull.

Techaria allowed the woman to lean against her side, butterfly wings fluttering before turning invisible with a shiver of light. They attracted too much attention. 

You blinked up at her in surprise, forgetting the dread that had your stomach churning. Magic like that usually hailed from the Day Court, which meant your father had chosen her to accompany you. 

She shrugged noncommittally. “Helion had some say in deciding who would accompany you and Ione to the Continent. Everyone agreed I would be the best fit as someone familiar with both the Day and the Night Courts.”

You had dozens of questions you wanted to ask — how had she come to the Night Court? When did she join the ranks of the Valkyries, small in number as they were? What had possessed her to do such a thing? 

But those were questions for another day when you weren’t trying to keep your stomach contents from revolting and your racing heart in check. 

“Yes, that makes sense,” you agreed.

You gripped onto the straps of your pack, feeling the weight of two dozen siphons sitting within them. The plan was simple in nature, but would be difficult to execute — use Nesta as a distraction to lead Koschei away from the lake and give Ione enough time to unlock the power for herself. If your theory held true, the siphons would allow Ione to concentrate that power and destroy Koschei once and for all… at least that was the hope. 

Bone-pale trees stood in loose clusters all around and up to the water’s true edge, bracing themselves against one another like wounded soldiers trudging through mud. You tried to imagine they were protecting you as they’d protected Andrian. A fragile barrier against Koschei’s influence both physically and metaphorically. Thin as they were, they did what they could to cover your movements and you saw no evidence of the activities you knew were taking place across these lands. 

Some of the trees leaned out over the water with their pale, thin faces. Desperate to catch their own reflection in the inky stillness. Gray stones, round and smooth, filled the bottom of the lake, staring up like polished skulls through the brackish water. Or were they skulls after all? You couldn’t tell, although shadows appeared to look out through hollows that may have once been eyes. 

The ground rose on your left, curling out towards you like a brown wave. The trees that grew over the wave’s crest looked healthier, their skeletal branches managing to hold onto the last of their frost-bitten leaves on sturdier ground unspoiled by the water.

You breathed through your nose and gagged. The heady scent of rot and death choked the air, the stench inescapable no matter how you breathed. 

There was another sick smell creeping into the air. Something acrid, like chemicals set to flame in a flask. You tilted your head to the sky and gave a tentative sniff before frowning immediately. Whatever was causing the smell was close by. 

Techaria looked down first and swallowed a scream. Her boots, which had sunk into the soil up to her calves, were sizzling. 

Ione lifted her cane with a shaking hand and found the silver cap at its end similarly melting away. The metal smarted and popped off the wooden end, sinking into the ground and catching flame. 

The lake was alive and it was hungry. 

Techaria lunged forward, snatching the old woman around the waist and throwing her over her shoulder with a grunt. She took off towards higher ground, trusting that you would follow close behind. Not that you had much of a choice. You could either run or stand still and let your pearly white bones succumb to the lake’s magic. You rejected the latter option immediately.

You scrambled after them and with every step you felt the power of the lake seep closer and closer to your skin, begging to feast on the flesh of your bones. 

The harder you pushed, the deeper your feet sank into the ground until every step felt like a battle with the gaping maw of a fish.

All at once you understood what Bethsevah had meant when she had locked the power beneath the lake. There was something in those waters not altogether evil, but hateful nevertheless — some essence of Bethsevah’s magic that would destroy whatever it identified as its enemy. 

You were vaguely prideful and equally frustrated that your theories on magic as a biological system were proving true at every turn. You didn’t even know how you could quantify this for inclusion in your manuscript. 

Good thoughts, wrong time. You thought as you kept running. 

Techaria ran up the slope of the hill, digging her toes in before launching her body up by the strength of her back and catching onto a snarled claw of roots. For a split second, the roots threatened to snap and send both Techaria and Ione tumbling back down to the acidic mud. But Techaria made the final ascent, dropping Ione to the ground with little fanfare before she reached down for your hand. 

“Come on!” She hissed, too terrified to make more sound. 

There were ears and eyes in these woods. She could feel them blowing their foul breath against her neck. 

Something whistled in the sky as you clawed your way up the sloped ground. An unearthly glow shot across Techaria’s terrified features as she latched onto your arm and yanked you up to safety. You cried out in pain, your ankles nearly popping out of their joints as your feet came free of your shoes. 

Techaria rolled on top of you and slapped her hand over your lips hard enough to make your teeth rattle. 

“Be quiet and stay still.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Techaria wove her magic around the three of you like a blanket, hiding you in plain sight just like she’d done with her wings.

Your breath caught in your chest when the source of the whistling came into view.  

It was Vassa.

She seemed to have doubled in size and strength — no more dreary feathers or patches of picked skin. She sailed close to the treetops, brushing her wings against the sparse foliage and setting them aflame with what could have been a screech or a laugh. 

Snapped branches, charred and crackling, rained over your head. 

“Is she gone?” Techaria asked moments later, her face still locked on your eyes as you took shuddering breaths.

You nodded stiffly and the female finally released her hold on you.

“Your shoes—”

You shook your head. You still had one sock on your left foot, but your right settled into the dirt and you felt every poke of detritus against the sensitive skin. Down below you caught glimpses of your leather boots bubbling in the soil. There was no salvaging them. 

“You can take mine.” Techaria offered, already bending down to undo the laces. 

“Don’t. They won’t fit me anyway.” They were burnt beyond recognition and hanging on by weak threads. “And from the looks of them they won’t stay intact for much longer no matter who’s wearing them.” 

But Ione was suspiciously unharmed. Her shoes were intact, as was the hemline of her cloak. The only item that seemed to have earned the lake’s ire was her cane. She waved it in the air, dispelling the smoke from its fuming end as if she were warding away evil.  

Curious. You thought. 

When you’d all caught your breath, you set out in search of safe ground closer to the water’s edge. You’d need easy access to its powers when the time came. Eventually you found your safe haven in the form of a willow hovering by a pool that bubbled out from the main lake. Its silvery sprays hung low, sparse and thin and sickly. But its roots held onto the soil well, keeping the ground firm and dry.

