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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Fantasy Come to Life

Day 23 → Consensual Non-Consent 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content, CNC, drugging, and conditioning

Kinktober Masterlist

The streets of Monaco glimmer under the soft afternoon sun, a golden haze coating the narrow lanes of boutiques and cafés. Your sandals click against the cobblestone as you make your way towards the boutique district.

Excitement pulses in your veins. The air smells of salt from the sea mixed with expensive perfumes wafting from open shop doors. A vacation, you think. Finally, a breath of freedom.

There’s a group of tourists ahead, their laughter bouncing between the buildings, but you don’t pay them much attention. You’re too busy thinking about the new dress you’ve been eyeing since last night. Just a few more minutes, and you’ll-

A hand. Suddenly.

It’s over your mouth. It’s over your nose. You barely process the scent of something sweet before your body reacts, muscles tensing as you thrash, trying to scream. But your voice is gone. Your world is tipping sideways. The bustling streets dim, muffled voices becoming far-off echoes.

You struggle. Harder now, your legs kicking wildly, hands flailing to grab onto something — anything — but it’s useless. The arms around you are too strong, pulling you back, pulling you down. The cloth over your face smells like chemicals, sickly sweet and heavy.

The light above you begins to blur. Your fingers twitch, reaching for the fading streetlights, for the sky, but everything’s too far away. Your limbs stop responding. You’re falling.

And then — nothing.

***

When you come to, your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. Everything is hazy, dark. You try to move but your body doesn’t listen. Panic flares. You can barely breathe, and your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

Then you hear voices. Men, low and murmuring, their words filtering into your consciousness through the haze.

“... should be waking up soon,” one of them says. His voice is smooth, calm, like this is all perfectly normal.

“Why her, though?” It’s the driver, speaking in a clipped tone. The rumble of the engine thrums beneath you, the subtle vibration reminding you that you’re in a car. “There are thousands of beautiful women here, Max. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

There’s a pause.

And then, a deeper voice, Max, answers.

“I knew the moment I saw her,” Max says, his tone dark, possessive. “She’s meant to be mine.”

Your heart thuds. You can hear him shifting in the seat next to you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

The driver scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to,” Max replies smoothly. “Some things are undeniable.”

His words drip with confidence, like this is all part of some grand plan that only he understands.

You try to move again, to make a sound, but your limbs are heavy and unresponsive, and fear curls in your stomach like a fist. You’re trapped, lying motionless in the backseat of this car with two strangers, one of whom thinks he owns you.

“She’ll resist,” the driver says. “They always resist.”

Max chuckles, low and quiet. “Of course she will. At first.” There’s a pause, then you hear him shift closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “But I’ll make her understand. She’ll be perfect once I’ve made her mine.”

The air around you feels suffocating, his presence overwhelming. You want to scream, to cry, but your body remains limp, powerless under whatever they’ve drugged you with. You try to focus, to force your eyes open, but it’s like swimming through quicksand.

“She’s pretty,” the driver remarks after a beat. “But not worth all this. You really think she’s the one?”

Max lets out a quiet laugh, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “She is the one. I’ve seen plenty of women, but none like her.”

The driver grunts, unconvinced. “You sound obsessed.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Max corrects him, his tone calm, deliberate. “I’m certain.”

A silence stretches between them, the only sound the hum of the engine and the faint rustle of fabric as Max leans back.

You fight against the drug still clouding your senses, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The luxurious leather beneath you, the soft vibrations of the car — this isn’t just any car. It’s expensive. You can tell by the way it smells, by the subtle way it moves over the road. These men — they aren’t amateurs.

“What’s the plan, then?” The driver asks, breaking the silence. “You can’t just keep her like this.”

Max takes his time responding. “I’ll introduce myself properly once she wakes up. Once she’s calm.”

“And if she’s not?”

“She will be,” Max says, a thread of steel weaving into his voice. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

Your stomach churns. You try again to move, to scream, but nothing comes out. It’s like your body is a prison, and you’re trapped inside, helpless. You feel Max’s gaze on you, heavy, unyielding. Even though you can’t see him, you know he’s watching, waiting.

“You’re insane,” the driver mutters, shaking his head. “This is a bad idea.”

Max doesn’t respond immediately. When he does, his voice is low, quiet, almost intimate. “You don’t understand,” he says. “She belongs to me. I knew it the moment I saw her walk out of that hotel. I could feel it.”

The driver sighs. “I still don’t get it. Why go through all this trouble? She’s just a girl.”

“She’s not just a girl,” Max snaps, his patience thinning. “She’s the girl. The only one.”

Your pulse quickens. You’ve heard enough to know that whatever Max wants from you, it’s not something you can just walk away from. There’s something dangerous about the way he talks about you, like you’re an object, something to be claimed and owned.

“Whatever,” the driver says, clearly done with the conversation. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I always do,” Max replies, the confidence back in his voice. “Now, keep driving.”

There’s a shift in the car, a turn, and you feel the momentum change as they head somewhere new. You fight to stay conscious, to fight through the fog in your mind, but it’s getting harder and harder to focus. The drugs are still working their way through your system, and you can feel yourself slipping.

Max leans in closer again, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll wake up soon. And when you do, we’ll start over. Properly this time.”

The car hums beneath you as it continues its journey, and with every second that passes, you feel yourself fading again, drifting away into the darkness.

***

Time slips away, and you don’t know how long you’ve been out when you finally stir. Your eyes flutter open, and the world slowly comes back into focus. The car has stopped, parked somewhere dark and quiet. You can barely move, but you manage to shift slightly, just enough to feel the weight of the leather seat beneath you, the tightness of your clothes against your skin.

There’s a rustle next to you, and then Max is there, leaning over you, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and all that comes out is a faint croak.

“Shh,” Max soothes, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Don’t try to talk. You’re still a little out of it.”

Your heart races, and you try to push yourself up, but your limbs are still sluggish, your body refusing to obey.

Max watches you for a moment, then smiles. “Don’t worry,” he says. “This will all make sense soon enough.”

You want to scream, to lash out, to fight, but you can’t. You’re trapped, and Max knows it.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, leaning in close, his breath warm against your skin. “And I’ll make sure you understand that.”

Terror grips you, but there’s nothing you can do. Not yet.

Max sits back, his eyes never leaving you, and for the first time, you realize just how much danger you’re in.

The world outside the car is quiet, the faint rustle of leaves the only sound in the stillness. You’re groggy, trying to push through the fog in your mind as Max’s hands move to unbuckle your seatbelt. His touch is efficient, calculated, not gentle. The door opens with a soft click, and you feel the cool night air wash over your skin.

Max leans down, his face close to yours, eyes sharp and watchful. “I’m going to carry you inside,” he says, almost as if he’s giving you permission to protest. But you can’t. You can barely lift your head. The drug still lingers, turning your limbs to lead.

Without another word, he slides his arms under you, lifting you effortlessly. His grip is secure, possessive, and you can feel the strength in his muscles as he carries you out of the car and toward the looming silhouette of a villa in the distance. It’s massive. Larger than anything you’ve ever seen in real life, with sprawling gardens that stretch into the darkness. The villa itself is lit from within, a soft glow spilling through tall windows. It’s beautiful in a cold, detached way, like a piece of art you can admire but never touch.

As Max carries you up the long driveway, his pace is steady, unhurried. He isn’t worried about anyone seeing him. He’s confident. Why wouldn’t he be? There’s no one around. No one to help.

“Where are you taking me?” You manage to whisper, your voice weak but steady enough to ask the question that’s been burning in your mind.

Max doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t even look at you. “Home,” he replies simply.

You swallow, the word landing like a stone in your chest. “This isn’t-”

“It will be,” he cuts you off, his voice calm, like he’s already made up his mind about everything. “You’ll see.”

You try to focus, to take in every detail. The way the villa seems to stretch forever, the heavy scent of flowers in the air, the distant hum of the sea. The weight of Max’s arms around you, the way his fingers press into your skin as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

But you’re not slipping anywhere.

He carries you through the grand entrance, past doors that swing open with ease, revealing a marble-floored foyer that’s so pristine, it feels untouched. There’s a quietness to the place, a hollow, echoing silence that sends a chill down your spine.

The sound of Max’s shoes against the marble floor is steady, rhythmic, as he carries you through the house. You catch glimpses of rooms as you pass — an opulent dining room with a crystal chandelier, a sitting room with velvet chairs and enormous windows. But it’s all a blur, your mind struggling to hold on to details as exhaustion pulls at you.

Finally, Max stops in front of a set of tall double doors. He shifts you slightly in his arms, then pushes one of the doors open with his shoulder. The room beyond is lavish, even more opulent than the rest of the villa. The bed is massive, draped in silk and velvet, with heavy curtains framing the windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. The walls are lined with dark wood, polished to a shine, and a crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting soft light across the room.

Max walks over to the bed, lowering you gently onto the soft mattress. Your body sinks into the silk sheets, and for a moment, it feels like you’re floating. But the comfort is fleeting, replaced quickly by the suffocating weight of reality.

He stands over you, his eyes scanning your face as if he’s searching for something. “This is where you’ll stay for now,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Until you understand.”

You blink, struggling to keep your thoughts from spiraling out of control. “Understand what?”

Max’s lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “That you belong here. With me.”

You want to argue, to scream, to do anything to break through the haze that’s clouding your mind. But the words catch in your throat, and all you can manage is a shaky breath.

Max moves to the foot of the bed, his hands clasped behind his back as he regards you with that same unnerving calm. “This is the beginning,” he says softly. “The conditioning will start now.”

Your heart lurches. Conditioning. The word feels clinical, detached, like something out of a textbook. But the way Max says it makes it clear that this is no abstract concept. This is real. It’s happening to you.

“What are you talking about?” You whisper, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.

Max steps closer, his gaze steady, almost gentle. “You’re going to learn to associate certain things with me. Pleasure, comfort, safety. And you’ll learn that being without me ... hurts.” He says it so simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your stomach twists. “You can’t ... you can’t do this.”

“I already am,” he replies smoothly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The process is simple. Every time you wake up, you’ll feel better when I’m here. Worse when I’m not. Eventually, it’ll become instinct. You’ll crave my presence. You’ll need me.”

Your breath quickens, panic rising in your chest. “You’re insane.”

Max tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Maybe,” he says, almost casually. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

Before you can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Max doesn’t react, doesn’t even turn to look as the door swings open. A man enters, dressed in a white coat, carrying a small bag in one hand. He’s older, with graying hair and a sharp, clinical air about him. He looks at you briefly, then turns his attention to Max.

“Everything’s prepared,” the man says, his voice clipped and professional.

Max nods. “Good. Let’s begin.”

The man moves to the side of the bed, setting his bag down on the nightstand. You try to push yourself up, but your body still feels sluggish, uncooperative. Fear surges through you as the man opens the bag, pulling out a syringe filled with clear liquid.

“Wait,” you rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, don’t do this.”

Max moves closer, his gaze fixed on you. “It’s for your own good,” he says softly. “You’ll understand soon.”

The physician takes your arm, finding a vein with practiced ease. You flinch, but the needle is in before you can even protest. The liquid burns as it enters your bloodstream, a slow, creeping warmth that spreads through your body.

Your vision starts to blur again, the edges of the room fading into darkness. Max’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

“You’ll wake up soon,” he says, his voice gentle, almost soothing. “And when you do, I’ll be here. Right where I belong.”

***

The next time you open your eyes, it feels like hours have passed. Maybe days. You’re not sure. The room is the same, the heavy curtains drawn, the chandelier casting its soft glow across the dark wood and silk.

Max is there, sitting in a chair by the bed, watching you. His presence is like a weight in the room, something you can feel even before you fully register it. The sight of him sends a strange warmth through your chest, a flicker of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice low and steady.

You blink, trying to shake off the fog that still clings to your mind. “What ... what did you do?”

Max leans forward slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I told you,” he says softly. “The conditioning has begun.”

You try to sit up, but your body feels weak, drained. The drug — whatever they gave you — is still working its way through your system, dulling your senses. But even through the haze, you can feel it. The strange pull toward Max, the inexplicable comfort that his presence brings. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

“You can’t-” you start, but your voice falters. The words don’t come as easily as they should.

Max stands, moving to the side of the bed. “I know it’s confusing right now,” he says, his tone almost kind. “But it’ll get easier. The more time we spend together, the more natural it’ll feel. You’ll stop fighting it.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. “I’ll never-”

“You will,” Max interrupts, his voice firm but not harsh. “You don’t have a choice.”

He reaches out, brushing a hand over your hair, his touch gentle but possessive. The warmth that spreads through you at the contact is immediate, overwhelming, and you hate it. You hate the way your body responds, the way your mind seems to betray you.

“I’ll leave you for now,” Max says, pulling his hand back. “But don’t worry. I won’t be gone long.”

Your heart races as he steps away, moving toward the door. The thought of him leaving sends a sharp pang through your chest, and you can’t understand why. This is what you want. To be free of him. To be alone.

But as the door closes behind him, the room suddenly feels colder, emptier. The warmth he left behind begins to fade, replaced by an aching void that gnaws at you from the inside.

You close your eyes, trying to fight it, trying to cling to your own thoughts, but the emptiness crashes over you like a tidal wave. It’s immediate — sharp and suffocating, spreading through your body like a cold fog. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything else, but the ache pulses deep inside you. Your muscles tense as though they’re bracing against a storm, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

The room feels unbearably quiet without him, as though the air has been sucked out, leaving only a hollow silence behind. You hate this. You hate how quickly your body has betrayed you, how quickly the comfort of his presence has taken root inside you.

This is wrong, you tell yourself. It’s the drugs, the conditioning.

But the longer he’s gone, the more unbearable the ache becomes. It’s subtle at first, like a distant pressure, but it grows stronger, clawing at your insides until every nerve feels raw and exposed. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you fight against the pull, but it’s relentless.

Time stretches out. You don’t know how long you’ve been lying there, staring up at the ceiling, but it feels like an eternity. Every second without him feels like a thousand needles pressing into your skin. Your body screams for relief, for the warmth of his presence to soothe the burning ache inside you.

You grit your teeth, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. This isn’t real, you think, but your body doesn’t care. All it knows is that it hurts.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens.

The relief is instant. The moment Max steps into the room, the ache that’s been gnawing at you recedes, replaced by a wave of warmth that rushes through your veins. You hate it. You hate how quickly the pain fades, how easily your body responds to him, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Max walks in slowly, his eyes locked on you, taking in every detail of your face as if reading the changes in your expression. You don’t need to speak for him to know what you’re feeling. He can see it. He can see how desperate your body is for the comfort he brings, even though your mind is screaming for it to stop.

“I told you,” Max says softly, moving closer to the bed. “You’ll feel better when I’m here.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your throat feels tight, the words trapped inside you, and the worst part is you don’t know if they’d come out as anger or something worse.

Max sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. The touch is gentle, careful, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m here to make you feel good,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “That’s what I’ll always do. As long as you behave for me.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. He says it like a promise, like he genuinely believes that he’s helping you.

“I don’t need you,” you manage to whisper, your voice shaking. “I don’t want this.”

Max’s smile is soft, almost pitying. “Your body says otherwise.” His fingers trail down your cheek, brushing against your skin. “You can fight it all you want, but you’ll always feel better when I’m close. That’s the way it’s going to be.”

You try to pull away from his touch, but your body betrays you, craving the warmth and relief that comes with his proximity. The ache that had threatened to consume you moments ago is gone, replaced by a simmering heat that spreads through your limbs, making your skin tingle under his fingertips.

Max watches you closely, his eyes dark and calculating as he gauges your reaction. “See?” He murmurs, his voice soft and coaxing. “You’re already starting to understand.”

“I hate you,” you whisper, but even as you say the words, your body is reacting to him, leaning into his touch despite the protests screaming in your mind.

Max doesn’t flinch at your words. If anything, he seems amused. “Hate me if you want,” he says, his tone light. “But your body knows the truth.”

His hand moves lower, trailing down your arm, sending a ripple of sensation through you that you can’t control. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth intensifies, and you clench your fists, trying to fight the pull.

Max’s fingers skim the edge of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches the way your body reacts. “You’ll feel good, I promise,” he whispers. “Better than you’ve ever felt before.”

You shake your head, panic rising in your chest. “No-”

But Max doesn’t stop. His hand slips under the fabric of your dress, his touch deliberate and slow as he hikes it up over your thighs, exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. Your heart races, a mixture of fear and something you don’t want to name thrumming through your veins.

“Shh,” Max soothes, his voice steady. “You’ll learn to trust me. To need me. It’s already happening.”

You try to close your legs, but his hands are firm, guiding you open, controlling the movement of your body as if you’re nothing more than a doll in his hands. A small, broken sound escapes your throat, but he doesn’t stop, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin, making your pulse quicken.

“I told you I’d make you feel good,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You don’t have to fight it.”

Tears prick at your eyes, your chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. You want to scream, to kick, to fight him off, but the weight of your own body holds you down. And worse — the warmth that follows his touch, the heat building in your core, it betrays you. You can’t stop the way your body reacts to him, no matter how much you want to.

Max shifts, his knee pressing against the bed as he leans over you, his hand sliding higher under your dress. His fingers graze the edge of your underwear, and your breath hitches, panic and unwanted anticipation coiling together inside you.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Don’t.”

But Max doesn’t listen. His hand slips beneath the fabric, his fingers brushing against you, and the sensation is overwhelming. You arch against him involuntarily, your body moving without your consent, and the heat inside you builds, the ache that had threatened to consume you earlier morphing into something entirely different.

“You’ll come to love this,” Max says, his tone calm, confident. “In time, you’ll crave it.”

You want to scream that he’s wrong, that you’ll never crave this, but your body doesn’t listen. It reacts to his touch, to the way his fingers move, coaxing a response out of you that you can’t control.

Max’s other hand moves to your hair, brushing it back gently as he leans down, his lips close to your ear. “Let go,” he whispers. “Stop fighting it. I’ll take care of you.”

Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as the heat builds inside you, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, caught between the need to escape and the unbearable sensation that’s pushing you closer to a precipice you don’t want to fall over.

“I’ll always make you feel good,” Max murmurs, his fingers moving faster over your clit, his voice a steady, calming presence in the storm raging inside you. “As long as you’re good for me.”

Your body tenses, the wave crashing over you, pulling you under. You gasp, your back arching off the bed as the sensation overwhelms you, drowning out every thought, every protest, until there’s nothing left but the blinding heat of release.

Max’s hand stills, his touch softening as the aftershocks ripple through you, and he watches, his expression unreadable as you come undone beneath him. You hate it. You hate every second of it. But the worst part is that your body craves it.

Max leans back, his hand trailing away from you, leaving your skin burning in its absence. He stands, adjusting his sleeves as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

“You did well,” he says, his voice soft, almost tender. “I’ll leave you to rest now.”