You pressed the palms of your hands into the ground, focusing on the subtle hum of magic that seemed to emanate from it. You dug through layers of topsoil, unspun the threads of magic like a ream of paper until you could read its contents. Every stroke of magic, its very signature, felt familiar.

It felt like Bethsevah. 

“I want to test something,” you said, gesturing to Techaria’s long, coiled hair. Without hesitation, she let you cut off a golden lock. You lowered it towards the lake’s mirrored surface and quickly snatched your hand away when the strands disintegrated with a spark. All it had taken was a touch and poof. Gone.

You repeated your test with Ione’s and… nothing. Nothing but a knotted length of gray, damp hair. Ione stared at the lake’s frozen surface, feeling something pull her closer and closer. 

She plunged her hands into the darkness.

You bit down a shout. Techaria leapt forward, grabbing a fistful of Ione’s cloak and pulling her back. You expected to see pure, white bone sticking out from the nubs of the wrist. At the very least, you expected some cracking of the universe as the ripples fluttered out and died. But once again… there was nothing.

Ione shrugged Techaria off her back before drying her hands on her cloak. “Well I think that settles any concern we had about my blood relationship to Bethsevah.” 

Techaria couldn’t believe that such boldness could come from a woman so frail and aged. 

You nodded. “Magic recognizes magic the same way blood does. It must be why you’re unaffected by the lake’s powers. It knows who you are.” 

You quickly took off your satchel, ripping off the buckles and upending its contents. Two dozen siphons spilled out, blinking like sapphires. You tried to tamp down on the wave of longing that rolled over you as you saw their familiar color but not the familiar body that came with them. 

Azriel.

Your mind whispered his name into the void as you clutched one of the blue stones. 

I’ll find you again when this is all over. I promise.

The elaborate leatherwork Ione had strapped on her hands, elbows, chest, and knees were familiar to you. Illyrian-made and designed to hold siphons capable of collecting and focusing power. 

You locked two of them into place on the backs of Ione’s hands, one at the center of her back, one at her chest, two at her elbows, and two at her knees. It was more than Azriel and Cassian wore, but Ione carried them with cold grace, as if she’d been born to carry out this task. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, girl,” Ione said as you finished tightening the straps. 

“If you mean the armor, then yes, I do know what I’m doing.” It wasn’t the first time you’d handled Illyrian leather. You helped Azriel strip them off at the end of every day. It had become a ritual of sorts. You would unlace the armor at his elbows and knees and undo the buckles that kept his back brace secured beneath his wings. In return, Azriel would ghost his hands over your shoulders as you shrugged off your robes and undo whatever pins and knots had found their way into your hair that day. 

You shivered at the thought of him and his careful touch. At all the things you hadn’t told him. All the things you’d never gotten to do with him. You’d both been so cautious and determined to take your time as if you’d had an endless abundance of it, but you were beginning to regret it now. 

You swallowed those emotions. 

You couldn’t let them distract you. Not now. 

“If you mean everything else… I don’t.” You replied honestly. All of this was a gamble. You didn’t know if Ione would be able to handle the magic she was about to take on. And if she did survive, you didn’t know if the siphons you’d prepared would do anything to focus that power into something that could be used to kill a death god.

You slid a knife out from your thigh and Ione’s eyes flashed like two marbles caught in the sun. She too was thinking of all the ways the day could go wrong. But it was too late. She’d already committed to this next turn in her life and would see where the path took her. 

But for now… they could only wait. 

Azriel.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice.

Every so often, when your guard was down or your emotions were heightened, thoughts and feelings would trickle across the connection that bound you too together and knock at the doors of Azriel’s soul. As if the bond knew your thoughts lay with him and wanted to give him a taste of all that could be his one day. 

Azriel. Focus. His brother’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. Shadows swarmed around him in a cloud so thick, he couldn’t see his brothers standing right next to him. They were all hidden in the same dark.

Is she safe, Rhys?

As safe as she can be with Ione and Techaria. They found the blindspot in Koschei’s magic. Y/n says some of the power in the lake belongs to Bethsevah, or at least used to, and will seek to destroy anything it doesn’t recognize. Take one step into those waters and it will burn you to a crisp.

So don’t touch the lake. Got it. I never was a fan of swimming. Cassian interjected. And I don’t believe my opinion will change after this day.

Azriel could feel the tension in his brother’s muscles the longer they were forced to stay hidden. Every twitch of his fingers as he drummed the hilt of his sword. Every rapid blink as he switched between conversations with Rhys, Nesta, and Feyre. 

Will Koschei burn too then? Azriel thought aloud. If he touches the lake before unlocking his power?

That would make our lives infinitely easier, wouldn’t it? I would bet good coin I could wrestle him into the lake. 

Something tells me Koschei isn’t the kind of man you can throw around, Cassian.

He’s not— 

The words died in Cassian’s mind, shriveling up and wasting away like flowers at the end of their season. 

He meant to tell Rhys, “He’s not a man at all.” But when Koschei emerged from the woods, languidly striding towards the lake, Cassian felt foolish for thinking anyone would need the reminder. 

Koschei was not dressed for war. 

Not a stitch of metal armor graced his skin. He wore only the unblemished flesh he’d been born in — grey as a stillborn child — and a length of pitch black fabric draped around his waist. Trails of white cord criss-crossed over his chest and wrapped around his throat like a necklace before looping down his arms.

Azriel narrowed his eyes, looking past his shadows, and shivered. It wasn’t white cord at all, but an endless chain of teeth strung together like stained pearls.

Koschei fingered them thoughtfully, counting each tooth and twisting the necklace around his neck so he could feel them drag across his skin. Molars, canines, and incisors alike were worn as decoration, testifying to the millions that had met their end beneath his feet. 

Death followed at his heels, sucking the air dry until it felt hard to breathe. Where he walked through the grass, the ground turned black. Plants lost their color and collapsed in pathetic heaps. Worms sprung from the ground, wriggling and writhing like the unfurling of a carpet in search of new rot to consume.

He carried a scythe in his hands, rust streaming down the black metal like it was weeping tears of blood. 

A scythe. How poetic,  Feyre thought with a shiver. Where farmers used the humble tool to cut down their fields, Koschei used his to cut down men. 

She gritted her teeth at the sight of something else in his hands. A metal chain tied around his wrist. One sharp tug and Ione — or rather, Nesta — stumbled out from the treeline by her neck. 

Nesta! 

I’m fine. She soothed her mate’s mind even as she followed Koschei’s beck and call, wrapping tendrils of cold flame around his boiling fury until it was at a simmer. The glare she shot into the death god’s back would have sent lesser men to their graves, but whenever he looked back at her with his alarmingly sympathetic smile, she masked that disdain, replacing it with a familiar mix of contempt and fear disguised as anger. He hasn’t hurt me.

She knew it was killing Cassian to watch as she was led to the lake like a lamb to slaughter. Every instinct of his screamed out to crush Koschei’s smooth skull beneath the heel of his boot for laying a hand on his mate. But whatever your magic had done was working. Vassa had dropped her at Koschei’s feet like a cat delivering a corpse and he had smiled so brightly, skin stretched to breaking over wide cheeks, that Nesta knew he’d been fooled. 

He’d locked that chain around her neck, caressed her cheek with care, and walked with her all the way from his cabin in the woods to this thin stretch of beach. He hadn’t spoken a single word, but he’d sung. 

Funeral songs.

Each and every one of them.  

Some she recognized, others she didn’t. Sometimes he sang in languages that had been buried in graves a long, long time ago, their tombstones scattered as dust in the wind. 

Pitch black eyes raked over the empty shores. His nostrils flared as he drank in the stench of decay and petrichor. Rain clouds huddled overhead, trembling in his presence as he smiled with a joy that didn’t reach his eyes. 

He couldn’t remember the last time his hands had been drenched with fresh blood, but he was looking forward to it. When he was finally free of this place, he would go to Prythian and revel in the violence he’d been deprived of for so long. 

He licked his lips and sighed. He could almost taste the iron on the tip of his tongue, brackish and pure. He began coiling the chain in his hands until Nesta was forced to kneel in front of him, not even a foot away from the still water. She could smell sickness on his skin, like that horrid summer in the human lands when plague bodies were left to bloat and spoil in the streets.

He gripped her face in one hand, pressing her cheeks until her lips parted. She fought the urge to bite off his fingers. 

“I know you’re disgusted by me.” He spoke in a deep, grating voice. “But you must understand, I was not meant to be like this. When I was worshiped, when I had full grasp of my being, I was a more handsome sight to look upon.” He grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her face over the lake until she could see Ione’s face staring back at her. 

“Thank you for giving that back to me, child.” 

Later on, when Nesta reflected on yet another brush with death, she would marvel at how sincere she found his words. 

He moved faster than light, a knife appearing in his hands that he aimed at Nesta’s throat.

But Cassian was faster. 

He hurled himself out of the shadows, slamming into Koschei’s side in an explosion of red light that left a crater in the earth. The death god looked almost elegant as he was thrown onto his back, drapery smooth over his chest and legs as he regarded Cassian with a frigid frown, like he was an ant who had dared to splatter and mark the bottom of his shoe. 

Cassian threw Nesta over his shoulder, sprinting off into the cover of the woods with his wings tucked tight between his shoulder blades. 

Remember, You’d told him, We need to keep Koschei away from the lake for as long as possible. The moment Ione breaks the spell, he’ll know and he’ll come racing back to destroy us all. 

He could hear Vassa screeching in the distance, the noise growing as the beat of her wings carried her back to the heart of the lake. Back to her master. 

He also heard the rustling of the leaves as the wind picked up. The steady footsteps of warriors getting ready to make their assault.

Koschei did not run after them. It was beneath him to run. He may have lost his prize, but such things were temporary. He’d waited this long. He could afford to wait a little longer. 

He took his scythe, raised the blade to his lips, and cut a vertical line down the center. Dark red blood, thick and clotted, spilled out from the wound and painted the blade. With an artful swing, he carved a circle into the sand and those things that were dead in the woods began to walk once more. 

Ione clawed at her chest the moment Koschei drew blood, some wild feeling in her spirit begging her to turn and sprint into the deep woods or to hide in the tall grasses like a bunny escaping a hound. 

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” 

You remembered she wasn’t blessed with the sight and sound of the fae. She couldn’t see what was happening on the other edges of the lake as Koschei finally began to walk after Cassian and Nesta. But she could feel it as keenly as you and Techaria that something was amiss. A malicious power was bleeding into the world and ripping souls from their rest.

It’s finally begun. 

The ground shook with silent thunder.

Techaria’s amber skin turned white, wings flickering back into the seeing world before disappearing again as she regained her focus. 

The wind whistled past you, skeletal branches beginning to rise and fall as they bowed over and over and over again in frantic prayer. The trees by the water leaned further down, kissing the lake with their lips and watching as they were burned away, leaving black craters on their faces. 

The earth trembled and bones rose from their graves, creeping up inch by inch like shiny, white pustules. Some still clung to their rotted flesh, stringy and dark and rank. Others were as smooth as pearls, picked clean by the scavengers of the earth. But all of them began clustering together, held up by magic as new tendons sprang into existence and knit the bones close.

You couldn’t believe how quickly those crooked creatures ran. Their movements were erratic yet purposeful as they weaved in between the gaps in the trees and through the rustling tall grasses, followed by distant screams and shouts and the ringing of steel and—

“Do it,” Ione commanded, holding out her wrists with a grimace. 

You clutched the knife tighter, but didn’t move. “Ione, I—”

The woman’s eyes hardened. She had not traveled all this way for fear to take over. She had not lived to this age or survived a fucking war to be afraid of death now. 

“I’m an old woman, Y/n. It’s a miracle I’ve kept my sanity this long. I can afford to lose it today. Now, if you don’t use that knife for its intended purpose, hand it over and I’ll do it myself!” She growled.