Your body is limp, your mind spinning as you try to process what’s just happened. The ache is gone, replaced by an empty exhaustion that weighs heavily on your limbs.

Max heads toward the door, pausing only briefly to glance back at you. “Remember,” he says quietly, his eyes dark and intense. “You’ll always feel better when I’m here.”

Then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the echo of his touch still lingering on your skin. The room is silent again, but this time the silence isn’t cold. It’s suffocating, pressing down on you like a heavy blanket, and for the first time since you arrived in this place, you realize just how trapped you are.

And worst of all, you know that he’s right.

***

The door opens again.

This time, when you hear it, your body doesn’t flood with fear, or even confusion — it’s anticipation. The ache that had returned in his absence is quickly soothed as Max steps into the room, his presence undeniable, filling the space with a charged energy that you’ve come to crave.

His steps are measured, deliberate, as he crosses the room to you. There’s no hesitation in his movement, no uncertainty. He knows exactly what he’s doing and what you both agreed upon. The room feels smaller when he’s in it, like the walls close in, but in a way that feels safe, protected — like nothing can touch you except him.

Max’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile as he comes to the side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. He says nothing at first, letting the moment linger between you, thick and heavy. You’re not sure if you should speak or wait for him to break the silence.

He doesn’t make you wait long.

“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, his voice like velvet as he leans down, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “You were perfect.”

There’s a flutter of warmth in your chest at the praise, something that makes you feel both proud and vulnerable all at once. You blink up at him, your body still exhausted from what just happened, but there’s something comforting about the way he’s looking at you now. The way his hand reaches out to caress your cheek, tender and affectionate, as if to erase any remnants of the harshness from before.

“I wasn’t sure if you could handle it,” Max continues, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with an intimacy that feels far more personal than anything he’s done before. “But you did. You always do, don’t you?”

You nod, your throat tight, the words caught somewhere between your mind and your mouth. You can’t quite shake the feeling of how intense everything was, how quickly it all escalated. But now, with him here, touching you like this, the pieces of the scene start to fall away, revealing what lies underneath.

Max watches you, waiting for your response, but he’s patient. He always is, especially after something like this. He knows you need time to come back down, to find your footing after the role you’ve both played.

“Was it … okay?” You manage to ask, your voice still soft and hesitant. There’s a vulnerability in your tone, a need for reassurance, even though you know how he feels.

Max’s eyes soften, and he leans down to kiss you — soft, slow, and deliberate. His lips linger against yours, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss. It’s a different kind of intensity now, one that speaks to the connection you both share. When he finally pulls back, there’s a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“More than okay,” he whispers. “You were incredible.”

The tension that had been coiled inside you loosens at his words, and you feel yourself relax against the pillows. Max’s praise always has this effect on you, like it fills in the cracks and makes everything feel right again.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip as he studies your face. “Every second of it was perfect because it was with you.”

The weight of those words settles into your chest, grounding you in the reality of what you both share. It’s all an act — a scene you agreed upon. Max has always been careful, always made sure you were okay with everything. That’s how it works between you two. The intensity, the control, the power dynamic — it’s all part of the game, part of what you’ve both built together. But underneath it all is the love, the trust that binds you to him.

He presses another kiss to your lips, softer this time, a gesture of affection rather than dominance. When he pulls away, there’s a lightness in his expression, a warmth that makes the remnants of the scene melt away completely.

“I have something for you,” he says, standing up and walking toward the door. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

You watch as he exits the room, the anticipation building again, though this time it’s mixed with curiosity. Moments later, Max returns, pushing a small cart laden with trays of food. The smell hits you first — rich, savory, and mouthwatering. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you that you haven’t eaten in what feels like forever.

Max notices, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a satisfied smile. “I thought you might be hungry.”

You sit up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows as Max wheels the cart over to the side of the bed. He lifts the lids from the trays, revealing an array of delicacies — perfectly grilled meats, roasted vegetables, fresh fruit, and decadent desserts. It’s more than just a meal, it’s a feast.

“Let me,” Max says, reaching for a fork. He cuts a small piece of steak and holds it out to you, his eyes watching your every movement, waiting for you to take the first bite.

You hesitate for only a moment before leaning forward, letting him feed you. The flavors burst across your tongue, rich and savory, and you can’t help the small sound of appreciation that escapes your lips.

Max’s smile widens. “Good?”

You nod, swallowing before responding. “It’s amazing.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and there’s that familiar warmth in his voice again, the praise sinking into your skin like sunlight. He cuts another piece of food, feeding it to you before leaning in to kiss you between bites.

Each kiss is soft, slow, and filled with an affection that feels worlds away from the intensity of earlier. You sink into the moment, into the comfort of his presence, letting yourself be taken care of.

“You were so perfect for me,” Max whispers between kisses, his lips brushing against your cheek. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

You smile softly, feeling the tension of the day melt away as you let him feed you, let him take care of you. There’s something intimate about the act, something grounding. It’s not just about the food — it’s about the connection, the way he looks at you with such devotion in his eyes.

Max takes his time, savoring the moment as much as you are. He alternates between feeding you and stealing kisses, each one a little longer, a little deeper than the last. His hands are gentle as they move over your skin, brushing your hair back, cupping your face, his touch always lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“You have no idea how proud I am of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “The way you trust me, the way you let go. It’s everything I could ever want.”

You close your eyes, leaning into him, the warmth of his words settling deep inside you. It’s always like this after a scene — the tenderness, the closeness. Max knows how to bring you back, how to make you feel safe and loved after everything.

“I couldn’t do it without you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softening even more. “We do this together. That’s what makes it so special.”

There’s a weight to his words, a promise that echoes in the quiet of the room. You nod, knowing it’s true. You wouldn’t be able to do any of this without him — not the scenes, not the intensity, not the way you let yourself go completely when you’re with him.

Max leans in again, kissing you deeply this time, his hands cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. When he finally pulls away, there’s a hunger in his eyes, but it’s not the same hunger from earlier. This one is softer, more intimate, and it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“I love you,” he says again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” you reply, the words coming easily, naturally, because they’re the truest thing you know.

Max smiles, a slow, satisfied smile that makes your stomach flip. He reaches for one of the desserts on the tray — a small piece of chocolate cake — and holds it out to you. You take a bite, and before you can even swallow, Max is kissing you again, his lips tasting of chocolate and sweetness.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against your lips, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of kisses and laughter, the food slowly disappearing from the trays as Max continues to feed you, praising you with every bite and every kiss. The intensity of earlier is long gone, replaced by something deeper, something that feels like home.

And as you lie there in his arms, sated and content, you know that no matter what happens, no matter how intense the scenes get, you’ll always have this — this quiet, tender intimacy that belongs to just the two of you.

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checkeredflagggs · 9 months ago

Text

Three Hearts Left

Pairing: max verstappen x fem!gamer!reader

summary: fans (and friends) are shocked when they find max is married and to who

a/n: I’m only a casual gamer so take it with a grain of salt

a/n 2: sorry it’s a really late - the weather hates me personally (it is actually September and doesn’t need to be 85* 😡) and it drained my creativity also I got hella sick so 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n 3: I know I use the name Twitter when talking about that site. I’ll stop deadnaming it when musk rat does too

a/n 4: still not feeling 100% but I wanted to get this out for max’s bday!!

catpawsgaming

Welcome to the CatTree with the paw prints 🐾 ! I’m just a cat 🐈 mom Lady™ who loves the gaming but not the camera 📷. I’ve been playing games all my life and have been streaming for 3 years — as a hobby, not a full time job. I love my 2 cats, my handsome man, and you 🫵 all my lovely fans. You most definitely make all this worthwhile so mwah mwah 💋💋 (video)

catpawsgaming

liked by user, user, user, and 6,583,455 others

catpawsgaming: here we go! Baldur’s Gate 3 has been highly highly requested — so I bought it! …yesterday and forgot about it cause curse of capitalism I still have my day job 😭 but away we go!

As always, if you didn’t manage to catch my livestream it’ll be on my page and I’ll be uploading it to my YouTube channel tomorrow! My YouTube will have the 3 usual versions (one unedited with my reactions, one with just the game play, and one with no sound at all but with closed captions)

Next stream date and game tbh announced but will probably be this Sunday with Animal Crossing (fingers crossed 🤞🤞 I finally get a good turnip price 😭😭 Daisy Mae hasn’t been kind to me lately…)

view all comments

user1: guuuurrrrrrrllll it’s about time you got bg3! We been waiting

↳ catpawsgaming: definitely worth the wait though! I had so much fun and it was so hard to stop for the night

↳ user2: for sure it was 🤣 your reactions to shadowheart and astarion were hilarious

↳ catpawsgaming: they clocked my type on point

user3: glad we convinced you to become a bard! You’ll rock it 💙

↳ catpawsgaming: ok but this the closest you will get me to actually performing so enjoy it while it lasts

↳ user3: not gonna sing along?

↳ catpawsgaming: 🤣🤣🤣 🫵 🤡

↳ catpawsgaming: absolutely not.

↳ catpawsgaming: also handsome just bust out laughing at the thought of me singing so…🙄🙄🙄 he’s lucky I love him

↳ handsome: I am very lucky liefje

↳ user3: ahhhh we were so close to her singing but also awwww cause handsome is here!!

handsome: liefje this was amazing

↳ catpawsgaming: thank you 🥰🥰

↳ catpawsgaming: but also you were laughing at me the entire night so…

↳ catpawsgaming: not sure how much I believe you

↳ handsome: well I didn’t say it was good…

↳ catpawsgaming: 🤨😒😔😢

↳ handsome: 🥰🥰🥰

user4: oh to have a man that will spend hours with you doing separate hobbies together…

↳ catpawsgaming: gotta admit it’s the dream

↳ handsome: you’re the dream liefje

↳ user4: ok there handsome, no need to get sappy here on MY comment thread

Private Messages

mv1updates

liked by user, user, user, and 2,833,736 others

mv1updates: Max was streaming today! Just a short one but highly entertaining. Jimmy (or Sassy? I’m honestly baffled and for the life of me can’t tell them apart 😢) caused a small disturbance in the middle of his stream then slept the rest away in Max’s lap 😍

view all comments

user5: that was sooooo adorable!! Love seeing more cat dad Max

↳ user6: same! And don’t feel bad admin - I can’t tell them apart either

user7: to be Jimmy…🥵

↳ user8: right? What I wouldn’t give to be sleeping away in his lap…

↳ user9: blessed be. His damn thighs man 😳

user10: ok but am I the only one that heard a female voice in the background?

↳ user11: I THOUGHT I WAS GOING INSANE?? Like there was definitely someone there

↳ user12: wait when?

↳ user10: when max turned the camera to show jimmy on top

Private Messages

catpawsgaming

liked by user, user, user, and 5,822,944 others

catpawsgaming: and Daisy Mae delivered this week! Sunday I got a price of 90 and today!! Selling price of turnips is 658 this evening!! Woohoo!

I've got my usual set up going to allow visitors to sell and I’ll be playing for about 4 or 5 hours so let’s make some cash today! I just ask you be respectful of my island.

My week is looking pretty busy (a lot of traveling happening) so my next stream will probably be sometime next week and I’ll be playing Horizon: Zero Dawn! Its sequel will be coming out soon and I want to replay the first to refamiliarize myself with the game!

view all comments

user13: yeessssss! I’ve been holding out that someone would have some fantastic selling prices this week! New house upgrade here I come!

↳ user14: oh don’t I know it! It’s been a downward slump all week for me — the high was 105 😭😭

↳ user13: ouch 🤕

user15: did anyone else hear the cat meowing in the background!

↳ user16: yes! Catpaws has got a couple of cats — they’re almost never on stream (they don’t like staying in one place for long) but catpaws got them right before they started streaming!

↳ catpawsgaming: 2 of them! They’re my babies! 🐈🐈

↳ user15: awwwww 😍😍

user17: can I say something? Is this a safe place?

↳ user18: it is not but say it anyway

↳ user17: it totally looks like she’s got a wedding ring on in the beginning of this stream

↳ user18: nurse! She’s out again

↳ user19: no no no let her cook. I totally thought the same. It was literally just a glimpse but I swear that she had a ring on

↳ user17: thank you! I knew I wasn’t crazy

↳ user19: but! That does mean our catpaws is married!!!!!

↳ user17: 😱

↳ user18: 😱

↳ user19: 😱

↳ catpawsgaming: 😉

↳ handsome: 💙

↳ user17: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?

catpawsupdates

liked by user, user, user, and 3,126,918 others

catpawsupdates: we’ve had a couple of requests lately asking about catpawsgaming and her cats! These are the first and last photo we’ve gotten — she’s incredibly secretive about them so we don’t know if this is the same cat in both photos or if she has 2 bengals (peep also handsome in the first photo. Catpaws was laughing when she posted that photo cause she’s usually the passenger princess)

view all comments

user20: I LOVE THEM

↳ user21: same! Insert that meme. “I’ve only had them for a day but if anything happened to them I kill everyone else then myself”

↳ user22: extreme but agreeable.

user23: that’s sassy - I’d bet money on it

↳ user24: sassy? What? Who?

↳ user23: sassy verstappen! F1 world champion max verstappen’s cat

↳ user24: ummm? This is a page for a small time gamer catpawsgaming

↳ user23: listen. Torture couldn’t get me to admit how long I’ve spent staring at pictures and videos of jimmy and sassy. But that is absolutely sassy!

↳ user17: I’m connecting the dots as I type

↳ user18: you’re not connecting shit

↳ user17: CONNECTING THE DOTS AS I TYPE

Private Messages

Bluesky

Private Messages

catpawsgaming

liked by user, user, user, and 3,712,222 others

catpawsgaming: tonight’s stream is gonna be a little late — I’m currently being held hostage by the cutest kidnapper ever

view all comments

user24: awwww

user25: your right. You simply can’t move!

↳ catpawsgaming: completely pinned down!

↳ user25: I don’t think anyone is gonna have a problem with your steam being late tonight

↳ user26: I’ve spoken to the council and we don’t! In fact we all vote for a stream of literally just the cat

↳ catpawsgaming:…you know that is an idea

↳ user26: omg. OMG. OH MY GOD!!

user23: THATS JIMMY!! I SWEAR ON MY LIFE

↳ user27: ok grandma. Let’s get you back to bed

handsome: so that’s where the little troublemaker is

↳ user28: omg hi handsome! Where’ve you been?

↳ catpawsgaming: ok I love all my fans but plz stop flirting with my man

↳ user28: can I flirt with you instead?

↳ catpawsgaming: 😳

↳ handsome: no

Private Messages

Bluesky

user29: ITS MAX VERSTAPPEN AND CATPAWSGAMING!!!! I TOLD YOU ALL

↳ user30: ok but are we really gonna take a gossip page as the truth?

user31: OH MY GOD THAT CRAZY FAN WAS RIGHT?!?

↳ catpawsgamingfan: I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOOOOUUUUU

view all comments

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 8,345,765 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: liefje I know this is not how we wanted to share our love with the world but a light in the darkness is now I get to talk about how much I love you and how you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. These past 5 years have been a dream come true — and it’s been a dream I never knew I had. Seeing you that first time, you took my breath away. Forget the trophies and the victories, the world championships and titles I’ve won — becoming your husband has topped every single one of them. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore and I wouldn’t ever want to

comments have been restricted on this post

yourusername: oh my handsome man…you are the light of my life, the moon in my night, the stars in the sky, the best husband ever and the most loving cat dad I could have ever wanted to spend my life with. Thank you thank you thank you for picking me and staying with me and fighting for me and with me 💋💋

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retroaria · 10 months ago

Text

⊹₊⋆.˚ Confessions ⋆.˚₊ ⊹

summary: the bllk boys and their romantic confessions, some are love, some are not! all of them are pretty cute though, not gonna lie…

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | requests are open! | enjoy 💋

⊹₊⟡⋆ Isagi Yoichi ‹𝟹

isagi makes it a point to confess to you in person. he spends a few days thinking (and overthinking) exactly what words to use. he wants to make sure he can confess his true feelings and also let you know how lucky he would feel if you accepted him.

once he’s ready he’d send you a text or call you, asking you to meet him somewhere quiet, maybe just his house or yours. the two of you meet up and he’s immediately flushed. he’s nervous and excited all at the same time. he’s the kind of guy that would want to have built a strong friendship and bond before confronting his feelings for you, so he’s confident that you guys will be ok no matter what happens.

he’d take your hands in his and look you in the eyes while he confesses. his gaze would be warm and sweet, he’s just glad he could even get the opportunity to express himself to you.

“I’ve really love having you with me. You make me feel better, even when I thought I was fine before, being with you just feels better. The closer we’ve gotten, and the more I’ve seen of you and your world, the more I realize how badly I want to be a part of it.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Bachira Meguru ‹𝟹

as soon as bachira realizes he has feelings for you, he feels immediately ready to tell you. he’ll let the feeling settle for a little and try to tell you in an indirect manner. he’ll swoop in with a surprise kiss on your cheek, giggling as he watches your flustered expression. or maybe he’ll leave little notes around for you, in your bag, in your car, in your pockets, in your books, etc. they’d say silly little things about how adorable you were that day or he’ll briefly write about something that reminded him of you, maybe some mediocre poetry he thought up in his love sick state. you’d catch on pretty easily that it was bachira, and he never intended to keep that a secret.

then after a few days of messing with you, he decided he’d tell you the next time he saw you. when the two of you met up he immediately sucked you into a bone crushing hug, like he was holding on for dear life. he’d pull away, “hey cutie~ guess what…” he’d coo at you.

“i like you! Like, I really like you. Maybe I even love you. actually, yeah, love sounds better. I love you! I wanna take you on a date and kiss your stupid face. I know you feel the same, I wish you could see how red you are right now.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Nagi Seishiro ‹𝟹

Nagi realized he loved you when he began to notice how sad he would get when you leave. being sad is a serious pain for him. he doesn’t like the way it makes his brain and body feel all fried and stressed, he hates not wanting to do anything even more than he already does, yet simultaneously willing to do anything to get you back in his apartment. Nagi would beg you to sleepover every time you hung out at his place, he’d sometimes try to wrestle you into the bed. you were just so kind and warm and calming to him. he felt graced by you and your presence.

his confession would come out of him like a nice long sign of relief. he’s been having this strange internal battle between his love for you and his love for laziness. it’s a hassle to have to confess and then put in the effort to build up a romantic relationship, but in the end he decides it’s even more of a hassle to not tell you how he feels. plus, you’re so worth it.