You sucked in a deep breath and without further hesitation, cut a line across the woman’s wrists. She hissed in pain before she turned and held out her hands so her blood could drip, drip, drip down, and disturb the smooth mirrored surface of the lake. 

He’s not following us, Cassian. Cassian! 

Nesta held onto him for dear life, burying her face in the folds of his wings as he sprinted through the woods like a wild horse. 

Koschei was meant to be following them. 

It wouldn’t matter that Ione could break the magic of the lake if Koschei was there to snatch it up instead.

Nesta felt a wave of power roll over the woods. Cassian held his breath, his stomach dropping towards the cradle of his hip bones.

I think you’ve spoken too soon, Nes.

Twisted creatures dropped down from the trees, pale with pitch black eyes and gaping mouths. Nesta gave a shout as one grabbed hold of her shoulder and threw her off Cassian’s back.

Two more leapt atop of Cassian, narrowly missing the curve of his throat with their teeth as he jerked back and then shot out bursts of power. 

NESTA!

She screamed, beating at the creature with her fists. Long, black strands of flesh fell from its skull, drooping over Nesta’s cheeks with a slimy touch. Just when she thought she’d need to pull from her own power, Cassian’s hands burst through its chest, tearing apart its chest in a shower of red light and bone fragments.

“Come on!”

The wind stopped howling so loudly. The temperature of the air dropped. And suddenly there was Koschei, looming just above Cassian’s shoulder with his stretched-skin smile and empty eyes.

Cassian caught sight of the death god in Nesta’s eyes, rolling out of the way of his scythe before it could take off his head. 

Nesta played the role of the old woman, scrambling away on all fours as bone-beasts gathered around like crows to a corpse. They clicked their teeth together, heads popping in and out of sockets as they closed off all avenues of escape. 

But Nesta’s attention was squarely on Cassian as he and Koschei danced through the trees. Her mate had never looked more alive than while fighting a god of death, with his sweat-slicked hair and cheeks painted red from exertion. There was a light in his eyes as he dove and twisted away from the swinging scythe and Nesta swore she could hear his wildly beating heart over the chaos.

Are you glad he followed us now, Nesta? He could still find it within himself to tease her.

Oh for fuck’s sake! 

She gritted her teeth, picking up a rotten log and beating away a creature that dared to cock its head in her direction with hunger. 

Despite the rush of blood in Cassian’s ears and the growing ache in his body, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Nesta’s curses in his mind. He stamped down on the scythe with his left foot and kicked it away with his right. It flew through the air, embedding itself in the trunk of a dead elm at the same time that Cassian sank his sword into Koschei’s ribs.

Koschei looked down at the blade in his side, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes. 

His shoulders twitched… then began to shake. 

Koschei was laughing.

Cords of unnaturally defined muscle pulsed around Cassian’s sword, sucking and swallowing like a starving dog. Cassian’s stomach turned. His brain muddled and grew hot, for there was no blood to be found when he finished twisting the blade and wrenched it loose. 

Worms, wriggling, pink-grey worms, poked their heads out from the wound, writhing and coagulating before becoming flesh once more.

Koschei stopped laughing, but the smile never left him as he locked eyes with the Lord of Bloodshed.

“It’s been a long while since anyone laid a hand on me, let alone twice.” His words were heavy with condescension. “Well done.” 

Cassian reeled back, dropping his weapon as the muscles of his right arm seized with a vengeance. He ripped off his gauntlet, watching as the veins of his hand turned purple… then black. The skin followed suit, decaying before his very eyes.

He dropped to his knees, cradling the ruined limb against his chest and howling in pain.

Nesta saw red and lost her mind as Cassian’s pain erupted down the bond. 

She shrieked so loud and so powerfully that the bone-beasts vibrated before shattering into dust.

She tore away the magic you’d spent days weaving over her skin and through her blood like they were cobwebs until it wasn’t Ione standing in front of Koschei, but a Lady of Death in her own right.

Recognition flickered through Koschei as the scythe flew back into his hands. 

“Sister?” 

Then.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

And a piece of Koschei’s soul cracked open. His eyes flew open in surprise. His mouth dropped and a dozen flies swarmed out, buzzing with anticipation and hunger. 

Someone had unlocked the power in the lake. His power. 

Nesta lunged at him and landed in the dirt, damp leaves slipping and sliding beneath her hands and knees. Koschei was already gone.

Cassian moaned. His skinned burned from the inside out. Is this what his death would be? He felt like a pig slowly roasting on a split.

“Cassian, Cassian, my love.” Nesta crawled over to him, tearing buckles and leather armor off his chest and arms. “Cassian. Look at me.”

His eyes opened, bleary and unfocused.

“Nes,” he whispered, feeling cool kisses of wind pepper his burning flesh. “How bad is it?” 

Nesta went quiet. His right arm was black up to the elbow and the infection of Koschei’s touch was only spreading. Darkening veins bloomed towards his shoulder, like ink running down coarse paper. Soon it would spread to his chest and kill him. 

“Nes?” He felt her caress his mind. Felt her soothing his soul before quietly shutting him out. 

She eyed the sword abandoned on the ground, walked over, and picked it up. Cassian didn’t need to ask her what she meant to do as she stood above him and raised the blade above her head. His wife, his mate, had never been one to shy away from hard decisions.

“Damn, Nes,” he said through gritted teeth and adjusted his position so she had a clear path to his arm. “Just do it.”

“I love you, Cassian,” she said through tears.

“I know.” 

Then she brought down the sword, and severed Cassian’s arm from his shoulder.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The water turned red, swirls of color spreading out through the dark until every inch of the lake had turned as crimson as a rose.

Azriel slipped in and out of shadows, cutting down Koschei’s creatures just as quickly as they reformed. Beads of sweat gathered at his brow, painting his cheeks and neck with salty strokes. 

EVERYONE TO THE WATER! NOW! 

Feyre’s command rang in his mind and in a flash of shadow, he materialized on the beach. 

The High Lady’s silver armor shone like starlight — a beacon for warriors to flock to as they came staggering out of the trees and grasses covered in the blood of their friends.