“It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not with me. It’s like I don’t really know what to do with myself. You make me feel alive. That sounds cringe. I love you, is what im trying to say. I hope that makes sense.”

disclaimer: do not date a guy like nagi in real life you cannot gentle parent this man child lol

⊹₊⟡⋆ Reo Mikage ‹𝟹

Reo’s confession was a long time in the making. he clung to his feelings for as long as he could until it really felt like he was gonna explode if he didn’t tell you. he did that because he wanted to wait for the timing to be perfect. he wanted to find the perfect spot to do it, the perfect words to say, all at the perfect time in both of your lives. but of course, things rarely work out that way.

what actually happened is he blurted it out in the middle of you talking one day. you were telling him about something you were working on, something you loved and were really proud of. he was listening so intently, or at least trying to. his thoughts kept stringing him in a different direction and before he knew it, he dropped the L word on you like a nuclear bomb.

“I-uhh…Ok listen, I’m sorry I promise I was listening to you it’s just…you look so beautiful right now and you sound so cute and excited. It got me all frantic, I didn’t mean to drop that on you so out of nowhere…it’s true though, I do love you. I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Michael Kaiser ‹𝟹

(unless you speak german) kaiser has already confessed to you a million times. “ich liebe dich~” he’d say to you upon every parting, telling you it was simply a term of endearment. if you did happen to know what that meant already, or if you took the time to search it up, he’d be like “yeah, I said that, so what?” this man would propose to you in the middle of times square in broad daylight he’s so confident but that’s a different hc for another time lmaoo.

his confession is charming and flattering. he truly worships the ground you walk on while also believing that he’s the only one who could appreciate you as you deserve. his hands cup your face and his eyes fall warmly on yours. his voice is direct and steady. not a twinge of nervousness can be seen, just pure love and admiration. he speaks to you with a calm and lulling voice, a tenderness he only lets linger when he’s with you.

“Liebe, don’t you see how soft you make me? I’d hate for you to not realize how I feel for you. I want you to be mine, if you’ll have me, that is.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Rin Itoshi ‹𝟹 (i wrote so much for rin wtf)

Rin has walls that he has spent a lot of time and effort building up over the years. they’re forged to keep out anything and everything that may be a distraction from his goals, but if this is the guy you’re going for, i’m sure you’re a persistent little pest. you’d sneak your way into his life, just by being there, texting him, talking about him. soon enough you’d infested his mind as well, suddenly he’d find himself thinking of you when he least expects it.

one day he was on the pitch, just a practice game, but you were in the stands watching him. throughout your friendship you’ve done this quite a few times, so he has no reason to pay much mind to your presence in the middle of the match. today was different though, you were up close, eyes beaming at him in the center field, hands at the side of your head clutched together in a little cheer. he hadn’t done anything yet, the match just started, what were you even cheering for? it was cute, he decided. that’s why it broke his focus long enough for the other team to score. actually, it was adorable. so adorable it tugged the corners of his lips upward slightly, which he quickly moved to cover with his hand. he just threw a match and he was smiling? what were you doing to him?

after some time of thinking you might be employing psychological warfare against him, Rin decided it was time to really sit down and confront his feelings. he’d go a few days, maybe even a week or more without speaking to you. don’t worry, he was thinking about hardly anything but you the entire time.

“Sorry for ghosting you, I just needed to think about some things. It made me a little sad to be away from you too. I hate you a lot less than I hate everyone else, you know? Don’t get cocky about that. Also, don’t leave me ok? I’ll be nicer, yeah sure. Maybe I can walk you home…or something. Here, let’s hold hands.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Sae Itoshi ‹𝟹

he’s way more flustered about it than you might think. he’s not embarrassed or nervous necessarily, he just hasn’t expected to feel this way about anyone. similar to kaiser, sae thinks he’s the only person who could truly love and appreciate you as much as you deserve. this typically stoic and selfish man finds himself smiling in your presence and wanting to give you everything you want and more.

your relationship until this point has been uhh… “transactional” we’ll say. the two of you liked going out and hanging out together, but no feelings attached. a few kisses were shared here and there, he’d take you back to his apartment to cuddle sometimes, but wouldn’t ever let you sleepover. eventually things started to get a little more *intense*. you did start staying over, a lot. so much so that you had a toothbrush on his bathroom sink and clothes in his closet. the first time he ever had the thought of being in love with you was when he realized his sheets always smelled like you now, and he wanted it to stay that way.

the fact that you were enough to turn his head, take over his thoughts, and make him fall in love with you feels like proof beyond the reasonable doubt that you are perfect.

“You can move in, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. We’re basically already dating, so I don’t see the point in denying it anymore. Yeah, I didn’t think it would go this far either. I like knowing you’re here at my place, with me and not with anyone else.”

HONORABLE MENTIONS

⊹₊⟡⋆ Oliver aiku ‹𝟹

“You know I love you, let’s stop pretending. Seriously, you could keep me on a tight leash if you really want. Promise, I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Kunigami Rensuke ‹𝟹

“I love you, I want you to know that. It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I want to care for you and keep you safe, you mean so much to me, you don’t even know.”

i love this post so much, the nagi disclaimer i had to put, the strange onion analogy for rin, the flustered reo moment. also just isagi being here, the man that you are, Isagi Yoichi. i had so much fun making this - aria

divider - @enchanthings

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jungkoode · 3 months ago

Text

死 KKANGPAE | #14 死

† camping trip mysteries †

"You'd have never said you'd be involved in a Council of 9 meeting at any point in your life; yet here you are, suddenly thrusted into a mission with the Chief you've just hooked up with, because your life couldn't possibly get more complicated."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9k

content: female friendships, silly conversations, Vyunjin, dodgeball, AD being horrible with throws, cryptic stuff, council meetings, having to work with jeon officially, gang loyalty and bestie gossip

☠ author's note ☠

I really milked this camping trip for all it's worth, huh? Three whole chapters of outdoor shenanigans! I regret NOTHING. Anyway, here's the conclusion of our little nature excursion! Hope you enjoyed this slightly more chill setting (apart from, y'know, chapter 12's 👉🏻👌🏻 situation) because don't worry—there's PLENTY of time for everything to go spectacularly to shit later <3

MY KIWI HEAD 🥝🤧 I genuinely love him so much and I'm as surprised as you are! Who would have thought?? I seriously had ZERO intentions for Takama when I started this—no plan, no backstory, nothing. He just showed up in my brain one day demanding rights.

Maybe I love him so much because he's the only one with more than two functioning brain cells? Like, the man is just... chill. Nice. Using his fucking brain. Being all wise and grounding while everyone else is having emotional crises left and right. THE VOICE OF REASON IN THIS CIRCUS.

Takama x Reader endgame??? Jkjk this is a Jeon Jungkook fanfic ☝️ ...which doesn't mean shit won't happen before/after 👀

ANYWAY I'll leave you to make your own assumptions about our kiwi boy. All I'm saying is that sometimes characters write themselves into your heart and there's nothing you can do about it. Is it just me as an author having unhealthy attachments to my own creations? PROBABLY! You tell me!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go cry about my fictional characters for the fifth time this week. It's only Tuesday. Send help.

xoxo 💋

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The morning hike with Chaewon was exactly what you needed—fresh air, quiet trails... No drama.

But of course, you can't have nice things in Kkangpae.

Not when you return to find V lounging on a log like some tragic hero while J-Hope patches up his split lip.

"What the hell happened here?"

You eye the scene, already getting a headache. The thorny scent of roses fills your lungs as V gives you what immediately recognize as a smug smile.

"Just a little disagreement." V's smile is all teeth despite his busted lip. "Jeon can get rather feisty when he wants to."

J-Hope just rolls his eyes, clearly done with V's bullshit. He hands you a sanitary napkin without looking up, too busy sorting through his medical supplies—which basically means please help me deal with this drama queen.

You crouch next to V, ignoring how his eyes track your movement like he's a cat and you're the bird he wants to catch. The napkin comes away bloody when you dab at his lip, and his body tenses slightly under your touch—barely noticeable if you weren't trained to pick up on these things.

"Careful now." His voice drops low, playful. "I might bite."

You don't miss a beat.

"You bite, you get no help." The words come out flat, unimpressed. "I'm not one of your fangirls, V."

His games might work on others, but you've seen enough of his thorny side to know better.

Those roses have teeth.

A low chuckle breaks the tension. J-Hope's back with his medical supplies, but V's still watching you—though now with something that might be respect.

Or whatever passes for respect in that thorny mind of his.

"You really had it coming this time." J-Hope clicks his tongue, cranky doctor mode fully activated as he settles back down. "Jeon isn't someone you poke for fun without expecting consequences."

"Me?" V's eyebrow shoots up, all wounded innocence. "I was just having a friendly chat. Who knew our brooding Chief still had some fight left in him?"

The act doesn't fool anyone—especially not J-Hope, who (you bet your ass) has been patching up the aftermath of V's friendly chats' for years.

"Friendly chat?" J-Hope scoffs, dabbing at V's lip with more force than strictly necessary. "You two always turn everything into a dick-measuring contest. One of these days someone's gonna end up with worse than a busted lip."

V leans toward you like he's sharing a secret, mischief written all over his features. "He's just worried he'll run out of medical supplies if we keep this up."

You expect J-Hope to snap back—he usually does when people get like this.

But he just sighs, shoulders heavy with a worry that feels too genuine for the Kkangpae's ruthless doctor.

"Or maybe I'm worried you'll end up with a split skull, dumbass."

It's weird, the way it dribbles from his lips—like actual concern.

Which is weird in a place like this, where caring too much can get you killed. But then again, J-Hope's always been different. Maybe that's why he's one of the few people V actually listens to.

Sometimes?

V's eyes meet yours, like he's either hunting for something or escaping whatever was swirling in the doctor's pupils. Though, as everything with V, it vanishes instantly behind that shark-like grin.

"Ah, Hobi, always looking out for me. What would I do without you?"

"Probably be lying in a ditch somewhere." J-Hope says it casually, but his snark feels less blunt now.

He gives V's shoulder a quick pat—kinda saying 'you're patched up, now get out of my face.' V nods his thanks, but his attention is already sliding back to you. His gaze lingers a bit too long, assessing.

"You've got a steady hand," he drawls, and you know he's not just talking about your first aid skills.

Thorns prickle your skin.

"And you've got a death wish." You hand the bloody napkin back to J-Hope, keeping your voice flat.

Unimpressed.

V's laugh shatters in the quiet. "Oh, you're interesting. I like you."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" You arch an eyebrow at him. "Coming from someone who just got his ass handed to him by Jeon, I'm not sure how much that's worth."

His smile widens; ever so slightly. Like what you said made him feel something—bad or good, you really don't care, but it's like his vines are slowly creeping into your lungs.

You just sigh, shrug it off. It's not your problem.

You've got enough on your plate without getting caught up in whatever dick-measuring contest is going on between V and Jeon.

Your attention abruptly shifts to Takama, sitting cross-legged in the grass like some zen master on his coffee break. Despite looking perfectly relaxed with his can of coffee, you know better—the man's probably cataloguing every movement in a three-mile radius.

He's just that kind of observant. It's just how he is, what he does, that much is clear from your training sessions with him.

Persistent without being belligerent; consistent without being insistent.

It's weird seeing him in casual clothes. The navy sweater and white collar combo is a far cry from his usual tactical gear, making him look almost... normal. Like he could be anyone's slightly intimidating older brother instead of Jeon's deadly second-in-command. Even his loose jeans seem deliberately chosen for comfort rather than combat.

He doesn't move a muscle as you approach, eyes fixed on the horizon like his mind has found refuge among the spongy dunes skittering away in the sky.

Or maybe he's just really into his morning coffee.

You plop down beside him, the damp grass immediately soaking through your pants because of course it does.

"Peaceful morning, isn't it?"

You break the silence, knowing Takama won't. Man's got the conversation skills of a particularly stoic rock when he wants to.

There's something calming about his presence though.

Like he's the drizzle after the hurricane.

Plus, he probably won't try to murder anyone over breakfast. Unlike some people you could name.

"Peace is rare around here." The corner of Takama's mouth quirks up slightly. "Savor it while it lasts."

You settle into the comfortable silence, watching the horizon paint itself in morning colors. Next to Takama, even coffee breaks feel philosophical.

"You and V," he starts, offering you the can. "You get along?"

You grab it and take a sip, considering your answer. The coffee's gone lukewarm.

"Hmm."

Yeah that's your answer, because you don't really know what to reply. It's definitely not a yes, but you don't... hate him either?

"He's a wildcard, but I can handle him," is what you end up settling for.

What follows is Takama's laugh—quiet, understated like everything else about him.

"V is... unpredictable. But he's loyal to the gang, in his own way." He pauses, choosing words carefully. "Just watch your back. Testing people is how he entertains himself."

You pass the can back, watching him take another sip. The liquid works through a swallow down his throat, and his Adam's apple bobs slightly. His head tilts towards you when he notices you've gone silent.

"And Jeon? How do you find working with him?"

The question makes your skin prickle, and you know it's not because of how sudden it is—but because of something else, as well.

Images from last night force their way through your mind like a wiggling worm unwilling to let go—callouses on skin, that silver lip ring, the way he'd touched you like you might break.

You take your time answering, very aware that this is Jeon's right-hand man asking—and that your neck probably still has marks his mouth left behind.

But you're not about to tell Takama that.

"He's... intense." You focus on shredding a blade of grass, needing something to do with your hands. "But we kind of... get each other, I guess."

Takama finally looks at you, and fuck—there's way too much understanding in those gray eyes.

Because with V you have a noncommittal answer.

But you just said you get along with Jeon. Kinda.

He doesn't comment on it, and it makes sense—being Jeon's second means he probably sees more than most.

About how hard exactly it is to be in Jeon's circle. Not part of it, not even near—just hovering.

It's not easy, you know that much.

"Jeon respects strength," he says quietly, like he's sharing a secret. "Stand your ground, and you'll earn his respect."

A pause. Then he adds, hushedly:

"Maybe more."

Your pupils flicker between his, trying to parse whatever the hell he means—but nothing in there gives you a hint.

He simply smiles, getting up and helping you up too.

You both turn back to watch the camp wake up, the morning routine starting to buzz around you.

Someone's cursing about cold showers. Someone else is complaining about AD.

You take another sip of lukewarm coffee, letting the bitterness ground you. It's easier than thinking about what maybe more might mean, or why your stomach churns at the thought.

Besides, you've got enough on your plate just dealing with regular Jeon.

You don't need to add cryptic messages to that mess.

The peaceful morning doesn't last long—because this is Kkangpae you're talking about.

Moon's voice cuts through your post-gossip haze, drawing everyone to the center of the camp like a very formal shepherd. Some people look about as thrilled as you feel about being up this early.

"All right, everyone!" He's got that tone—the one that says 'this is mandatory fun and you're going to like it.' "For today's lunch, we're doing something different. Group bibimbap, but with a twist: you'll work in pairs."

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd. You catch Takama's eye—he just raises an eyebrow like 'here we go again'.

"These pairings," Moon continues, all business in his long coat despite the casual setting, "are chosen to mix different divisions and personalities. It's about teamwork and learning from each other."

You barely hold back a snort. Trust Moon to turn lunch prep into a team-building exercise.

Your attention snaps back when he calls out, "Y/N, you're paired with JM. I expect great things from you two."

Well, that could've been worse. At least JM's not likely to stab you over vegetable chopping techniques.

When you reach him, he's already smiling that gentle smile that makes him look more like a kindergarten teacher than a gang's financial mastermind.

"Looks like we're a team." His voice matches his whole vibe—calm as a lake on a windless day. "Any ideas on what we should tackle?"

You're about to answer when a groan cuts through your chat with JM.

You turn to see AD looking like someone just deleted his gaming setup, while J-Hope's already got that 'done with this shit' smile plastered on his face.

"Bro, why the fuck am I always paired with your annoying ass?" AD slumps against a tree, all dramatic like the gremlin he is.

J-Hope just rolls his eyes. "Because Moon loves to torture me, that's why. Come on, let's just get this over with."

Your eyes inevitably roam around the clearing, taking in the other pairings.

Jeon and Chaewon—they acknowledge each other with matching professional nods, something like 'we respect each other but let's keep this strictly business' hovering over them.

Takama and Jessi make an oddly perfect pair, his zen energy somehow containing her wildfire spirit as they huddle together, already plotting.

V's got Yunjin trapped in what looks like his usual chaotic storytelling, though she seems to be holding her own—and then there's Eunchae and Sakura, who look like they're planning to turn lunch prep into some kind of competition.

Meanwhile, Kazuha's hanging onto Moon's every word like he's sharing the secrets of the universe instead of just bibimbap instructions.

"So." JM's gentle voice pulls you back. "Should we handle the veggies? I think we could make a great team in chopping and prepping them."

"Sounds good to me." You find yourself matching his easy smile. "Let's show them how it's done."

At least someone in this chaos circus knows how to be normal.

You follow JM to gather supplies, falling into an easy rhythm. His gentle energy is oddly reassuring, and makes even veggie prep feel zen.

Plus, he actually knows what he's doing, which is more than you can say for half the pairs around you.

Because AD's already whining about something while J-Hope ignores him completely.

Yeah; that's Kkangpae for you.

But then you catch sight of V with Yunjin and your stomach turns, why, you don't know. Poor Yunjin's holding her knife like she's never seen one before, eyes darting around nervously.

And its knives, so yeah, V swoops right in.

"Let me show you," he purrs, and fuck him for actually sounding smooth.

You see his hand sliding over hers, like he isn't the same person who had blood on his lip an hour ago.

"There's a rhythm to it, like a dance." You watch him press closer, caging Yunjin with his body while he guides the knife. "Feel the movement. It's about confidence, purpose."

"Like this?" Yunjin's voice is small, breathless.

"Exactly like that." He eases into it. "Every slice tells a story of precision and care. And you, Yunjin, have a knack for it."

You grip your own knife tighter, fighting the urge to stab those thorny vines right out of the air. He's charming, you'll give him that.

But you fear the sweet floral scent roses simply masks decaying waste underneath.

And he needs to stay the fuck away from Yunjin.

You can't help noticing how she melts under his attention, all shy smiles and batting eyelashes. Like a moth drawn to a particularly deadly flame.

"There, you're a pro now." V steps back with a wink.

"Thanks, V." Yunjin beams up at him. "I think I've got it from here."

A slight movement catches your eye—JM's knife has stopped mid-chop.

His gaze darts between V and Yunjin like he's watching a car crash in slow motion, and it's real subtle, but you catch the way his jaw tightens.

"JM," you keep your voice casual, "you seem a bit distracted. Everything okay?"

He snaps back to his vegetables, gentle smile sliding back. "Oh, it's nothing. Just... observing the dynamics. It's interesting to see how different personalities interact, don't you think?"

You nod, watching V circle Yunjin. "True. Especially with V. Makes you wonder what goes on behind that smile."

"Exactly." His smile is halfhearted at best. "Sometimes, the most cheerful faces hide the deepest stories."

The way he says it makes you wonder just how many of V's stories JM knows.

And how many of them keep him up at night.

You and JM fall into a comfortable rhythm again, just hearing AD complaining about something, Eunchae's bright laughter, the clatter of pots and pans.

Then—crash.

Your head snaps up, muscles tensing automatically. Old habits die hard in Kkangpae.

It's Chaewon.

She's standing frozen, an overturned pot at her feet, staring at one of Jessi's guys like she's seen a ghost. His hand hangs awkwardly in the air where it had brushed against hers. You can see her breathing speed up—tell-tale sign of panic she's never shown before.

JM's knife stills mid-chop. Before you can blink, he's already moving toward her.

Jessi's there too, quickly motioning for the guy to back off—and he does, looking confused and apologetic, but you notice how Chaewon's shoulders drop slightly once he's out of reach.

JM murmurs something to her, too low for you to hear (though you bet that gentle voice of his could probably talk down a rabid bear). Chaewon gives a tiny nod, but her knuckles are still white where she's gripping her sleeve.

When Jessi touches her shoulder, you catch that silent conversation between the three of them.

The kind that comes from knowing someone's demons intimately.

"Alright, everyone, back to work." Jessi shouts. "Nothing to see here. Let's keep the focus on the task at hand."

Everyone turns back to their tasks, but you don't miss how JM stays close to Chaewon, or how Jessi's eyes keep scanning the crowd like she's daring anyone to make this worse.

JM hovers near her for another minute before coming back to your chopping station, and when he does, he picks up his knife and starts slicing carrots like nothing's happened at all.

"Guess we all have our off days, huh?" You keep your voice light, casual. No pressure.

JM's knife stills for a moment. He doesn't look up.

"Everyone has ghosts they're running from." The words come out soft. "Some just hide them better than others."

You let the silence settle. There's an unspoken rule in the gang—you don't go digging in other people's graveyards unless they hand you the shovel first.

"I'm gonna wash up," you mutter, already heading for the makeshift sink, feeling like he needs some silence before being back to normal.

Behind you, JM's knife resumes its path against the cutting board.

You're shaking water off your hands when footsteps approach from behind. Months in Kkangpae have taught you to be alert even for something as mundane as washing up after veggie prep.

"So you do know how to clean up."

The low drawl sends heat crawling up your spine. You know that voice—and the smirk that goes with it—without having to turn around.

"Turns out, I'm full of surprises." You flick excess water in Jeon's direction, catching his dangerous half-smile when you glance over your shoulder.

His chuckle hits you right in the gut, deep and rich and —fuck—suddenly all you can think about is last night.

His hands, his mouth, the way he'd made you shatter.

"Surprising indeed." There's that smug tone again. "Especially since I recall someone being too fucked out to help with cleanup duty."

"Well," you drop your voice low, just for him, "if you hadn't made such a goddamn mess, there'd have been less to clean up."

Your body remembers how close you'd been—how you'd ground against each other like teenagers, desperate and needy.

How his cock had felt pressed against you, so close but not close enough because someone didn't bring protection.

The frustration from last night still burns under your skin, reminder of what could have been.

If he'd just been prepared...

Jeon steps closer, and—fuck—even after last night, his presence still makes your skin prickle.

"A mess, you say? The way I remember it, you were just as responsible for the chaos."

"Chaos?" You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as heat crawls up your neck. "Don't flatter yourself, Jeon. It was... mild disarray at best."

His grin widens, and you hate how your eyes keep tracking that stupid lip piercing.

"Mild disarray? You were panting like you'd run through every back alley in Seoul."

You scoff, trying not to remember how he'd made you shake, how his hands had felt mapping every inch of you.

"Breathless, maybe. But let's not blow it out of proportion."

"Hah." His eyes narrow. "You've got a sharp tongue. But we both know—"

A shout from across the camp makes you both freeze. Your eyes meet his for a split second before you step apart, smooth as shadows. Professional. Like you weren't just thinking about climbing him like a tree.

Again.

You turn away, finally letting out that breath you'd been holding.

The banter gets you hot under the collar but fuck if you don't want more. Not that you'll admit that.

Even if part of you is already plotting round two.

This time with actual protection. Because seriously.

"Anyway," his voice cuts through your thoughts, "we should get back to work. Long day ahead."

"Right." You nod, and then go right back to prepping veggies.

Yeah. This is going to be a very long day indeed.

The smell of bibimbap hits different after spending all morning chopping vegetables next to JM's weirdly zen energy.

And yup—everyone's gathering around the portable tables, looking stupidly proud of their contributions like they didn't just spend half the morning complaining about Moon's team-building exercise.

You grab a spot next to Yunjin, who's already halfway through telling you about her latest drama obsession; eyes practically sparkling as she waves her chopsticks around.

"No but listen—the main lead thinks his brother died in that fire, right?" She leans in close, pink hair falling in her face. "But then in episode sixteen we find out he's actually been alive this whole time! Living in China!"

You nearly choke on your rice. "That's the most unrealistic plot twist I've ever—"

"Mind if I join?" Takama's calm voice slices through Yunjin's enthusiastic plot summary; slight smile that makes him look more like a monk than Jeon's deadly second-in-command.

"Pull up a chair." You scoot over to make room. "Yunjin's educating me on the finer points of melodrama."

"Ah." His eyes crinkle as he settles in. "The ones where everyone's secretly related and nobody stays dead?"

"Exactly!" Yunjin beams. "Like this one where the brooding CEO's got a secret relationship—"

"Should've fought harder for the meat distribution," you murmur, poking at your mostly vegetable bibimbap.

Before you can finish sighing about your protein deficiency, Takama's chopsticks appear in your line of sight, depositing a generous portion of beef onto your plate.

"Here. I prefer vegetables anyway."

"Liar." But you're already mixing the meat into your rice, trying not to look too pleased. "Thanks."

Yunjin pouts at that, surely expecting some meat too (even when her plate shows basically 0 vegetables anyway). You kick her under the table, and she almost bounces with a chuckle.

"So, V's actually a really good teacher," she says dreamily, pushing her rice around. "Did you know he used to work in a restaurant?"

You cough.

V's "restaurant" experience probably involved more knife-work than cooking.

"Is that so?" Takama asks, slightly puzzled.

"Mhm!" She sighs, all starry-eyed. "And he's so patient. The way he showed me how to hold the knife—"

"Speaking of knives," Takama cuts in smoothly, "your technique has improved, Y/N. Been practicing?"

You're grateful for the subject change. Watching Yunjin moon over V is like watching a butterfly land on a Venus flytrap.

"Yeah, well. Can't let the Seduction Division down, right?"

His smile is small but genuine. "Right."

Movement then catches your eye—Chaewon's heading your way, black bob bouncing with each step. She smiles when she spots you, but you don't miss how she falters slightly when she notices Takama. Her eyes dart between him and the empty space beside you, calculating.

For a second, you think she might turn around.

But then she simply strides over like she owns the place, sliding into the spot next to you.

You don't miss how she angles her body away from Takama, though.

"What's got everyone looking so serious?" She bumps your shoulder playfully. "Don't tell me Yunjin's got you all hooked on her dramas too."

"Not all of us can be as cultured as Yunjin." You grin as Yunjin pretends to be offended. "We were just discussing the finer points of V's... cooking techniques."

That makes Yunjin blush, but Chaewon's eyes sharpen. You catch that protective glint—the same one she gets whenever any of the male members get too close to her division.

"Oh?" Her voice is light, but there's steel underneath. "And how did you find our resident psychopath's teaching methods?"

"Come on, he was really patient!" Yunjin pipes up. "And his hands were so—"

"Speaking of hands," Chaewon interjects quickly, "I heard there was quite the incident at morning coffee. Something about Jeon's right hook meeting V's face?"

Trust Chaewon to steer the conversation away from V's charms while gathering intel in the same breath. Sometimes you forget she's your Chief for a reason.

Heels on grass make your eyes stutter behind Chaewon's silhouette.

It's Jessi; obviously—who claims the spot next to Takama, all long red hair and confident energy.

She's probably the only person who can make eating bibimbap look like a power move.

"Well, well." She waves her chopsticks at your little group. "What's this about dramas? Please tell me someone's finally calling out how unrealistic those chaebol storylines are."

"We were discussing layers," you explain, watching her pile kimchi onto her rice with the same precision she probably uses to plan weapons shipments. "You know, how people aren't always what they seem."

"Like how our fearless Chief here—" she angles her head towards Chaewon, "—pretends to be all business, but I caught her crying over cat videos last week?"

"That was one time." Chaewon tries to glare but can't quite hide her smile. "And you promised not to tell."

"Please." Jessi snorts. "Everyone knows you're a softie under all that badassery. Remember when you threatened to shoot that guy who made Eunchae cry?"

"He deserved it." Chaewon's voice goes flat, protective instincts flashing. "Nobody messes with my girls."

"And that's exactly what we mean," Yunjin pipes up, somehow making even this observation sound sweet. "Everyone's got different sides. Like how Jessi acts tough but always saves the last strawberry milk for AD."

"Oi—" Jessi points her chopsticks at Yunjin threateningly, but there's no malice in it. "Just for that, you're testing all the new rifles when we get back to the castle. Someone needs to make sure they don't jam."

Something about the easiness of the conversation makes something unfurl in your chest.

It's weird seeing these deadly women just... being friends. Sharing lunch and inside jokes like they aren't some of the most dangerous people in Seoul.

But then again, maybe that's exactly what Yunjin meant about layers.

"Sooo," Jessi prompts, "who wants to share their deep dark secrets? Come on, don't be shy."

"Real subtle, Joo." Chaewon rolls her eyes, but you catch that tiny smile she always gets around Jessi. "What's next, trust falls?"

"I'd let you fall." Jessi winks, making Chaewon snort into her rice.

Takama, who's been quiet this whole time, surprises everyone by speaking up. "Sometimes the secrets we keep aren't about trust. Sometimes they're about protection."

"Like how we all pretend AD doesn't secretly feed the stray cats behind the castle?" Yunjin singsongs then.

That breaks the tension, sending ripples of laughter around the group.

Even Takama cracks a smile.

"Or how Jessi acts tough but cried during that dog commercial last week?" Chaewon dodges the grape Jessi throws at her head.

"That dog was reunited with its family," Jessi hisses, but she's fighting back a grin. "Forgive me for having a heart."

"Yeah, buried somewhere under those nine inch heels."

You smile at that, and you note how the sun is high over head now, warming skin through the trees.

You should probably get back to work—those intel reports won't file themselves. But for now, you let yourself enjoy this moment of peace.

Even gang members need lunch breaks sometimes.

Dodgeball is usually fun. Keyword: usually—because when it's among deadly people... competitiveness is too light of a word.

You're in the middle of debating some strategy with Yunjin when Jeon's presence immediately freezes the whole camp. One second you're planning how to take down AD's team (he might be a tech genius but his aim is shit), and the next—

"Meeting. Council of 9, now."

Jeon's voice is calm, as usual. But it's precise, blunt in a way that makes your hackles rise. His face gives nothing away—typical—but something in his posture screams urgent.

The Council members share quick looks before following him into the trees. Moon's already at his side, glasses catching the sunlight. Chaewon squeezes your shoulder as she passes, and Jessi winks at Yunjin, but neither stops to explain.

Just like that, your cozy little camping trip turns into a war room—playful energy from moments ago gone, leaving behind the familiar sensation that comes with being in a criminal organization.

"Damn." Yunjin drops onto the bench beside you, pink hair falling in her face. "Even on a camping trip, we can't escape the threats."

Your little lunch group now feels weirdly empty without Jessi's loud energy and Chaewon's dry comments. You catch yourself staring at the path where they disappeared, like maybe if you look hard enough you'll develop x-ray vision.

So much for that epic dodgeball tournament you'd planned. Although honestly? Getting hit with rubber balls suddenly seems like the least of your problems.

"It's just how things work around here." Takama shrugs, wiping sweat from his shaved head.

Of course the dodgeball game's been put on hold, everyone too distracted by the Council's sudden disappearance to focus.

"Hey, Takemichi!" Eunchae bounces over, still flushed from running around. "Any idea what's going on? You're like, Jeon's right hand and all."

Takama's eye twitches at the nickname, but he doesn't comment on it. "No clue. But Jeon doesn't call meetings without good reason. Especially not during planned activities."

Your eyes drift to where the Council members vanished into the trees. It's odd seeing Jeon actually interact with people—the man's about as social as a brick wall. Even J-Hope, who he supposedly tolerates, barely gets more than grunts out of him most days. That whole don't-fuck-with-me hurricane aura of his keeps everyone at a safe distance.

And yet.

You'd fucked him.

Well, kinda.

Heat crawls up your neck as you mentally reminisce about last night.

Pride mingles with something else as you remember that untouchable Chief's face when he came all over your belly.

Focus, dumbass. Now isn't the time to replay your greatest hits. If Jeon's gathering the Council in the middle of fucking dodgeball, something's definitely wrong.

"Do you think it's..." Yunjin chews her lip, lowering her voice. "MDF?"

The mention of Myung-dong Faction makes everyone's faces go pale.

"Hard to say." Takama's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "But we did just wreck their trafficking ring. Hanjun's gone now. They're not known for letting that kind of thing slide."

You share a look with Yunjin and Eunchae. You remember Hanjun from your last mission—the way he'd crumpled when Kkangpae was done with him.

The way his whole operation had fallen apart like a house of cards.

Sakura's usually bright face is serious as she crouches next to you. "If it's MDF, we're fucked."

"They've been too quiet." Kazuha runs a hand through her wine-colored hair, eyes scanning the treeline like she expects assassins to materialize. "That's not their style. Not after what we did to their golden boy."

And she's right, isn't she? MDF isn't known for their forgive-and-forget attitude. Their silence these past weeks has been... unsettling. Like holding your breath underwater, knowing you'll have to surface eventually.

"Whatever it is, we need to be ready." Eunchae sighs. "Can't let our guard down. Not even here."

"We need to be united now more than ever." Takama's voice rumbles low as he scans the treeline."Division only makes us vulnerable, they might aim for that."

And he's right; because Kkangpae's strength isn't just in its firepower—it's in moments like this, when everyone's got each other's backs.

"Whatever the Council needs," you say, meaning it. "We've got their six."

The group falls quiet, the forgotten dodgeball lying between you like some sad metaphor for your interrupted normalcy. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls. You almost miss it under the sound of your heart pounding.

A rustle in the bushes makes you lean back.

Though it's just J-Hope, looking way too serious for someone who was laughing at AD's failed dodgeball throws ten minutes ago.

"They need you." His eyes find yours, steady and unreadable. "Jeon asked for you specifically."

You share a quick look with Takama, and he's wearing the same exact puzzled expression as you.

"Me? Why would he—"

J-Hope just shakes his head. Great. Because being summoned by the dude you almost fucked last night during a secret Council meeting isn't complicated enough.

But you don't really have much choice, so you trail behind J-Hope like a kid being called to the principal's office, mind racing faster than your heart.

What the actual fuck could Jeon want? And why during the middle of dodgeball, of all things?

The Council's little forest hideaway comes into view, and suddenly you've got nine pairs of eyes drilling into you.

Great. Just great. Nothing like being stared at by the most dangerous people in Seoul while you're in workout clothes and probably still red-faced from almost getting beaned by AD's wild throws.

Jeon stands like a statue among them, and he speaks immediately upon seeing you.

"We have a situation that needs your input."

No greeting, no explanation, just straight to the point. Pure Jeon. You'd roll your eyes if you weren't so aware of every Council member watching you.

"Remember your first mission?" Chaewon continues. "The women we rescued? You were the only one who actually saw them in that room."

Of course you remember—hard not to, even if you wish you wouldn't.

That cramped, dark room with its rusty bars and stale air. Women huddled in corners like broken birds, some too afraid to even look up when you'd entered.

Your first real taste of what the Seduction Division actually does.

Not the glamorous spy shit you'd imagined, but the ugly, necessary work of saving people from monsters.

"Remember what any of the women looked like?" Chaewon presses.

You try to remember, but the thing that comes first is the smell of fear and desperation—thick enough to choke on.

Then it's their faces. Burned into your brain. And then... hers.

"There was one girl," you start carefully, watching the Council's reactions. "Couldn't have been more than eighteen. Skinny thing, but her eyes..."

You pause, searching for the right words.

"Even in that shithole, she was... I don't know. Like she was just waiting for a chance to burn the whole place down."

You catch the tiny shift in Jessi's jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her weapon.

The air feels like a forest fire waiting to happen.

"Dark reddish-brown hair," you continue, the details getting clearer as you speak. "Matted to hell, but you could tell it was beautiful once. And the way she held herself..."

"That's enough." Jeon interrupts you. "Your recollection could prove useful. We believe that girl is connected to one of our own. This isn't some random MDF hit."

Your stomach drops. Because shit—that... That changes everything.

MDF might be brutal, but they're not stupid.

Kidnapping someone connected to Kkangpae? That's not just an attack—it's a message.

A very personal message.

You watch the Council's faces, trying to read between the lines.

If MDF knows enough to target someone specific, how much else do they know? How deep have they dug into everyone's past?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

"Now we know this is personal." Chaewon's voice is ice-cold, all business. "The question is, how do we respond?"

"We hit back." Jessi's voice cracks like a whip, raw and broken. "Show those fuckers what happens when you mess with Kkangpae."

J-Hope reaches for her shoulder, ever the voice of reason. "I know you want blood, Jessi. But an all-out war will only get innocent people killed."

Jessi jerks away from his touch, but you see how her hands shake.

"I should've been there," she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. "I should never have left them alone."

The pain in her voice makes your chest tight; you've never seen Jessi like this—like she's barely holding herself together.

"Why don't we just storm their headquarters and slaughter them all?" V (who's been conspicuously quiet until now) raises his voice.

The guy is just leaning back against a tree, playing with a butterfly knife like he thinks he's the Joker or something.

"Picture it." His smile grows wider, more unhinged. "Their precious hideout painted red, bodies everywhere. We could string up their leaders—or what's left of them—as a warning."

JM gives him one look—one that somehow manages to pierce through V's psychotic haze. Like he's the only person besides RM who can actually rein him in when he gets like this.

V slumps back with an exaggerated pout, thorny aura receding slightly. The switch from bloodthirsty to playful is so fast it gives you whiplash.

"As entertaining as that sounds," JM's voice is steady, like a calm lake washing away V's chaos, "we need precision here. Not a bloodbath."

"You never let me have fun." V whines like a kid denied candy instead of mass murder. "But fine, we'll be civilized."

JM turns back to the Council. "Please continue. V's just... working through some things. He understands the need for balance."

Jeon's face gives nothing away, but you notice how his jaw tightens. Having to share space with V is bad enough—having to listen to his murder fantasies is clearly testing what little patience he has left.

"As I was saying..." Jeon continues.

JM gives V another one of those looks and V slumps against the tree.

The thorny scent of roses fades to something more bearable, though you can tell he's just waiting for another chance to suggest mass murder.