Behind me! Rhys shouted from Feyre’s side. 

He crouched low as the bone beast sailed over his head, its crooked jaw open wide. Feyre plunged her fingers into its eye sockets, curling them around the nose bridge and holding tight as Rhys drove his sword up and into the dark flesh of its underside. His sword channeled his power, exploding the creature from the inside as it thrashed. Its jaws still snapped and twisted, screeching at a high-pitch until Feyre crushed it to dust.

Light, wind, fire, and ice exploded on the beach as High Lords and High Ladies poured out their power. Viviane threw her hands up, sending hundreds of shards of clear-cut ice towards Vassa as the firebird swooped down and bit off the head of an Autumn Court soldier. There came a scream as fire met ice and steam blanketed the ground, thick as early morning mist. 

Koschei’s creatures never stopped spilling out of the woods, piecing themselves back together in increasingly bulky, horrid formations. Even the fragments on the ground were restless, crawling over bodies like maggots, filling the eyes, and ears, and mouths of corpses until they were compelled to stand and fight with twitching limbs.

To Azriel’s right, Helion fought a wolf-man hybrid, shoving light down the creature’s throat until it lay convulsing on the ground. Somewhere to his left, the High Lord of Autumn was kneeling in the wet sand, shaking the bloodless body of one of his brothers and screaming at him to wake up. Azriel tried blinking the grit out of his eyes, shadows streaming over his arms and around his body like a shield. 

One blink and there was nothing but the misty haze before him.

Another blink and there was Koschei with his scythe in hand and a line of blood from his lips all the way down to his sternum.

Eris stopped cradling his brother’s body. The tears evaporated from his cheeks as he stood on shaking legs and pulled out his knife. He wanted to be close when he made the kill. This was personal.

Koschei tipped his head to the side as he regarded the High Lord. Then he smiled. He enjoyed it immensely when they fought back. 

The passion and hope and rage was just so delicious, like salt sprinkled over a fine meal. 

So when Eris roared, his metal armor turning pure white as he burst into flame, what else could Koschei do but slide his tongue over his lips and taste death? 

Eris clapped his hands together above his head, bringing them down in a stroke of white flame that Azriel felt blaze past his shoulder. Koschei swung his scythe and severed the flames in two, cutting a neat circle in the sand. Then he swung again and in an arc of light, the power of a High Lord of Prythian met the power of a death god. 

Lighting cracked through the air, structures of sand erupting and trapping the arc of the bolt like a snake’s tongue.

The scythe won.

Blood splatter decorated the ground as Eris’s armor was torn off him. His helm of oak branches and gold cracked in two, clattering to the ground before his body followed suit. Lucien ran forward, dragging Eris away as he gurgled and gasped for breath. 

Koschei sighed, dragging a finger down the handle of his scythe. “Oh how I’ve missed this.”

Ione felt the power call out the moment her blood hit the water. It was a thousand symphonies playing at the same time, calls from a hundred desperate lovers asking for her hand as she stared at her reflection and felt the world around her drown itself to music.

Drip… drip… drip.

“Ione… Ione… IONE!” 

Her eyes went dark and hungry, her hands curling into claws that wanted to reach out and take, and take, and take.

She shrugged off the hand you laid on her back, plunged her head into the iron-laced water, and began to drink. 

Every gulp was a breath of fresh air. An electric zing through her blood she hadn’t felt in decades as the pain of time-worn bones melted away. 

She felt untouchable. 

She felt alive. 

Like the first time she’d taken a man to her bed, his dramatic gasps rolling out from beneath her as she dug her nails into the headboard and drove her hips down. Like the day she’d run away from home with nothing but a bag of copper, the clothes on her back, and bruises blossoming on her knuckles. Like the morning she’d awoken in a strange town miles away from home and seen her endless future unfurling before her.

Yes. That’s what she was. Endless.

“IONE!” You screamed through water-logged ears. 

Ione’s skin, wrinkled and dusted with sunspots, began to clear. Light, hot and saturated as a sunset, pressed against her skin from the inside. Like a parasite ready to burst, it roiled and bubbled within her, consuming her every thought except that she needed to keep drinking until the lake was completely empty and she’d reached the depths of Koschei’s magic. 

“You need to stop! You’re taking too much! IONE!” The siphons she wore were bright as stars, cracks appearing in their surface as they tried to contain the power coursing through her system and failed. You kept replacing the ones you could reach, throwing the overcharged stones to Techaria until you ran out. 

You grabbed the leather straps criss-crossing over Ione’s back and yanked. Hard. 

Ione threw out her hand and the siphons on her body exploded. Your head burst with pain as you were thrown back with enough force to snap the trunk of a chestnut tree. The world swam before you. Colors melted like the paint water Feyre cleaned her brushes in. 

Ione drank and drank and drank, craning her neck ever forward as the water level dropped at an alarming rate. 

Techaria looped her arms around the old woman’s chest, digging her heels into the ground and heaving with all her might. But the woman didn’t budge, too drunk off power and possibility to let anyone stand in her way. Ione used her newly acquired strength to grab Techaria’s wrists and together they dove into the water and disappeared. 

Blood dripped down your temples, dampening your hair as you crawled your way to the lake’s edge. 

Techaria’s wings floated to the surface, orange crystalline membrane sizzling like steel wool.

The water dropped another three feet before Ione reemerged. If you hadn’t seen her go in, you wouldn’t have recognized her when she came out. Her grey hair was now so blonde it may as well have been moonbeam cascading down her back and over her breasts. Her skin shone, pale and perfect. Her pupils were but pinpricks in the fabric of her steel grey eyes. 

You whimpered when she looked at you, her stare flat and empty as the air around her rippled and turned white. 

For a moment she looked like she might smile. 

But then she took in a shuddering breath, lower lip trembling as her mouth filled with blood. She dragged her hands down her face, peeling away the skin as fissures broke out full of light and crackling with electricity.

“Get it out. Get it out! GET IT OUT! NOOOOOOOOO!”

Ione blew apart. 

Her blood rained over your head, drenching you so thoroughly you may as well have gotten caught in a thunderstorm.

Bethsevah hadn’t been able to control the power nestled within the lake. To possess it for even a short period of time had nearly driven her mad. You should have known Ione never stood a chance. 

If things go wrong, find me so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.

“I promise, Azriel. I promise.” 

You walked in a daze, muttering those words to yourself over and over again. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t even register the change in the air as you stepped out of the blindspot’s safety and began walking. 

And walking. 

And walking. 

Towards where you could only hope Azriel was still fighting. 

You tripped over a body, salt-crusted braids peeking out from beneath a helm of coral and seashell. Paisley blue eyes, deep and dark and bloodshot, stared lifelessly at the sky. You staggered back to your feet, picking up the pace as you stumbled through a maze of corpses. 

You slipped when the ground turned to pure ice. It splintered outwards from two bodies like a starburst.

Viviane, armed to the teeth in blue steel and a crown of ice protruding from her white curls, rocked back and forth on her heels while cradling Kallias’s head in her hands. 

She wailed as his body turned cold. Frost clung to his long, pale lashes and where his blood pooled around his pale blue robes the ice melted and cotton grass grew in quiet, white tufts. 

Onwards you walked, until you felt a familiar tap at the edges of your mind. 

Y/n! What’s going on? Where are you? Your High Lady’s voice rang loud and clear. 

It’s over, Feyre. Ione’s dead. Techaria’s dead. 

What do you mean? What happened? TELL ME!

Ione wasn’t strong enough to hold Koschei’s power. She… she killed Techaria. She blew apart into a million pieces. I’m covered in her. 

You spit on the ground, wiping away the taste of blood on your lips. It clung to you like a second skin, seeping into your pores and burying itself there. 

Y/N!

It was a different voice calling out to you this time. You heard it on the wind, soft and faint as an echo. Or maybe you were finally losing your mind. But it didn’t matter. You would have followed Azriel’s voice anywhere. 

You started to run, or rather stumble forward, hearing the clanging of steel and shattering of bones grow louder and louder. Through the gaps in the trees you saw Koschei standing as immovable as a mountain. He had one hand splayed out — silver lines splintering out in the air like and holding back the assault of Rhysand and Helion’s power. With the other he swung outward with his scythe, the rusted blade sprayed with fresh blood. 

The High Lord of Summer beat aside the weapon, the moisture he’d plucked from the air fluctuating around him like a brilliant, blue sea creature. Feyre trapped the scythe in the sand, crossing her twin swords in an X and giving Tarquin the chance he needed to bring down his spear and shatter the weapon with a boom that exploded through the woods and sent you sprawling back on hands and knees. 

Koschei hissed and he lurched back with what remained of his weapon — a metal rod tapering to a jagged, thin end. That fleeting moment of triumph on Tarquin’s face fell away when Koschei stepped close and drove that jagged end through Tarquin’s stomach. His iridescent, pearl-encrusted armor may as well have been crafted from paper the way it crumbled and tore. 

Rhysand roared, finally breaking through Koschei’s shield as Feyre threw herself over Tarquin and raised a barrier to protect them both. He snapped his wings out to the side, leaping through the air in an arc that had you holding your breath. 

Black feathers exploded from his skin. His hands elongated, curling into claws capable of shredding through steel and iron. 

This was the High Lord of the Night Court. 

Rhysand was darkness given monstrous form.

Night triumphant.

The strongest elements of his Illyrian and high fae heritage combined.

Koschei plucked Rhysand out of the air like he was a fly. 

Grabbed hold of his wings.

And tore them off his back. 

“RHYS!” Feyre’s shriek tore through the air, forcing everyone to turn their heads and watch as the High Lord of the Night Court’s wings drifted to the ground like silk.

Rhysand didn’t cry out, too in shock at the loss of such a familiar weight from his shoulder blades. He felt Feyre’s horror and pain where he couldn’t feel anything. His body all but shut down. He landed in the dirt, sand rolling around his tongue and stealing the moisture from his mouth. Then Feyre was there, smoothing back his hair and telling him not to move. He fumbled around for her hand, feeling it clamp down and never let go. 

Koschei loomed over the High Lord and High Lady, looking down at the fire in Feyre’s grey-blue eyes with a sneer. It was a sight he was too familiar with — a foolish girl making foolish decisions in the name of love. It filled him with an indescribable hatred. 

His wall of magic built itself up again and would not bend or break, no matter how Helion threw his blows down in cascades of golden light to help his friends. 

Feyre spit on the ground as tendrils of decay scattered out from Koschei’s feet, dampening her magic until she could only drag Rhysand over her lap and press her lips to the top of his head. 

Helion gritted his teeth. His magic was fading fast, even as he kept finding new places within himself to pull strength from. Koschei’s shield was weakening, he could feel it stretching thin as he began to divide his attention towards the High Lady and High Lord of Night stretched out before him. 

Just… a little… longer. He promised himself, even as his legs shook and buckled until he was down on his knees. 

There was a flash of red at his side and Helion’s brows shot into his hairline when Lucien Vanserra slipped into his peripheral vision, palms out and pouring every ounce of energy in his body towards the weakening hole in Koschei’s shield. There was something about him that Helion recognized. Some close connection that revealed itself as the golden flame of Lucien’s power joined his own. 

Helion’s stomach bottomed out. He was in freefall. “Lucien?” He asked breathlessly.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lucien replied through gritted teeth.

Koschei snapped out his wrist and an obsidian blade, thin as a needle, appeared in his palm. It seemed to shriek as he swung it down, screaming with a thousand voices like a choir from hell. 

Azriel slipped out from the darkness, shadows pouring out to block the attack. 

No. You breathed. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—

Azriel was cunning. You’d seen him in action and knew he was talented beyond measure and armed with a skillset that could rival the High Lords of Prythian. But even he was no match for Koschei. 

The death god stuck his hand through the assault of shadows and lifted Azriel into the air with a mere flick of his palm. 