"I might have a better idea." AD clears his throat. "A bloodbath would be satisfying, sure, but we need intel first. Something clean and quiet that gives us some advantage."

You watch him run a hand through his messy blonde hair, thinking three steps ahead while looking like he just rolled out of bed.

"We know where their hideout is. Send in a small team, two people max. Get their data, their plans, their weak spots." He pauses, letting that sink in. "Information is better than bullets right now."

The Council members exchange looks. Even V stops fidgeting with his knife. You catch Jeon's shoulders relaxing slightly—he knows a good plan when he hears one.

"Stealth does play to our strengths," Jeon admits, and his eyes flick to you for a split second. "Who did you have in mind?"

AD jerks his chin toward you.

"She's perfect for this. Hanjun's well acquainted with Flower now, but Y/N? She was only there for the takedown. He never had time to report back about her or the other girls. But between all of them," he adds, "she's the only one who got to see all the girls."

Suddenly you've got nine of Seoul's most dangerous criminals staring at you. But you meet Jeon's gaze head-on, refusing to flinch.

Finally—a chance to prove yourself.

And maybe get some answers about what's really going on with MDF.

"She's just an ensign." JM mumbles. "She's gonna need backup."

The Chiefs exchange looks, probably running through a mental list of who they could trust not to fuck this up. Your heart's still pounding from being called in, from learning about this mission that could change everything.

"Jeon will lead this operation." RM's voice leaves no room for argument. Like he's announcing the weather, except the weather is your hookup being assigned as your partner.

Amazing, really love that for you.

"You're picking him for stealth?" V's voice goes high with indignation, like someone just insulted his knife collection. "I'm literally the Chief of Stealth Assassinations. What the actual fuck?"

Thorns prickle the air, sharp with offense. You definitely catch Jeon's tiny smirk—he's enjoying V's tantrum way too much.

"Jeon has the discipline this requires." RM's tone could freeze hell itself. "We can't afford your... creative interpretations of orders right now."

V opens his mouth—probably to suggest murdering everyone involved, knowing him—but JM slaps a hand over it. The look V gives him could kill a lesser man, but JM just raises an eyebrow.

"This mission's success is crucial." RM continues like V isn't plotting JM's death with his eyes. "We need strategy, not chaos."

You watch Jeon's face carefully. His expression gives nothing away, but you just know he's thinking the same thing you are:

How the fuck are you two supposed to focus on a stealth mission when you can barely keep your hands off each other?

"Come on," V's voice drags after getting rid of JM's hand, "we all remember how well these two work together. Like gasoline and a lit match. Either they'll kill each other or fuck like rabbits. Not ideal for a stealth op, eh?"

JM smacks his shoulder, but V just grins wider. Your face burns as Jeon goes rigid beside you, like a gathering strength.

If looks could kill, V would be six feet under from the glare Jeon's sending him.

You stare very intently at a patch of grass, fighting the urge to squirm, because V has no idea how close to home that "fucking like rabbits" comment hits.

Or maybe he does—you can never tell what that psycho actually knows.

"Enough." JM sighs. "RM's guidance is sound. Jeon, you're our best strategic mind. Tactical is probably our best approach right now."

Jeon's jaw works for a moment before he gives a sharp nod. "Understood. I'll lead the operation."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Stuck on a stealth mission with the guy you've secretly hooked up with, while his psychotic sworn enemy watches and makes sex jokes.

Just another day in Kkangpae.

"For now," RM's redirects the conversation swiftly, "let's focus on the task at hand. This camping trip was meant to build unity and trust. We can't lose sight of that."

Unity and trust.

Right.

Because nothing says team bonding like sending you and the guy you're dying to have sex with to infiltrate enemy territory while pretending you've never seen each other naked.

"There will be time later to prepare for the mission." He adds. "But while we're here, I expect everyone's full commitment to this team-building exercise."

Jeon surprises you by actually looking... chastened? as he gives RM a short nod. "You're right. My priorities were misplaced. I apologize for the disruption."

And that's... New. You've never heard Jeon apologize for anything.

But then again, RM's probably the only person in Seoul who could make him bow down. The amount of respect Jeon has for him is almost an entity of its own.

"No need to apologize." RM's stern expression softens slightly. "Let's refocus together on strengthening our bonds as a crew."

More team bonding. Because that's exactly what you need right now... bonding,̶ ̶o̶r̶ b̶o̶n̶i̶n̶g̶?̶

You give Jeon one last look before V's voice cuts through, all manic energy as usual.

"Last one back has to clean everyone's dishes!"

And then he just... takes off running like the psychopath he is, thorns receding with him. Because of course he'd turn this into a competition.

"Oh, fuck no!" Jessi kicks off her heels, already sprinting after him in bare feet. "I am not cleaning after his ass."

Chaewon and JM share this look—probably something like 'we're both too dignified for this shit' passing between them before they're running too, probably realizing nobody wants to risk V winning anything.

"How childish." J-Hope rolls his eyes, but AD's already got that gleam he gets when someone issues a challenge.

"Childish?" AD's grin is pure evil. "I bet I could eat enough for ten people. Give you something real nice to clean."

"You little shit—" J-Hope takes off after him. "Get back here!"

You glance back at Jeon and RM, both still walking like they're above such peasant activities.

But fuck it—you're already sweaty from dodgeball, might as well commit to the chaos.

"Think I'll take AD's strategy." You flash Jeon your sweetest smile. "Eat everything in sight, let someone else deal with cleanup."

You're running before he can reply, laughter bubbling up.

And then, merely a few second later, you hear his steady footsteps turn into something faster.

Looks like even the mighty Chief can't resist a challenge.

The campsite comes into view through the trees, and you pick up your pace.

You jog into the clearing, lungs burning, only to find V and RM already there.

What the actualfuck?

"How did RM beat us?" The words come out between gasps.

The man runs a criminal empire in designer suits, for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be able to outrun anyone.

V just grins that Cheshire cat smile of his and then, Jessi, Chaewon and JM stumble in next, all tangled together and cackling like teenagers.

"JM's face when I almost tripped him—" Jessi wheezes, red hair wild from running.

Everyone else filters in gradually, catching their breath and comparing notes on who cheated (definitely V).

But oddly enough, there's no sign (or sound) of J-Hope or AD.

Then—

"You absolute fucking cockwomble, let go before I rearrange your face!"

"Not happening, you lil' bitch. I'm not cleaning your blood off the floor again!"

You turn to find J-Hope and AD crashing through the underbrush like drunk bears, locked in what has to be the world's most undignified wrestling match. AD's blonde hair is full of leaves, and J-Hope's pristine turtleneck is covered in dirt.

Seoul's most dangerous gang, ladies and gentlemen.

Truly terrifying.

"You wanna fucking go, asshole?" AD thrashes like a feral cat, trying to land a hit on J-Hope. "I'll rip out your spine and use it as a fucking ethernet cable!"

But J-Hope's got him locked down, using his height advantage like the bastard he is. AD might be scrappy, but the doctor's got experience wrestling patients into submission.

"You need to get out of this unscathed first, you dumbass—"

"Then I'll download your consciousness into a punching bag," AD snarls, still fighting. "Have you getting hit for eternity, you piece of shit!"

Their little death match stumbles closer to camp. J-Hope's got AD in a headlock now, ignoring the increasingly creative threats being spewed at his face.

"I'll be patching you up after this, you psychotic gremlin." J-Hope finally slams AD into the dirt, probably enjoying this way too much. "Maybe I'll sew a live rat in your stomach. Let it chew its way out through your organs."

They keep wrestling, but it's getting pathetic—like watching two drunk uncles fight at a family barbecue. Both of them are red-faced and panting, shirts half-ripped from trying to hold each other back.

You can't help noticing they look wrecked—covered in sweat and leaves.

Actually...

"They must've been holding each other back the whole way here." You snort.

No wonder they're last. These idiots literally spent the entire race trying to murder each other.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" V's voice rings out like a demented game show host. "Our esteemed winners, graceful as ever!"

J-Hope and AD freeze mid-choke hold, finally noticing their audience.

The look of pure horror on their faces is priceless.

"Dish duty it is, boys!" Jessi's grin is absolutely feral.

AD shoves J-Hope off like an angry cat, but they're both too winded from their pathetic wrestling match to do more than hurl insults at each other.

"This is all your fucking fault!" AD jabs a finger at J-Hope's chest, looking about as threatening as a wet Pomeranian. "If you hadn't grabbed me—"

"My fault?" J-Hope's voice gets higher. "Big words from someone shaped like a fun-sized candy bar!"

"Say that again, you overgrown fucking giraffe!" AD tries to lunge but stumbles, still panting. "I fucking dare you!"

RM steps in before they can start round two of the world's most embarrassing fight.

"That's enough, you two. We all enjoyed the show, but it's time to work."

They both shut up immediately—even AD knows better than to test RM's patience. But the glares they shoot each other could probably melt steel.

"Can't believe I'm stuck with your ass for cleanup duty," AD grumbles, brushing leaves out of his blonde hair.

"Trust me, I'd rather perform surgery blindfolded. But maybe next time you'll think twice before dragging me down with you."

"As if I need help being slow from someone who runs like a drunk giraffe."

Their bickering fades as they head back to camp, still shoving each other like kindergarteners fighting over the last juice box.

Well. At least you'll enjoy a show during dinner time tonight.

One would think dinner time would be dulled down now, after the Council meeting earlier.

But nope—gang members are scattered around the fires like this is some post apocalypse scavenging situation.

You can't help watching V with Yunjin. He's leaning in close and probably whispering some bullshit about knives being romantic or whatever gets him going.

And Yunjin—sweet, perceptive Yunjin who usually sees right through everyone's bullshit—is eating it up. She's doing that thing where she plays with her hair, pink strands twisting around her finger while she giggles at whatever murder joke V's telling.

You snort into your food, because you just don't get what's it with these two.

The weirdest part? Even knowing what V's capable of (the rumors about his "artistic approach" to killing make your skin crawl), you kind of get why people fall for his act.

He's got that whole dangerous charm thing down to an art.

"Hey stranger!" Eunchae drops onto the bench beside you, nearly knocking over your drink. Sakura slides in more gracefully across from you, because someone in your division has to have coordination.

"What was the super secret meeting about? You went in looking normal and came out all..." Eunchae waves her chopsticks vaguely. "You know. Intense."

"Classified." You shrug, trying not to think about what that meeting means for you and a certain hurricane-aura'd Chief. "Above your pay grade."

"Ugh, you're no fun." She slumps dramatically against your shoulder. "I wish I could join the Council just to know all the juicy stuff."

"We're here if you need to talk," Sakura adds quietly, and fuck—sometimes you forget how perceptive your division can be.

"Thanks." You bump Eunchae's shoulder, warmth blooming in your chest. These idiots might be professional honey traps, but they're your idiots. "I mean it."

You go back to your food, half-listening to Eunchae's story about some mark who thought cryptocurrency was foreplay. But your eyes keep drifting to V and Yunjin.

What's your friendly neighborhood psychopath plotting this time?

However, the first drops of rain quickly hit your food like tiny bullets. Within seconds, the drizzle turns into a full-blown downpour because of courseit does.

Nothing like a surprise shower to end your deeply suspicious dinner observations.

"Oh, come on." Eunchae snatches up her plate, already running for cover, chestnut hair plastered to her face by the time she makes it three steps.

Your eyes snap to where V still has Yunjin trapped in conversation. They're both getting soaked but Yunjin's still hanging on his every word, pink hair turning darker in the rain.

"Yunjin!" You pitch your voice to carry over the rain. "Unless you want to catch pneumonia, might want to wrap it up!"

She blinks like she's coming out of a trance, finally noticing she's halfway to drowned. The spell breaks—thank fuck—and she hurries over to you, gathering her stuff with slightly shaky hands.

"Thanks for the save." Her voice is quiet, almost sheepish. "Got a bit... distracted."

"Yeah, no shit." You grab her arm, steering her toward your tent. "Let's get inside before we both melt."

You dodge through the chaos of gang members running for shelter, curses mixing with laughter. Someone—probably AD—slips in a mud puddle and lets out a string of creative profanity that would make a sailor blush.

The relative safety of your tent feels like crossing a finish line. The rain hammers against the canvas, but at least you're dry.

Well. Drier.

The rain doesn't let up for hours, turning the campsite into something out of a moody indie film. But inside your tent? It's like a sleepover bubble—wrapped up in cozy blankets and the glow from Yunjin's phone where some poor actor is having his third dramatic breakdown of the episode.

Yunjin's using your stomach as a pillow, pink hair splayed across your hoodie while she decimates the bag of chips between you. Every few minutes her hand dives in without looking, too focused on whatever absurd plot twist is happening now.

"This one's actually decent," she murmurs, smiling at the screen where someone's probably discovering their evil twin or something.

"If you say so." You can't help grinning as the male lead clutches his chest like he's having a heart attack over a text message. "These writers must be on something wild. Like, who comes up with this shit?"

Her giggle vibrates against your stomach.

"That's why they're fun! You never know what's coming next." She tilts her head back to look at you. "Kind of like living here, right? Never a dull moment in Kkangpae."

"God, don't jinx it." But you're laughing too because she's not wrong. Your life has definitely taken some drama-worthy turns lately. "Though I hope we're at least more realistic than that."

You both fall into easy conversation, trading comments about the show and today's chaos. When the male lead starts laying it on thick with the female lead, you see your chance. Time to figure out what the hell V was playing at earlier with all that knife teaching.

"So." You poke Yunjin's side with your toe, aiming for casual. "What's with you and V today? The whole knife lesson thing seemed... weird."

Yunjin doesn't look away from her drama. Of course she doesn't.

"I mean, have you seen him?" She sighs dreamily. "He's like a walking thirst trap. Those hands..."

"Oh my god." You stare down at her pink head in disbelief. "You'd actually fuck him? Like, actually actually?"

She finally tears her eyes from the screen, twisting to grin up at you with zero shame. "Why not? Life's too short not to ride at least one psychopath, right?"

The silence stretches.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow at your horror. "You wouldn't?"

"Jesus fuck no." You mime gagging. "You know he probably has some weird murder kink. Like, he'd probably want to chase you through a haunted house with a knife while dramatic music plays."

"Haunt play?" Her eyes go wide before she breaks into giggles. "That's... weirdly specific. But don't knock it till you try it, right?"

"Yun." You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. "He'd probably set up a whole haunted house just to get his rocks off."

"Okay but..." Yunjin props herself up on her elbows. "Haunted house but make it sexy? That's kind of genius."

"You're actually insane." You shove her shoulder, both of you dissolving into laughter. "I swear to god, if I ever hear spooky music from his tent—"

"You'll what, call the ghost police?"

Her laughter shakes your whole body, bright and infectious, and the small space of the tent makes this ridiculous conversation feel somehow safer, more intimate.

Just two girls discussing their terrible taste in men while hiding from a storm.

Even if one of those men happens to be Seoul's most notorious psychopath.

Yunjin flops back down, using your stomach as a pillow again. The drama's still playing on her phone, but you're too busy thinking about V's games to focus on whatever chaebol drama is unfolding now.

"For now," she sighs dreamily, "I'll stick to living through these ridiculous romances. Much safer than the real thing, right?"

You hum in agreement, watching raindrops race down the tent's surface.

"Sounds smart. But if you do decide to test out V's haunted house kink..." You poke her side. "I want every single detail. For science."

"Deal." Her giggle vibrates against your stomach. "But only if you keep saving me from his 'passionate teaching moments'. My knife skills are fine, thanks."

"Always."

The word comes out softer than intended, but you mean it. In Kkangpae, real friendship is rare as fuck. People either want to kill you, fuck you, or use you—sometimes all three.

But Yunjin? She's different.

And all the while; the rain keeps drumming steadily against the canvas, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green.

In here, none of that exists.

Not V's thorny games, not Jeon's hurricane, not the Council's secret meetings.

Just you and your best friend, safe and warm while the storm rages on.

For now, anyway. Tomorrow's another story.

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nymphaura777 · 5 months ago

Text

The truth about embodying your manifested self:

You visualize. You affirm. You script. You do everything manifestation coaches tell you to do.

But when it comes to actually living as the version of you who already has it?

You freeze. You doubt. You slip back into old patterns.

And suddenly, it feels like you’re faking it instead of being it.

Sound familiar? Then keep reading. Because this is where most people get stuck.

Your current reality—the version of you that struggles, doubts, and overthinks? It doesn’t exist because you want it to.

It exists because it’s familiar.

Your mind clings to the known, even when the known is uncomfortable. That’s why:

You affirm confidence but still avoid eye contact.

You say you’re wealthy but hesitate before buying something.

You manifest love but keep checking if they texted first.

Not because you don’t believe in your manifestation—but because your nervous system isn’t used to it yet.

But here’s the thing—every version of you felt "unnatural" at first.

Eventually, what once felt fake will feel effortless.

Your job? Keep going until your nervous system catches up.

Remember the first time you tried driving? It felt awkward. Forced. Unnatural.

But now? You don’t even think about it.

The same thing happens with your manifested self.

Right now, confidence might feel fake. But the more you move as if it’s already you, the more it becomes your normal.

Wealth feels unnatural—until you stop second-guessing your worth.

Most people quit because they expect their new identity to feel real immediately.

But here’s the catch— it won’t.

At least, not at first.

Your dream life will feel like a fantasy—until it’s not.

Your new self will feel fake—until you become it.

The people around you might be confused—until they see the shift.

And then?

One day, you wake up and realize…

You’re not faking it anymore.

It’s just who you are now.

Embodying your manifested self starts with small, intentional shifts in how you think, act, and carry yourself daily. Instead of hoping for change, speak and think as if it’s already yours. Make choices the way your ideal self would—whether it’s how you respond to challenges, present yourself, or navigate opportunities. Adjust your body language to reflect confidence and ease, and surround yourself with things that align with your new reality, from music to daily habits. Most importantly, notice when old patterns resurface and choose differently. Over time, these subtle shifts make your new identity feel natural and effortless.

The fastest way to embody your new self immediately is to make a definitive decision that you are that person right now—no waiting, no trying. Shift your inner dialogue from “I’m becoming” to “I already am.” Move through your day as if your manifestation is undeniably real. Speak, walk, and make choices from that mindset. The moment you stop questioning and fully claim it, your energy shifts—and so does your reality.

"If you assume your desire and live there as though it were true, no power in the world can stop it from becoming a fact." - Neville Goddard

hope this post was helpful for y'all!!!!

- xoxo 💋

With love, Celeste

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fictionalsweethearts · 6 months ago

Text

THE COMMISSION PT. 4 | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

'The Commission' series: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, epilogue.

Synopsis: You've been her personal mechanic for two years, but your growing reputation in the field has earned you dozens of clients and commissions. Sevika was looking for something fresh, durable and of good quality, and when it came to her sexual appetite, she only accepted the best. So she turned to you for a special commission.