He tore Azriel’s shadows away from him, peeling them back like a second skin until they fell limp to the ground. Had he killed them? You’d never stopped to think that such a thing was possible.

Azriel stifled the screams that rose in his throat. He had promised himself he would never cry out in pain — never beg for anything — since the day his brothers had ruined his hands. 

But then he locked eyes with you and heard you scream his name as you ran towards him barefoot and bleeding over the battlefield. And he found reason to beg. 

“NO!” He roared over the shrieking of shadows in his ears. “GET OUT OF HERE, Y/N!” 

There was only one way he’d die a good male and that was if you managed to escape. That was the only hope on his mind. The only prayer on his lips as he begged you to leave him. To leave them all. 

“Y/N! PLEASE!” He cried out in pain, thrashing in the air. 

Promise aside, you couldn’t leave him. You’d never stopped to entertain the thought that Azriel might be the one to die today. He was too good. Too strong. But if this was the end of his road, you would follow close behind. That was a promise no magic or death god would ever get in the way of.

You gasped, feeling something beneath your ribs tighten and lock. 

The bond snapped into place so powerfully you almost fell apart in the sand. 

It was a sliver of moonbeam laced with shadow that tied you to the one person in the entire world you’d felt safe with. The first person you could ever truly call home. 

Azriel’s face crumbled, tears streaming down his cheeks as the world fell away from him until you were the only bright and shining thing. A single star dropped onto a black sky. 

And Azriel… Azriel was everything to you. 

I’m only a Librarian. You thought even as you ran forward, eyes locked on your mate. You weren’t meant for war or strategy or cunning. You belonged in the stacks, huddled over ancient pages. Not on blood-soaked grounds hundreds of miles from home. 

But more than that, you belonged with Azriel. You were meant for each other. As intrinsically as gravity bound the seas to the earth, Azriel grounded you and you centered him. To lose him now would mean being untethered from the world. To float away into a nothingness that wasn’t serene or patient, but dark and lonely. 

You wouldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever. 

You had done what no one else had been capable of doing. You’d read through Bethsevah’s history. For a moment, when you’d been close to death on the cobblestone streets of Velaris, you had felt her power fill you like a cup of wine, her memories overflowing from the pages of her book until you had become her.

If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood. 

You’d had a taste of that power. You knew the shapes it took beneath your hands. You knew how it felt when it was running through your veins like blood. And it was this knowledge that you clung to with reckless abandonment as you began to pull Bethsevah’s memories from the reaches of your mind, donning them like a costume.

Without thinking twice, you switched courses, desperation fuelling your legs as you sprinted towards the glossy, blood-red lake before you. Azriel was still screaming your name, begging you to stop, and you heard your father and brother’s voices join in his pleading. The bond, still so fresh and vulnerable, echoed his horror as you ran right up to the lake’s edge and leapt into the waters. 

I don’t know how to swim. You remembered as the darkness enveloped you. Lucien never taught me and I don’t know if he’ll ever get a chance to. 

You thought that by looking up you’d see a warped image of the sky, bordered by murky outlines of the trees as they swayed and bowed. Instead, you saw a reflection of yourself. You floated inches above yourself, lips closed tight as you felt the growing need for oxygen begin to bloom in your lungs. 

It was warm here, but it did not burn like it did before. You held onto the knowledge of Bethsevah’s power, feeling the texture of it beneath your fingertips and carefully undoing the threads of your own magical signature before remaking it to match. Months ago, you had shared a theory with Azriel that Clairvoyants possessed a particular ability to alter their magical signatures to match others. A form of magical mimicry and another example of your studies bleeding into the real world and shaping the fabric of the universe. 

You’d tested that theory with Nesta when you’d hid her from Koschei, but now it was time for a second experiment. 

You did not burn. Not even when you opened your lips and let the water pour in. 

It slipped down your throat like whiskey, setting your blood ablaze and sending shivers across your skin. With each gulp you felt stronger. The wounds on your body sealed shut. The bruises beneath your eyes faded. 

You reached deep into that wealth of power to find what belonged to Koschei, Thanatos, Stryga, and Bethsevah. You absorbed the knowledge embedded in their magic, and time crumbled beneath your touch as you began undoing and reweaving their magical signatures into something utterly changed. 

It was careful, pensive work. The kind of work that could only belong to a Librarian and a Clairvoyant. 

With the power of three death gods and a warrior flooding through your veins, you pulled yourself to the edge of that mirror and stared at your own reflection. Your clothes were gone and your body healed. Once, you would have cringed at the sight of your own skin. But no more.

You drank.

And drank.

And drank.

Until the lake was only an empty pit in the ground. 

All creatures, dead and alive and in-between, felt it when the powers within the lake broke a second time. 

Koschei dropped Azriel and he fell flat onto his back, raw and broken. His shadows were gone, and now matter how he called out for them, they did not return.

He grasped on to the bond, desperately tugging on it to make sure you were still breathing on the other side. 

“Y/n,” he whispered. His voice was stripped back to nothing. 

You were still there, but you felt faint, as if more distance stretched between you than a hundred meters. 

He rolled onto his stomach, digging his fingernails into the sand and dragging himself forward inch by bloody inch. But the lake drew away from him, water levels plummeting like someone had reached down and pulled the stopper from a bathtub. 

The bond roared, heat blooming in his chest with new power as you revealed yourself. First it was the smooth expanse of your back, then your head as it dipped further and further down to drink what remained of the lake’s magic until there wasn’t a single drop left. 

Koschei stood in shock, his bloodless skin growing even paler as you stood up and pinned him to the ground with your stare. You shone brighter than the sun, moon, and all the stars in the universe combined and Azriel couldn’t pull his gaze away. 

You had never looked more otherworldly — more ethereal — than in that very moment. 

You moved forward so quickly, Azriel didn’t register it until you were standing in front of Koschei, naked and perfect. 

You grabbed Koschei’s face in your hands, his jaw slack and open. He tried to move but found that his feet had been driven into the ground like tent poles. For the first time in his immortal life, Koschei felt fear. 

You shoved power into his body — down his throat, his eyes, his ears — until he was vibrating with untempered energy. His skin started to split apart, light spilling out from the fissures like lava rock and dripping down his body like blood. He felt his own power attack him, killing him from the inside out as you kept pouring more and more magic into Koschei before it could destroy you as well. He was being unwritten from this world. Every muscle fiber snapped in two. Every cell in his body swelled and burst like a grape. 

You held onto the bond, letting it act as an anchor for your sanity so you wouldn’t die like Ione did, and Azriel held on too. Gods did he hold on. He held on so tight you could feel the pressure in your ribs like he was holding your body together and not just your soul. 

You leaned close, allowing your breath to fan over Koschei’s rotten face. “No one touches my mate,” you seethed.

And Koschei blew apart into a trillion microscopic pieces.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Thank you for your patience as I worked to get this chapter out! And um.... sorry if it wasn't what you were hoping for.

Now let me just—

[mrsparrasblog]

Barracks Baby

Summary: After sleeping with four of your fellow teammates, you need to navigate through pregnancy and finding out who the Baby Daddy is

You should have listened to your mother, was all you thought when you looked at that bloody positive stick in your hand. Your mother always said, "Don’t whore around; you’re going to end up pregnant and unwed. Keep your virginity until marriage," blah blah blah.

What your mom didn’t tell you were the effects of living on a military base. You wouldn’t call yourself a barracks bunny—you only slept with four guys; there must be more to it for earning that title. And who could judge you? Everyone would if they could. These four men were everything every other man lacked on earth. No one could make you cum as many times as John could, no one could make you feel so stupid like Simon could, no one was as pretty and nice as Kyle—fucking him in any other position than missionary would be a crime against humanity—and no one had as much stamina as Johnny; he could go for at least six rounds, shove a protein bar between your pouty lips, and go four more.

You weren’t sure what to do. That was a lie—you always wanted kids, just not like this, not in this situation, without knowing who the baby daddy is, being employed by the military, and best of all, being broke. Of course, you could call your best friend Conny; she would always support you with the baby, but even she couldn’t help you break the news to the boys.

Your mother would probably kill you—no, she wouldn’t, but she would tell you all about eating liver sprinkled with fish oil, quitting your job, and getting into a relationship with that loser Mark you once dated. He would still take you after being knocked up, but how could you return to that after having these four guys?

You needed to tell them; you knew it. There was no other way around this situation. Maybe one of them would step up. You were sure if it was Price's baby, he would support you mentally and financially, though your military career would be destroyed. Simon would be a different story; he hated kids—or at least that’s what you thought. He never wanted them, never anything more than a fling. Johnny would be the safest choice; he would take care of you, step up, marry you, and make you a cute housewife in the Highlands. No more working sounded good right now to you. Kyle was a wildcard; he would support you—he was a good guy—but he never spoke about kids. He could either love them or hate them.

You stood up; it was enough time sitting on the toilet and overthinking. You walked outside, gripping the stick tightly and holding it against your stomach, trying to hide it from the rookies walking past you. They had too much fun; if you were with Simon right now, you’d make them run laps for smiling. Rookies aren’t there to be happy; they are there to suffer. Fuck, you’re going to be a terrible mom, you thought. You treated rookies badly, you forgot to feed your hamster once, and you’re only good at shooting and fucking—what will you teach this kid? The anxiety inside of you only grew bigger with every passing second.

You reached the meeting room, sat down, and sighed as you took out your phone, scrolling until you found the Group chat 141 + Hot Stuff. You remembered how Johnny changed it after you joined and how the Lt. threw a fit over it.

You: Important things to discuss, please come to the meeting room, now.

Daddy <3: Everything okay?

Emo Boy: Affirmative

Pretty Boy: Can I finish the set?

Bubbles: It’s 7 am, I’m not coming

You: NOW

With that, everyone agreed. You weren’t sure how to break the news. "Hey, I’m pregnant; it might be any one of you. Surprise, Daddy!" wasn’t a good idea. Leaving the pregnancy test out on the table as if it were a loaded gun wasn’t a good idea either. Well, you had to admit it was like a round of Russian roulette, just more deadly.

Simon was the first to join. He looked at you as if he knew but kept his mouth shut. After a few minutes, everyone was sitting at the table, looking at you in confusion. You never called a meeting; it would be uncalled for as a Sergeant anyway.

"Why are we here, Bonnie?" Soap destroyed the silence you had hidden yourself in.

You could talk now, explain it, or say anything to make it sound better, but all you could say was a miserable, "I’m pregnant."

Shocked expressions would be an understatement. John tugged on his beard, Johnny lost the color from his face, Kyle looked as if he were a teenager caught past curfew, and Simon’s expression was unreadable to you.

"I’m not sure who the father is among you four," the second bomb went off.

"How could that happen?" was all Johnny said.

"Yes, how could that happen," you spat out sarcastically.

"Babe, please let me cum inside, need you raw." "Let Daddy breed you, Sweetheart, need you all full for me." "The condom broke again, Bonnie." "I’ll pull out, love." Yes, how could that have happened?

"I’m out of this shit," Ghost’s words cut deeper than a knife as he stood up and left without another word. By your luck, he was probably the Dad.

"My mother is going to kill me."

"You’re 28, Gaz, no one’s going to kill you. You’re not a bloody teenager anymore."Price spoke in a stern voice.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

"I’ll give you financial support if it is mine or if you want to get rid of it," when you thought Ghost's words hurt, then Price killed you. He made you on the edge of breaking down—correction, you broke down. The tears in your eyes already streamed down your cheeks; damn hormones. Price looked at you in guilt. He wanted to speak up, but Johnny went first.

"That’s fucking great news, Bonnie. If it’s mine, oh God, I always wanted a wee bairn. Think of him looking like me, or getting twins—the MacTavish genes are pretty strong. We’re getting a wee lad, probably a 10-pounder like me."

Ten pounds—that’s a whole ass turkey. You didn’t even get the chance to excuse yourself before you ran outside, throwing up again. "Fuck, what did I get myself into?"