Contains: arcane!sevika, feminine reader, lesbians, lots of dialogues, arcane universe, cannon sevika, mechanic!reader, wlw, slow burn baby 💋, several parts btw, nsfw, smut, fingering omgg

If you're underage, be responsible and don't consume smut content. I AIN'T YOUR MAMA TO SPANK YOUR ASS.

Word count: 5,384 (yes, things HAPPEN in this chapter)

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake in my writing. Enjoy!

Two years earlier

"I'm fine." Sevika murmured, in a tone that could scare anyone away. Except you.

Third day in a row you slept in Zaun's main square, you were cold and your stomach was asking for a more substantial dish than the cookies you could afford. You smelled of street, oil and rain, you were risking everything to get some money and sleep under a roof today.

Many warned you about Sevika, it was better not to mess with her or even show your nose, unless you were proposing a card game, a business or you were a lady-in-waiting. You were none of the three, but you trusted what your hands and your tools were capable of. You held the toolbox, keeping an upright posture even though inside you feared ending up in a dumpster or bleeding to death in the middle of the Last Drop.

"Your arm seems to need a checkup." You insisted. "I know the model, I assume you've had it for about five years, yeah?"

Sevika frowned, putting down the cards and letting out a puff of smoke. She didn't look convinced, more irritated. You insisted.

"I don't charge much."

Sevika flicked her eyes up and down your form, her expression stern. She had seen you before - a street rat, hanging around the less salubrious parts of the city. You were skinny, dirty, and reeked of poverty. You had no business approaching her, let alone with such audacity.

"And what makes you think you can fix it?” she scowled, her voice as harsh as sandpaper. "You some kind of mechanic?”

"Yes." you said, noticing the way Sevika was studying you. You couldn't call her out, you had to swallow your pride in order to swallow a decdent meal later, if everything goes right. "I used to work at Benzo's pawn shop, fixing unused appliances. I brought fine pieces back to life." you said, your eyes flickering to Sevika's mechanic arm. "Like yours."

Certainly Sevika was not pleased with your audacity, she was forced to answer for Silco to idiots, drug addicts, gang members and murderers, so you were just another one to add to the list.

"Used to?" she grunted, her eyes narrowing as she took another drag on her cigarette. "What, you get fired or something?"

"He's dead." you reminded her, knowing damn well Silco's goons were behind that.

Yes, you were bretraying yourself and your past by turning to Sevika to offer your services, but your situation wasn't getting any better. Not with a dead father, an absent mother, and debts to deal with. You should have known better, gambling leads to no good, neither does the air of Zaun. You fell victim to both, the first killed your father, the second probably killed your mother, you weren't sure. And the debt collectors were breathing down your neck.

She eyed you for a moment longer, her gaze weighing your worth. You were desperate, that much was obvious. And she couldn't help but see an opportunity in that. "Alright," she grunted, her voice gruff. "Let's say I let you take a look. What's it gonna cost me?"

You huffed, you were losing dignity there. "A meal." you shrugged. "And a sip of whiskey if you're feeling generous. But I assure you, I do a fine job."

"You'll get your meal and your shot of whiskey," she grumbled, knwoing she would regret giving you a chance. "But if you don't do a damn good job, I'll rip your pretty little head off."

"My head will stay above my shoulders..." you stated. "And your arm, brand new." you added.

Sevika raised her eyebrows, giving the guard a signal to let you come over and take a seat next to her on the couch. You had little time to prove that your offer was not talk but fact. You opened the toolbox, taking out a screwdriver to begin taking apart the arm and separating the pieces. The supply of Shimmer on top seemed novel, but predictable. You knew what to do

As you progressed with your work, Sevika's first impression about you began to crumble. Beneath the hollow cheeks and dark circles under her eyes was a beautiful girl intent on her task, with attentive eyes, deft fingers, and latent confidence. The woman then began to ask questions, hoping to intimidate you.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-six."

"So young, and already out on the streets?" she grunted, her voice carrying a hint of mockery. "What, your parents throw you out or something?"

"They're dead." you mumbled. Sevika was holding her card with her flesh hand, still gambling while you were attending her prosthetic arm.

Your confession did not move her, having parents alive and present in Zaun was a privilege. However, her curiosity only increased. "Orphan?"

"You could say so." you said, glancing at the disassembled parts, studying the system of Sevika’s arm. The thermal paste needed changing, luckily you had some on you, the seals needed oil too, and some of the gears could use replacing.

"So you're just a street rat then," she said bluntly. "No family, no friends, nowhere to call home."

"Rat." you huffed. "I'm prettier than that." you might have been hungry, skinny and dirty, but you were a lot smarter and prettier than a goddamn rat.

"Maybe," she smirked. "But you still smell worse than one."

As Sevika took the time to mock you, your eyes were split between the arm and the opponents' play. You were sure that Sevika was taking a big risk by continuing to allow the cuprier to keep adding cards to the deck. "Stand," you whispered. "You're too close."

Sevika raised her eyebrow, planning to ignore you, however your comment didn't seem to be wrong. She let out a sigh before raising her hand to the cuprier. With that, the man turned over his cards. "Seventeen." The man said, to which you looked with pleased eyes at Sevika's nineteen.

"Agh, for fuck's sake." groaned one of the opponents, losing the bet. Blackjack was quite unpredictable, but you advised Sevika well; she hit the jackpot.

She chuckled, turning to look at you with a mix of surprise and respect. "Well then, not bad," she said, her voice gruff but impressed. "You really know your stuff."

"The rat's useful." you mumbled. "I have a name, though."

"I haven't asked your name." she replied, as she placed her just won chips on the pile.

"I rather you to remember the quality of my work than my name." you stated, assembling the arm back on Sevika. You turned the last screws, applied oil to the parts, and finally inserted the supply of Shimmer into the shoulder compartment, clicking your tongue. "Set and done, miss."

As the arm connected to her system, Sevika immediately noticed the fluidity of the gears and the restored sensitivity of the metal fingers. She flexed her arm and stretched it out, looking at you with a half-smile. It was all she would give you, along with an, "And here I thought I would rip your head off."

Before you could accept the praise wholeheartedly, there was this sudden commotion in the club. Another bastard too immersed in Shimmer to contain himself had entered, knocking out the guards with just the touch of a hand, and actually, knocking down everything in his path.

Fuck.

Sevika tensed, eyes flickering to the situation. She recognized the signs of a Shimmer-induced maniac, and knew damn well the trouble that could follow.

"Gods," she growled under her breath. "Not this bastard again."

Sevika quickly rose from her seat, her eyes watching the Shimmer-fueled maniac with a steely glare. It was only a matter of time before he would turn his attention to the rest of the bar, and Sevika knew she had to act fast. One of the other players had already fled, hiding behind the wall near the bar. The other stood frozen in fear, unable to speak or move. But you remained calm, your eyes on Sevika, awaiting her next move.

Sevika looked more irritated than alert, she moved her mechanical arm and walked towards the purple beast in front of her, her bearing filling the entire place, her confidence latent. You watched the fight unfold with a smile, the arm worked like a charm and there was no denying that you did a great job, especially when Sevika pulled the opponent’s leg against her and her elbow landed on the knee joint, bending the limb at an unnatural angle, followed by a punch capable of sending him flying through the air and landing in front of the bar. You drank from her glass, watching the guards carry the unconscious opponent away and Sevika letting out a sigh. The music began playing again.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, and by then you had realized that it was a habit of hers, and before scolding you for your attitude and your audacity in drinking from her glass, the woman called for the waiter. "Bring the girl dinner, and a glass of whiskey." she mumbled.

"I like it with soda," you added, smiling pleased from the couch.

Sevika rolled her eyes. "With soda," she said.

When you had already filled your stomach and calmed your nerves with a good whiskey, Sevika reappeared through the door. She had disappeared during your dinner, but returned to the room with a small bag of coins between her fingers and a less cold look than before; you could read the ambition on her face.

"For the arm repair," Sevika said, placing the pouch next to you on the table. To it, she added a small card with an address and the Silco symbol on the bottom, known as the "Eye of Zaun."

You knew that card was your golden ticket.

"This..." she said lowly. "Is a way to keep yourself fed and off the streets, if you're interested."

As you nodded, Sevika leaned in to whisper in a tone that made you shudder. Her scent of tobacco wafted into your nose, her closeness overwhelming. "Report to this address tomorrow at 8. Not a single minute later. We'll talk business when the time comes."

"Yes, ma'am." you said, making Sevika grin.

"Sevika." she said. "I am not into formality."

With that, she walked away, leaving you with a job opportunity and a pouch full of coins.

You did it. You fucking did it.

And tomorrow you would prove that your actions weren't just talk but pure merit. You counted the coins, it was enough for a hotel room and half of what you owed Horner. You smiled, he's always been good faking a Shimmer overdose.

As the days went by, you went from rat to girl. You met Silco, you closed a deal for private services to the organization, you took care of the maintenance of machinery, clothing and weapons. You were a full-time worker, you spent your hours within the four walls of the workshop, living off of coffee, bread, fruit and whiskey. Sevika watched you from the beginning, it was the task that Silco had entrusted to her; "Keep an eye on the girl, make her work and keep her mouth shut."

And that's what you did.

When the time came, you went from girl to mechanic. The workshop was not only your workplace, but your temple. Silco allowed you to accept external orders, you began to build a business that not only gave you autonomy, but also colored your cheeks, filled out your muscles and gave you the beauty that poverty had taken from you.

It was then that you went from mechanic to sweetheart. And Sevika forced herself to keep her distance, but the numerous appointments to check her arm, the jokes, the glances and the talks had loosened this armor against you. Now you ate full dinners, steaks, roasted vegetables, drank lemonade and replaced coffee with Shimmer, with Sevika as your only provider.

That was her mistake.

She thought she had done you a favor by providing you the doses. You worked better, your efficiency was through the roof, your performance impeccable. But that night, seeing you unconscious on the floor of her office, surrounded by paramedics and pale as snow, Sevika knew that you ended up like this because of her.

Her fault. Her damn fault.

"You've allowed this." said Silco, dragging from his cigar. He seemed quite unbothered by the situation, considering your incident as another problematic worker that couldn't control herself. All businesses have causalities, however, this wasn't just any. "She wasn't supposed to be at your office."

Your inert eyes, the way your body lay languid, a purple substance coming out of the corner of your mouth as if your insides were melting, the paramedics trying to revive a being whose life was hanging by a thread. It was a nightmare.

"She's dead." The paramedic said.

Dead.

You died for her.

Because of her.

"Ah!" Sevika sat up suddenly, a drop of sweat wetting the back of her neck when her eyes landed on the halo of moonlight that was leaking through the window. She had dreamed of the accident again.

She wiped the sweat from her neck with a quick gesture and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Just a dream, she told herself, just a damn dream.

Sevika didn't even stop to put her mechanical arm on, which was resting next to her bed, but left the room at a quick pace and uncovered your sleeping figure on the living room couch.

You were fine.

You were curled up on the couch, your bandaged wrist resting next to your face, serene and calm. Your breathing reminded Sevika that you were still alive, even though you threatened to die on the old wooden floor of her office a month ago. But you were too stubborn to die from an overdose. You shifted in your spot, the breeze biting at your skin in the absence of the blanket over you, and when you opened your eyes you found the immense silhouette of Sevika before you. You screamed.

Sevika winced at your sharp cry, her hand reaching out instinctively to cover your mouth, to silence the sound before it echoed through the apartment.

"Shhh!" she hissed, her eyes darting towards the main door. The last thing she needed was for someone to think she was murdering someone in there.

"Quiet, quiet," she whispered, her hand still firmly over your mouth. "You'll wake the whole damn block with that shrieking."

Your heart skipped a beat before connecting two coherent thoughts and realizing it was Sevika. The woman pulled her hand away. "Fuck, don't stand in front of me like that again," you gasped. "I thought it was the grim reaper."

She took a step back, giving you some breathing room. "Believe me, he must have more important things to attend to," she said, her voice still low. "Just came to check on you. Didn't mean to scare you like that."

You sat up, reaching out to turn the oil lamp on. Sevika was still on her tank top and boxers, it was unusual to see her without the prosthetic arm. "I'm fine." you said. "You could've came to check in the morning, damn... what time it is?" you asked.

It's three," she replied, her tone still hushed. "Go back to sleep, girl. I just... wanted to make sure you were alright."

The lamplight outlined Sevika's silhouette, you could see the sweat on her neck and a certain pallor on her face. You assumed it was another nightmare, you already knew about them, but you avoided bringing them up because every time you did, she would shut you up with an "I'm fine, girl, go to sleep."

You watched her walk towards the balcony, a pack of cigarettes in her hand and a deep sigh leaving her lips. When she had the cigarette between her lips, you were suddenly beside her, lighting it up. “What’s really going on?” you asked.

"Can't a woman just enjoy her smoke in peace?" she grumbled, taking a drag from the cigarette. But there was no real malice in her voice, just a touch of weariness. She leaned against the balcony railing, the metal cool beneath her bare arm.

You sighed, coming up against a wall again. Sevika was impenetrable, so much so that you didn't know what was going through her mind unless she said it, and you could certainly assume it had to do with her nightmares, but you didn't dare to intrude on her fears. Still, you stayed next to her on the balcony, your stomach aching as the first sign of withdrawal.

The first few days were atrocious, you trembled and vomited every hour, you believed that dying was more pleasant than enduring such nausea and fits of anger and pain. However, Sevika stood firm by your side, brought you to her apartment and such a nurse, kept track of your symptoms and silenced them with the medicines the doctor had prescribed you. More than once, she stayed next to you on the couch, talking to you about trivialities or reading a book until the sleeping pill took effect and you could sleep. Only then did Sevika allow herself to stroke your forehead and relive the guilt of the accident.

Sevika had lived long enough to witness the effects of Shimmer on people. It didn't just destroy wills, it destroyed bodies and minds. The mutations from overuse of Shimmer were morbid and grotesque, luckily you didn't experience any, but that didn't make seeing you on the office floor, languid, pale, with your eyes open any less terrifying. Silco saw Sevika lose her temper for the first time in his life.

"I shouldn't have let you take those doses," she finally muttered, the words coming out with a hint of gravel in her voice. "I should've found a different way. This..." she gestured to you, the signs of her failure still lingering in the bags under your eyes and the scars along your arms, "...this is on me. My fault."

So that's what it was all about; guilt. Sevika had learned to take the blame for other people, to take responsibility for other people's mistakes, and this time was no different. Yes, she made a mistake by giving you doses of Shimmer for two years, but you were the one who decided to relapse. And you took all the blame. "Nobody forced me to relapse that day, Sevika." you stated. "And nobody could've stopped me neither, not even you."

For a moment, she was quiet, mulling over your words, the smoke from her cigarette spiraling up into the night air.

“You shouldn’t be the one consoling me, girl,” she said finally, the vulnerability in her tone betraying her gruff exterior. “I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”

"We both know that a worker isn't taken care of the way you take care of me," you stated, your words implying more than what they said.

"You've never been a mere worker for me," she stated, letting out a puff of smoke, moving away into the air. Zaun was quiet, as if the city had stopped the day you nearly died. "Sometimes I can't stand you, you don't know when to back off."

You reached for her cigarette, taking a drag. "I never learned to back off."

“Of course, you didn’t,” she said, a note of resignation in her voice. “You’re as stubborn as they come. Should’ve known from the beginning that I’d have my hands full with you.”

And here you were, two years later, sleeping on her couch and making her coffee in the mornings, refusing to die without proving once again that you are many things, but not a street rat.

You had already settled into a routine. Sevika would leave early in the morning, usually returning at noon to check on you. You always waited for her with a cigarette and a cup of coffee, you started adding a touch of whiskey when you realized she liked it. You used to keep the apartment clean, read the books Sevika kept, play with her cards and sometimes take out your tools and make crafts or repair unused items, even though Sevika had forbidden you to work until you had recovered.

"Your recovery comes first, girl. Go easy."

Sometimes you found yourself chatting with her on the balcony, taking drags from her cigarette and oiling her mechanical arm, before daring to ask how her day was, absorbing her worries and whispering a "you always put up with too much, Sev" afterwads, only for her to shrug and light another cigarette. Being her tenant had allowed you to see Sevika in a much more intimate setting, without the need to maintain the impenetrable facade. You watched her sleep, yawn, train, and even cook; your favorite was the mushroom stew with enhacium powder. It was quite the meal, always leaving you with a heavy stomach and a pleasant drowsiness, although your tongue took the brunt of the sting of the powder. Sevika could feel you starting to itch as your cheeks colored, and with a smile, she would hand you the lemonade.

You were embarrassed to admit it, even more so considering that the overdose could have killed you, but you were grateful that circumstances led you to live with Sevika. Sometimes you wished you had done it sooner, but you remembered the way she reacted when you woke up in the hospital and regretted it.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, girl, understood? Never again." she said, agitated, holding your hand in hers.

You could never apologize enough to take the blame off Sevika's chest, so you just limited yourself to being a good roommate.

"Would you mind helping me with the painkiller?" you asked then, placing the cigarette between Sevika's lips. Despite having started the methadone treatment more than a month ago, it still gave you the shivers to handle the syringe.

"Of course," she said simply, her voice a mix of gruffness and understanding. "Let me do it."

You two sat down on the couch, Sevika holding the cigarette between her lips as she wrapped the elastic around your arm and tightened it. You didn’t admit it out loud, but ever since you’d been staying at Sevika’s apartment, your favorite time of day was when she helped you with the methadone. You loved the way her eyes focused on you, her thumb gently searching for your vein, commanding you to close your fist, then after piercing your skin, whispering “there you go,” pulling the needle back out before caressing the mark with her finger and purring “good girl.” She made you feel special, you were pampered by a woman who didn’t pamper anyone, and it was exhilarating in the most unusual way.

You thought you could take a thousand injections if it meant continuing to be Sevika’s good girl.

"Easy as pie," she said, her voice a rough whisper. "No pain, no drama." she added, disposing of the syringe in the trash can.

You watched her put out her cigarette in the ashtray, expecting her to sit next to you and wait for you to fall asleep like she always did. You had gotten used to hearing her voice by now. Just then, the first hit of the drug bathed you. It was always the strongest, however after a few weeks, the dose had decreased and only gave you a pleasant drowsiness.

"You're getting sleepy." she said. "Good."

Sevika watched as your eyelids fluttered shut, your body slumping back against the couch. The drug had done its work, a gentle drowsiness seeping into your limbs and calming your nerves. You felt an arm wrap around your waist, Sevika lifted you over her shoulder and carefully carried you to her bed. "It's too damn cold in the living room," was her excuse, even though you didn't ask for one. The bed was still warm, wide and the sheets smooth. Sevika wasn't lying when she said she prefers her whiskey neat and her bed soft.

She turned off the lamp, snuggling up to you, keeping a prudent distance that at the moment seemed ridiculous to you. "Do I scare you?" you teased her.

"Scare me?" she huffed. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Come closer then." you said, pushing your luck just enough. And Sevika seemed to give in.

You rested your head on her chest, allowing yourself to inhale her scent and feel the beat of her heart; it was slow, imposing, just like her. Sevika frowned, ignoring the urge to bury her nose in your hair and entwine her legs with yours. You heard her sigh, you were dozing off by then. "Rest, girl, you need it."

Sevika wasn’t the best early riser, but she woke up in a better mood that morning. A hand around your waist, her nose on your neck as if your scent alone had calmed all her nightmares, and it did. You were still asleep, comfortable and serene while she spooned you, unaware that Sevika pulled you close to her, taking in your cleavage from where she was; your shirt had shifted in the night, revealing more of your skin.

Look away, Sevika, get a grip.

Sevika sighed against your neck, knowing she was treading unfamiliar and inappropriate territory, but she couldn't help it. Her hand found the edge of your tank top, pulling it down just to reveal your breasts; smooth, tender and full.

No, she shouldn't, but... she wanted to? Absolutely.

Her lips found the sensitive area of your neck, trailing kisses and nips down to your shoulders and collarbone, daring to squeeze one of your tits between her fingers. You shifted on your place, the air biting on your bare chest managed to draw your attention and Sevika pulled her hands off, as if she was spooked of herself.

What the hell am I doing?

"Mhm..." you uttered, your hand seeking for Sevika's, bringing it back towards your chest. "Don't stop." you whispered, your eyes still closed.

Sevika gulped, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body as she reached out again, catching your breast between her fingers and massaging it gently, peppering kisses down your neck, your cheek, your shoulder. You felt her abdomen press harder against your back, you shifted your ass against her, half asleep but perfectly aware of what was happening, and you wouldn’t let her stop.

She grunted against your neck, her hand squeezing harder your breast. "Don't move," she growled softly, her breath hot against your ear. "Stay just like this."

You moaned, your hand reaching her cheek, urging her to touch you, to kiss you. Your eyes fluttered open as she ran her hand down your stomach, teasing your lower belly, down to your legs, the inner side of your thighs. "Sev..." you purred.

"I'm here," she whispered against your ear. "I've got you."

"Shit." you whimpered, your eyes shutting once she slipped her hand into your shorts, settling between your legs. That's all you needed to fully wake up. "Ah, god." you panted, feeling her fingers against your slick.

"You're so wet for me, aren't you?" she breathed against your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine. She pressed kisses along your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. "Yes, you are."

As much confidence Sevika showed, the truth was that inside she was shaking with fear. She was crossing a line she had imposed on herself when she met you two years ago, and she had never felt so out of control as she did now. It wasn’t just your moans, it was your scent, your heat, the idea that she was the one who gave you the opportunity that night at the club and now you were lying on her bed, squirming under her hand. She forged this situation from the moment she laid eyes on you, not knowing that you intended to end up in this position ever since she leaned in and her tobacco scent filled your nostrils. You intended to work for Sevika, to be her confidant, her best partner and above all… to become her weak point.

You pulled your head back, moaning as Sevika parted your legs and eased a finger inside you, licking your ear. "Sleeping on my couch, playing with my cards, wearing my clothes while I'm gone; all you've done to end up here." she mumbled, easing a second one, knowing you could take it.

"Yes, I... I did it." you whimpered, gripping the sheets between your fingers.

"You were testing me." she stated, biting on your neck. "Always pushing my buttons to see when I would give in."

You knew Sevika wasn't just playing around with you when she rubbed the heel of her hand against your clit, already swollen and sensitive for her. The room was filled with the obscene sound of your slick, your moans and Sevika's words. "Legs apart." she commanded. "You never learned to follow instructions, learn now." she said.

"Yes, ma'am." you whined, before Sevika chuckled.

"Didn't I tell you I'm not into formality?"

She could never forget the details of the time they met, no. Not when she was the one who saw you enter the club with your toolbox, your tired eyes, your steely confidence. Not when she was the one who asked Silco for a job opportunity for you and paid you with her own coins. Not when she chose you, for herself, from the first moment.

You were hers from the beggining, and somehow you knew it.

Her hand continued to work between your legs, her fingers moving expertly, making pleasurable heat pool in your belly. "You can pretend to be tough all you want, but when you're with me, you're not."

Your legs were locking around her hand, your breathing quick and ragged as Sevika sped up the motion of her fingers. Fuck, you were starting to shake, that tickling sensation settling in your stomach.

"You and your insolent mouth, your smug smile…" she whispered. "I wanted them for myself, I always did." You shifted, knowing that if Sevika had the mechanical arm on, she would already be choking you. However, you felt her move over you, trapping you against the mattress.

"Sevika… I'm…" you mewled, realizing you were on the very edge. "Huh, please..."

"I know." she smiled, as she laid above you, her hand firmly working on your throbbing pussy. "Now kiss me, pretty girl. Earn it."

You cupped her cheeks, kissing her as much as your moans would allow, tasting the tobacco on her tongue, her teeth between your lips. Sevika kissed like she walked, and that was saying a lot. You pulled back, realizing the trembling of your legs was the hint of an orgasm you couldn't contain. "Oh... god...!" you cried against her lips before you dove into the sensation.

And you melted.

Sevika leaned down to kiss your chin, your neck, totally in love with your whimpers and trembling lips, your smell of sweat, your juicy pussy. You barely rode the high when Sevika kissed your belly, a hand tracing fingers on your knee as her mouth hovered over your core. "I could lick it off of you, y'know?" she smirked.

You were in no position to ask or deny anything, but Sevika was in the perfect position to tempt you and play on your desire. “If only I didn’t have that meeting with Silco in…” she glanced at the clock beside the bed. “Ten minutes.”

Oh, no.

"Ten minutes is more than enough." you said, even though it sounded like a plea.

But Sevika chuckled, leaning to place a kiss on your lips. "I don't rush things when I eat a pretty girl out." she stated, leaving the bed.

You propped yourself up on your elbow, staring at Sevika with your lips apart. Unfazed, she took the mechanical arm and connected it to her shoulder, glancing at you with a rose brow.

"Wait for me with the coffee ready," she said, walking to the dresser to get ready. "I'll finish what I started, sugar, don't worry."

To be continued...

taglist: @lez-zuha @amoraeu @nikaachuuuu @furrytaesss @elliecoochieeater @n-noctiss @emmanetalias @sevikashairbrush @lipglosskxsses @chaosfieldflower @kairuvhen @moodient @izzy120 @bonemarrowstew @abbysunderwear @batman-2 @karmalovessimonriley @fandomsinthegalaxies @fudosl @femme-historian @poprostuhybryda-blog @kifuqe @xblinkx2 @tamikahoshiko @lia-winther @https-mika @armeenix @bambishaven @xblinkx2 @luvg1s3l1e @dopemusiccowboy @imheadintothemountains @lilithyys @soullessbody @lavendersgirl @lovesickdreamer @makaylaislovely @demonofpuns @celestialst4r @ilovehotd @emmanetalias @bethany-l87 @marah280 @srtuna @jannesyjane @victoriaanne9 @rottngrl3 @depressedqueersocialists @slut4sevika @fragilsnoopy @stmvivs @sillystarv @vyvvycg

Also, I haven't stopped to thank u all for your reception of this series. It makes me absolutely happy you girls like it so far! Thank u all <3

#arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane sevika #arcane smut #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #league of legends #sevika the butch you are #big mama #sevika my love #sevika smut #some spicy ass shit oh yeah #slow burn BURNING #nasty ass bitch

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sofiatarot · 6 months ago

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Personality of your future lover / / pac reading

TIP JAR - FREE READINGS - PAID READINGS

1->2

3->4

Group 1

Cards: strength, two of swords, five of swords (reversed), two of pentacles, the world (reversed), three of wands (reversed)

This person is a fighter at heart, with an inner resilience that helps them overcome life’s challenges with grace and quiet determination. Whether a man or woman, they’re someone who has learned to tame their inner chaos, balancing strength with compassion. However, they can struggle with indecision, sometimes torn between two paths or two major choices in life. They dislike conflict and have likely walked away from toxic situations in the past, but they still feel the weight of unresolved issues or unfulfilled goals. Ambitious yet cautious, they juggle responsibilities while dreaming of a better future, though fear of failure sometimes holds them back. Their personality is one of perseverance, quiet courage, and someone who is learning to trust their instincts and plan boldly for what’s next.

Group 2

Cards: ten of cups (reversed), knight of wands, ten of swords, the magician, queen of wands (reversed), knight of cups

This is someone fiery, charismatic, and full of life, though their emotional world has been marked by turbulence. Whether male or female, they carry the scars of past heartbreak, which makes them deeply passionate but also somewhat guarded when it comes to relationships. They are ambitious dreamers, always in motion, pursuing their desires with the energy of a Knight of Wands. As a lover, they’re magnetic, deeply charming, and able to sweep you off your feet. However, they sometimes struggle with emotional depth, masking insecurity with confidence or action. Beneath it all, they are a romantic at heart who longs for true connection but might fear being vulnerable again. They have the potential to manifest anything they desire, using their natural charisma and creativity to bring their dreams to life.

Group 3

Cards: the sun (reversed), king of pentacles (reversed), nine of pentacles, ten of pentacles, six of pentacles, the high priestess (reversed)

This is a person who seems to have it all together on the surface but carries hidden doubts or struggles with self-worth. They may come across as successful, stable, and generous, but their inverted cards reveal that their achievements can feel hollow at times. Whether man or woman, they’ve worked hard to create security and abundance in their life, but they may feel disconnected from their intuition or emotional world. They love deeply and enjoy taking care of those they care for, whether through material gifts or acts of service. However, they can sometimes struggle to connect on a deeper level, hiding behind practicality or busyness. They are a paradox: confident in their abilities yet quietly yearning for emotional depth and self-discovery.

Group 4

Cards: the high priestess, the wheel of fortune, ace of wands, queen of wands (reversed), judgment, nine of cups

This person has a magnetic, almost mystical aura, someone who seems to be guided by fate or intuition. They are deeply in tune with the cycles of life and often find themselves at the center of significant changes or opportunities. Whether male or female, they are creative, ambitious, and driven by their passions, though their confidence can sometimes come across as intimidating or even stubborn. They are not afraid of transformation and have likely been through powerful moments of personal growth, making them wise and insightful. Their charm lies in their authenticity, they know what they want and aren’t afraid to claim it. They embody the energy of the Nine of Cups: someone who finds fulfillment within themselves but is also capable of sharing their joy with others. A relationship with them would feel like destiny, full of passion and purpose.

xoxo 💋

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goshikisbaee · 5 months ago

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The weight of his love ❤︎

[ Wakatoshi Ushijima x reader ]

content: Fluff

———

The sound of sneakers scuffing against the pavement filled the silence between you. The cool evening air had settled comfortably, crisp against your skin as you walked beside Ushijima. He was quiet, as always, his expression unreadable as he gazed forward.

You were used to his silences. They weren’t cold or distant—just the way he was. He didn’t fill space with unnecessary words, didn’t speak unless he has something worth saying. Some might find it intimidating, but you had learned to read the subtle things: the way his fingers would sometimes brush against yours as you walked, the slow blinks when he listened intently, the way he always matched his pace to yours without thinking.

Tonight, though, something felt off.

He had been more rigid than usual, shoulders squared, jaw set, his gaze focussed on something far beyond the path in front of him. You recognized this version of Ushijima—the one who carried the weight of expectations, who buried frustration beneath layers of discipline and control.

you bumped your shoulder lightly against his, breaking the quiet. “You’re thinking too hard.”

he blinked, finally looking at you. “Am I?”

you gave him a knowing smile. “You get this look when you’re overthinking. Like you’re trying to solve a puzzle with no solution.”

He exhaled through his nose, almost like a sigh, but not quite. “It’s nothing.”

it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. Ushijima wasn’t one to share burdens easily. He carried things alone, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t always know how to share them.

so you didn’t press. Instead, you reached for his hand, slipping your fingers between his. His palm was warm, rough from years of training, and for a moment, he just stared at your hands before curling his fingers around yours.

his grip was firm. Steady.

a quiet reassurance.

you thought that would be the end of it—that whatever was weighing on him, he’d let it go, or at least tuck it away for another day. But then, as you neared the front steps of your apartment, he stopped walking.

Before you could turn to ask why, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you firmly against his chest.

It was sudden.

You stiffened in surprise—not because you didn’t want it, but because Ushijima was not the type for spontaneous displays of affection. His touches were always deliberate, his affections carefully measured. But this? This felt like instinct.

“…Ushijima?” You murmured, tilting your head up, but he didn’t let go.

His embrace was solid, unshakable, like a fortress around you. One of his hands rested against the small of your back, the other pressing between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slow, controlled breaths he was taking.

“Just… stay like this for a moment,” he finally said, voice quiet, almost hesitant.”

Your heart softened at his words. You could count the number of times he’d asked for something outright on one hand. He wasn’t someone who needed constant reassurance, but this—this was different.

You wrapped your arms around him in return, pressing your cheek against the fabric of his jacket. “Okay.”

He didn’t say anything else, just held you there, his body solid and warm against yours.

And in that moment, you understood.

Ushijima didn’t need words to express himself. His love was in the way he stood by you, in the quiet moments you shared, in the way he held on when he needed you close.

And right now, he needed you.

So you stayed.

Because for Ushijima, a hug wasn’t just a hug.

It was trust. It was love. It was everything

———

💋 💋 💋

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff

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moonreader1010 · 6 months ago

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Things about you that will have them hooked 💋🧿 (18+)

-by Valerie

Pick one of the following piles:-

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. ^

Note:- the pictures used don't belong to me and all the rights go to their original owners.

-This is for entertainment purposes only. Take what resonates.

-minors DNI.

-take a deep breath and pick the pile that calls you.

Pile 1.

The Soulful Romantic

Cards Pulled: The Empress, The Moon, Ace of Cups, The Lovers, King of Pentacles, Seven of Wands

This person will be drawn to the divine sensuality you radiate. The Empress speaks of your natural beauty and allure—there’s something about the way you carry yourself that exudes confidence and an untouchable, goddess-like energy. When they’re near you, they feel like they’re stepping into a dream, a mystery they can’t unravel, as shown by The Moon. Your ability to reveal just enough while leaving so much to the imagination keeps them utterly captivated. With the Ace of Cups, you’re like a refreshing oasis, igniting a deep emotional connection that they haven’t felt with anyone else. The Lovers shows that they see you as their ultimate partner, someone they’d risk everything for. Meanwhile, the King of Pentacles hints at how grounded and self-sufficient you are, which only intensifies their desire to prove their worth to you. Yet, the Seven of Wands adds a layer of challenge—you’re not easily won over, and your resistance only makes them want you more.

Visionary Scenario: Imagine them watching you laugh softly in a dimly lit café, the glow of candlelight playing on your skin. They’re hooked on the way your eyes seem to hold a thousand secrets, the way you sip your coffee like royalty. They’d sit across the table, leaning in, mesmerized, while their heart races, thinking, "How do I convince them to let me in?"

Pile 2.

The Adventurous Spirit

Cards Pulled: Knight of Wands, The Star, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Cups, The Tower, Page of Swords

This person is a thrill-seeker, and your fiery passion lights a spark in them they can’t ignore. With the Knight of Wands, it’s your boldness and unpredictability that leave them intrigued. You’re not afraid to take risks or live unapologetically, and that’s a magnetic pull for them. The Star reveals that you’re like a beacon of hope and inspiration in their life. They’re drawn to your optimism, your dreams, and how you’re unafraid to chase after what you want. The Nine of Pentacles highlights your independence and elegance; they see you as someone who has built a life of richness—both externally and within. When the Two of Cups appears, it suggests that they feel an undeniable emotional and physical chemistry with you. The Tower, though, adds an element of danger. You shake up their life in the best way possible, forcing them out of their comfort zone. With the Page of Swords, they’re constantly trying to figure you out, hooked on your intelligence and the way you keep them guessing.

Visionary Scenario: Picture this—on an impromptu road trip, you’re laughing as you tease them, wind blowing through your hair. They glance over at you from the driver’s seat, utterly hypnotized by the way you radiate freedom and excitement. In that moment, they think, "I’d follow them anywhere."

Pile 3.

The Intellectual Dreamer

Cards Pulled: Queen of Swords, Temperance, Three of Pentacles, Ten of Cups, The Devil, Eight of Wands

This person admires your sharp mind and wit, symbolized by the Queen of Swords. You challenge them intellectually, and they’re obsessed with how you always have the perfect comeback or insight. Temperance reveals that you have a serene balance about you—you’re the calm in their storm, a grounding presence they crave. The Three of Pentacles shows that they’re drawn to how you collaborate with others, your ambition, and your ability to inspire and lead. The Ten of Cups makes it clear that they fantasize about long-term happiness with you; you embody their dream of an ideal partner. The Devil, however, spices things up—you have a seductive side they can’t resist. It’s the way you make eye contact just a little too long, or how you subtly hint at something more, that drives them wild. The Eight of Wands speaks of your ability to make things happen quickly and passionately, leaving them breathless and wanting more.

Visionary Scenario: Imagine them meeting you at a gallery opening. You’re discussing art with effortless eloquence, your voice like velvet. They’re hooked on the way your words tease their mind while your presence tantalizes their senses. That night, as they lie awake, they’re consumed with the thought, "How can I be the one to unlock all their layers?"

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voguesriot · 1 year ago

Text

DON’T HURT YOURSELF ✹ luke castellan

( summary ) social media au where your boyfriend became the asshole everyone warned you he’d be and now you’re looking for revenge (& luke is a down bad loser w no game)

( pairings ) luke castellan x fem aphrodite counsellor!reader

DIRECT MESSAGES

sarahdawson: hey girly ik we’re not like close or anything but something happened last night that i need to tell you about

sarahdawson: so i was getting strawberries yesterday and max was there and he was being really weird and like flirty and i’m so sorry i feel like such a horrible person even though i turned him down right away but he tried to kiss me and i hit him and then i went back to my cabin but i had to tell you

sarahdawson: i’m so sorry

yourusername: THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE I KNEW HE WASNT WORTH SHIT

yourusername: this is clarisse btw i took her phone

yourusername: (me again) thank you for telling me sarah it rlly means a lot 🫶

sarahdawson: if it makes any difference you’re way too hot for him and literally anything you need (even rigging archery lessons so the new kids take shots just as he’s walking by), i’m your girl x

♫ Don’t Hurt Yourself by Beyoncé feat. Jack White

♡ liked by silenabeauregard , connorstroll , and others

yourusername love god herself (love u mama) 💋

sarahdawson AHHH YOURE SO PRETTY

yourusername THANK YOU GORGEOUS 🥹🥹

clarisselarue too good for anyone 😮‍💨

silenabeauregard prettiest girl everrrr

chrisrodriguez pur girlie

yourusername what.

chrisrodriguez gods forbid a man expresses an ounce of girlish whimsy

yourusername nooo queen i appreciate you thank you

seaweedbrain you ate ‼️‼️‼️

seaweedbrain ate my dessert*

seaweedbrain it’s all fun and games until you end up stealing from the youth

seaweedbrain count your days miss counsellor

yourusername my girl sally should’ve kept you on a leash for a bit longer because you are rabid my love

seaweedbrain I WAS NEVER ON A LEASH WTF

racheledare STUNNA GIRL STUNNA GIRL I CHOOSE U BABY OVER A HUNDRED GIRLS

yourusername ME AND U 4EVERR 🙏🙏

lukecastellan nice dress!!

this comment was deleted.

clarisselarue lukecastellan i saw that.

lukecastellan why are you so ominous

clarisselarue why are you such a loser

lukecastellan have you ever been chill for a day in your life

clarisselarue have you ever known the loving touch of a woman

chrisrodriguez FOUL 😭😭😭

♫ Feather by Sabrina Carpenter

♡ liked by drewtanaka , pipermclean , and others

[ tagged: yourusername , clarisselarue , silenabeauregard , drewtanaka , hazellevesque , pipermclean ]

sarahdawson girls night w my favs 💘

silenabeauregard APOLLO CABIN 🔛🔝

yourusername FORREALLL

yourusername best night i’ve had in a long time i love u all sm ☹️🫶 ( liked by sarahdawson , clarisselarue , silenabeauregard , drewtanaka , hazellevesque , pipermclean )

silenabeauregard MY GIRLSSSSS

wisegirll prettiest girls in the world 💕💕

clarisselarue sarah girl love ya but maybe leave the singing to ur siblings 🙏

sarahdawson RUDE

yourusername sarahdawson dw baby i loved our duet xx

sarahdawson we simply are destiny’s child

drewtanaka yk who is shaking in his boots

seaweedbrain oh yeah cool i didn’t even want an invite it’s totally chill

yourusername calm down lil guy maybe when you’re older

clarisselarue if zeus doesn’t smite his ass before he gets the chance 😭

seaweedbrain clarisselarue I BEAT YOUR DADS ASS HES LITERALLY A DEADBEAT DADDY

wisegirll too far

seaweedbrain sorry clarisse

lukecastellan yourusername we could hear you singing all the way in hermes ☠️

yourusername NO THATS SO EMBARRASSING WHICH SONG

lukecastellan i think it was never lose me or smth

clarisselarue bros acting like he hasn’t been thinking ab it nonstop

yourusername lukecastellan i’m so sorry for any pain i’ve caused

chrisrodriguez AYY BRO MAKING MOVES

groverunderwood you call those moves? 😭

chrisrodriguez baby steps are still steps let me celebrate my guy in peace 😔

♫ Heartless by The Weeknd

♡ liked by connorstroll , and others

maxwalsh never been better

clarisselarue oh that’s not ☠️

lukecastellan this what you’ve been doing instead of coming to sparring?

maxwalsh it’s a better challenge

drewtanaka THE CLAWS ARE OUT MEOW

yourusername just posted to their story!

DIRECT MESSAGES

lukecastellan: you look really pretty

#luke castellan x aphrodite!reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #camp half blood x reader

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wileys-russo · 11 months ago

Note

if you need any leila prompts here’s one 💋

after doing long distance for a while , reader finally moves to england with leila and a few days after they’ve settled have leila come home from training to reader cooking and being all domestic making leila go crazy over how housewifey she is

heart and home II l.ouahabi

things had been hard when leila was presented with a near impossible choice, but with you in her corner and promising no matter what you'd support her, it made it the tiniest sliver easier.

eventually when the days ticked down to hours and leila couldn't put off a decision any longer you'd pushed her to call her agent, placing the phone in her hand and a soft kiss to her lips before leaving her to it.

you yourself had known what her decision would be perhaps even before leila had. she adored living and playing in barcelona but with newer, younger talents chomping at her heels and baring down her neck you knew she was after a new challenge with some guaranteed minutes.

so when the brunette trudged into the room with tear tracks down her cheeks you'd melted, opening your arms and moving your computer off your knees as your girlfriend had collapsed into you with a dry sob.

you promised quietly over and over that you knew this hurt but that nothing worth doing was ever easy, and you'd be by her side every step of the way.

when it came time for leila to pack up and move across an ocean to manchester it broke you both that you couldn't follow right away, with loose ends of your own to tie up you'd need to stay still in spain for now before you could make your own move to england to be with her.

her new club at least had been incredibly accommodating, helping the spaniard find a place of her own through copious phone calls, face times and zoom meetings, so that when the day came for her to move she at least knew where she was going.

that hadn't made the final goodbye any easier, leila all but locking you up to stop you from coming with her to the airport as she thought seeing your face left behind she'd not even be able to get on the plane at all.

but you assured her it wasn't even a goodbye, and in a couple of months you'd be right there with her and nothing in the entire world was going to stop that.

but despite that there was always the viciously anxious voice in the back of leila's head that told her you'd realize life was better without her there and never make the move, though you were always just a call away to assure her that wasn't the case.

you'd been slowly sending your own things over to england in small batches as you hurried to tie up the loose ends of your life in spain, both nervous and excited to move out of the country you'd never left before and start a new adventure.

you and your girlfriend facetimed daily and you were always teasing leila for getting in trouble at training for texting you, but with the time zones it wasn't easy and some days you'd force yourself to stay up a few hours more than was best and you'd be almost falling asleep at work the next morning.

but still there was no regrets, leila and you loved one another fiercly and deeply and it was a love that extended beyond the physical distance you were apart from one another.

you'd flown over a few times on weekends, able to at least see her play her first minutes for her new club and helping her to furnish and organize your soon to be shared apartment.

finally with things seemingly all tied up in spain, a little earlier than you expected, and with leila positively miserable that she hadn't seen you in almost three weeks now, you formulated a little surprise.

you were supposed to fly in on Monday, but with a few sneaky phone calls and a lot of little white lies you'd managed to swap it to one on Thursday, a whole four days early, and leila was none the wiser.

practically all of your belongings were in manchester now bar the two suitcases you'd been living out of in your best friends spare room for the last month, so with those packed, goodbyes said and your boarding pass printed you embarked on the next stage of your life.

you had a man on the ground in the form of vicky losada, who you knew had been a large source of support for leila in the adjustment despite the older girl sharing with both of you that she intended to leave the club in the coming months.

so with vicky helping you time everything you'd made sure you'd be able to arrive and get to the apartment in time before leila was due to return home from training, vicky set to keep her busy for as long as she could.

you couldn't help but chuckle at the state of the apartment itself once you arrived and let yourself in with the spare key hidden in a fake rock leila was convinced was the ultimate dupe, normally your girlfriend was a stickler for cleanliness and organization, but clearly today that hadn't been the case.

having been up and on the phone to leila last night you knew she'd forced herself to stay up much later than she should have and it was obvious in the way her belongings lay scattered around like it was a room frozen in time.

she'd clearly woken up late, hauled ass to get ready and left the carnage involved behind to be worried about later tonight once she got home, but you were determined she return not only to your surprise but a clean and organized home.

so with an amused smile and hunting around in your backpack for your airpods, you left your suitcases in the bedroom to be dealt with later and got to work.

leila exhaled deeply as she parked up in the driveway after an excruciatingly long day, forehead thumping tiredly against the top of her steering wheel once the engine cut off.

she'd slept through her alarm but awoke to the calls from her teammates and staff following up her absence, supposed to have been up at the crack of dawn for fitness testing.

then after the testing she'd trained this morning and this afternoon with the team, and then been dragged out for 'bonding time' with several of the girls and still finding her feet she knew it was rude to say no no matter how much her body was itching to get home.

to make matters worse she knew you had your final day in the office at your old job, something she assumed would keep you preoccupied with goodbyes, handovers, polite small talk, but that didn't mean it hurt any less when her texts went unread and unanswered bar a few small responses here and there.

the lack of sleep was leila's own fault and she knew that but still the spaniard could almost feel her heartbeat in her eyes and had seriously considered pulling over with how bleary her vision was driving home.

on top of that leila knew she had an insane list of life admin awaiting her once she stepped through her front door. she had a sink full of dishes to be washed, baskets of dirty laundry to be done as well as a mountain of clean clothes to be put away.

her bedroom looked like a bomb went off, clothes were scattered left right and centre from her early morning toss through her wardorbe to try and find her training gear. which of course she'd eventually sought out in her dirty washing basket, having to drown herself in perfume just to get by.

the entire house needed vacuuming and tidying and her bathroom was crying out in desperation for a deep clean, not to mention there was dinner to be cooked and leila knew as much as she'd love nothing more than to add another box of takeaway onto the growing pile in her garbage bin she had a mid season diet to stick to.

and to add yet another thorn in her side, you, her refuge and respite from the insanity of everything going on, were in another country and though leila knew you'd call once you got home, it wasn't the same.

leila was endlessly proud of you and immensely grateful that when she'd even started to think about transferring you were nothing but supportive.

leila knew that in less than a week all of this would be in the past, you'd finally make the move and the two of you would be together again and that safety net you strung along with you would be there to catch leila whenever she needed it.

but the fact it was so close also just made it seem so far.

so still leila couldn't stop herself from selfishly wish you were here, wanting to just melt into you as you whispered sweet nothings in her ear, showering her in the warmth and love that you forever and always indulged her with.

with a sharp inhale leila pulled her head off the steering wheel and unbuckled herself, mentally preparing for what was likely to be a grueling evening as she grabbed her kit bag from the back, which was filled with even more dirty laundry for the ever growing collection she was complaining as the days passed.

locking her car behind her leila trudged herself up the driveway, feet dragging along the cement as if weighed down by anchors until she eventually made it to the front door.

the woman had to withhold the urge to launch her keys across the front yard as she dropped them twice trying to fumble around and unlock the door, eventually shoving them in with a pained sigh, shouldering it open and stepping over the threshhold.

the footballer closed the door behind her and adjusted her kit bag on her shoulder, kicking off her trainers and frowning as she realised the once messy cubby of shoes was neatly organised, all stacked up neatly and in colour order.

the next thing that peaked her suspicion was the smell of lavender drifting around the house, as well as the music she now noticed coming from down the hall. following her nose leila's eyes widened in shock as she slowly took in the spotless living room.

"hola mi amor." leila let out a shriek and spun around, dropping her bag to the ground as you watched on with an amused smile, cocking your head to the side as the girl opened and closed her mouth in shock.

"stop that ouahabi, you look like a fish." you quipped teasingly, taking a step closer toward her as leila firmly shook her head. "you are supposed to be in barcelona." she managed to spit out, still trying to wrap her head around what was happening right now.

"am i? oh well let me go and book another flight back amor and i will-" your words were cut off short as your girlfriend quickly closed the distance between you and engulfed you in a bone crushing hug.

you couldn't help but laugh as she picked you up off your feet, gripping you so tight you could swear you might have bruises from how her fingertips dug themselves into your skin as she held your body close to her own.

"what are you doing here? you said monday!" leila gently placed you back down and pressed her forehead against yours. "surprise?" you laughed again, squealing as once more your girlfriend tackled you into a hug, this time taking the two of you down to the floor.

"lei!" you groaned with a slight chuckle, thankful for the shaggy carpet which cushioned the fall that leila herself had insisted was 'too much'.

"what are you doing here?" your girlfriend repeated with a cheshire like grin, pushing herself up to hover over you as you smiled softly up at her, thumb tracking the curvature of her jaw.

"like i said, surprise mi vida. i tied everything up a little earlier than expected and changed my flight, i maybe told you a couple of tiny tiny lies and...here i am." you made a small gap between your thumb and pointer finger making your girlfriend shake her head in disbelief.

"leila!" you managed to get out with a laugh as the spaniard dropped herself back on top of you, hands falling to cup your cheeks as her lips peppered kisses all over your face with small mwahs.

"you missed." you teased, tapping your lips as the defenders smile somehow grew even bigger and her head ducked to kiss you properly this time.

kissing leila still gave you the same butterflies as the very first time, where you'd headbutted one another in your haste and gone bright red, eventually locking lips with giggles and mumbled apologies as you found your groove.

"what are you doing here?" leila sighed with a dopey smile as you smacked her shoulder and playfully rolled your eyes. "am i dreaming?" the girl pondered as you pinched her hip with a wink. "no i am just an angel." you grinned, the taller girl moving off of you so you could both sit back up.

"i told you we needed this carpet." you patted the surface fondly now causing leila to roll your eyes. "wanna test how comfortable it really is?" her smile shifted into a smirk you knew all too well as a slight blush crept up your neck at the hidden meaning behind her words.

"i fly all the way across the ocean to you and you won't even take me to a bed to fuck me on my first night here? you used to be so romantic mi amor." you sighed with a shake of your head, laughing as your girlfriend pushed at your forehead.

"technically cariño i did fuck you in the bed your first night here when you visited, and then on the sofa and the counter and the shower and the-" leila started to list off on her fingers as your hand flew to cover her mouth.

"vale! i made dinner, you can show me your appreciation later." you removed your hand and quickly pecked your lips, leilas hand grabbing the back of your neck with a shake of her head. "un par más." the girl mumbled against your lips causing you to smile.

"we have all the time in the world now." you reminded once you pulled away, giddy at the feeling which followed as your girlfriend hopped up off the floor and extended her hands to help you do the same.

with her fingers locked with yours you all but dragged her into the dining room, gently pushing her down into a seat, hands on her shoulders.

"try to relax bebé, you feel tense." you spoke softly, squeezing her shoulders and kissing her cheek tenderly before hurrying off to the kitchen before leila could protest.

despite the overwhelming joy flooding her body at your unexpected arrival the brunette was still in a state of slight shock as you busied yourself dishing up, flittering around the kitchen as leilas eyes wandered around the once messy apartment, so clean she probably could have eaten off any surface without a second thought.

and leila planned to later, more than eager to show you her appreciation and just how much she'd missed you.

leaning her chair back a little and craning her head to the side leila peered into the bedroom, immediately noticing her mountain of clean laundry had suddenly disappeared, as had her wardrobe of clothes which once littered the floor this morning, two suitcases on the bed in its place.

eyes drifting back to you she located the source of the lavender which was wafting around the room, the diffuser you'd purchased her a few weeks go expelling the fragrant floral scent into the air.

if there was one thing leila would associate you with, it was flowers.

you'd made it clear from the moment you'd met her how much they meant to you, forever admiring them with a soft loving gaze, fingers stroking the petals with the outmost care as if they were made from the most fragile of glass.

the older girl noticed you bought yourself a new bunch every week which would sit proudly on your coffee table in the early stages of your relationship before you'd moved in together.

so of course leila then made sure she bought you flowers every week, the radiant smile which would curl onto your face at the sweet gesture each time she handed them over making her heart flutter as you'd hold them so tenderly.

you looked to them as you would a newborn child, as if you could hurt them if handled too rough. after you’d carefully placed them in a vase pecking her lips at least four times, mumbling your gratitude and adoration for her as you did.

the simple memory was the tipping point for the defender as she felt her exhaustion and surprise finally come to a boil, tears welling up in her eyes.

"so i did the best with what i could find but-" you hurried back with a plate piled high with food, though you quickly placed it down seeing the tears in your girlfriends eyes.

"oh lei." your features softened as the thin line of tolerance the older girl had suddenly snapped, the tears carving their path down her flushed cheeks.

"why are you crying amor?" you asked quietly with a small chuckle, your girlfriend wordlessly scooting her chair back and tugging you to straddle her lap, your hands coming to rest gently either side of her face as hers gripped at the back of your top.

your thumbs tenderly wiped away her tears as her fists balled your shirt, twisting the material tightly and pushing your body into hers, burying her face in your chest as you felt her tears dampen your shirt.

"i missed you."

"oh cari." you sighed, arms moving to wrap around her neck, one hand cradling the back of her head as the other dipped down her shirt and traced soft circles on her back with your nails.

you recognized that she clearly needed to let this out as you held her tightly, whispering sweet words of affirmation in her ear as she slowly began to settle. "lo siento, your shirt." the older girl sniffled, cracking a small smile as she pulled her head away, noticing the obvious tear stains on your shoulder.

"está bien, its yours anyway." you teased playfully, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes and reaching behind you to grab a few tissues, handing them to leila as she blotted at her puffy red eyes.

"my day just seemed to go on and on and on. then the last thing i expected was for you to be here. but mi amor i do not want you to feel like you have to do this and you have to take care of me and clean up and-" you cut her off as you gently placed a hand over her mouth.

"vale. i do not feel like i have to take care of you, i never ever have leila. i cleaned and cooked because i love you amor and i want to look after you. i want you to feel cared for and supported. por favor do not thank me, do not feel guilty, just know that i love you more than anything leila." you spoke softly but your words held firm, the defender stunned wordless at the overwhelming wave of emotions she felt for you, only nodding along.

"and now i am here, let me take care of you, sí?" you smiled tenderly, leila again nodding and pulling you into a hug, your lips resting lovingly on her forehead as she mumbled how much she adored you into your shoulder, affectionately kissing your collarbone and jawline before making her way to your lips.

"as much as i love kissing you, please eat before it gets cold." you gently pushed her away and stood to your feet, sliding her the plate of food.

once the pair of you had eaten, ignoring your protests that you could do it leila wasted no time shooing you out of the kitchen and into the shower, threatening to throw you over her shoulder and walk you into the bathroom herself unless you went willingly.

though your teasing remarks about the threat made it harder not to follow through and do it anyway as you headed for the bathroom, but wanting to show you that she could care for you just as much as you could for her, the dishes were calling and after all you were home now, and the pair of you did have all the time in the world.

leila was quick with washing up everything from dinner, unable to wipe the smile off of her face at just how looked after and cared for she felt, wrapped up in the comfortable and cosy little bubble of domestic bliss you'd crafted for her oh so intricately.

as you emerged a short while later from the bedroom you joined your girlfriend in the living room where you took up her normal position as the big spoon, opening your arms and patting the space in between your legs with an alluring smile.

you let out a laugh as the taller girl practically belly flopped on top of you, peppering your face with sloppy kisses before settling in your arms.

you threw on her favorite movie which only softened her up more, your hands coming to rest on her shoulders as you began to massage out the tense knots of stress, pressing the occasional tender kiss to the back of her shoulder blade or below her ear.

the deeper you pushed leila couldn't help but let her eyes start to slowly flutter close, overcome by a tantalizing cocktail of both exhaustion and bliss and relief that you were really here and you weren't going anywhere this time.

and in that moment, wrapped up in your arms and smothered with your love and care, leila solemnly swore to herself, she'd make you her wife one day, and that day was going to come as soon as she possibly could make it.

#leila ouahabi #leila ouahabi x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

Text

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.

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