#you can struggle. but resistance is futile

[defectivehero]

Hello, I would love to see more of your snarky millionaire villain and "not wanting to owe anyone money" hero. Please,,,, it was immaculate,,,, I beg I love it so much. It was such a wonderful read. I wish to see more of them 🥺 ty <333

here's part one of this story. and ahh ty! now, onto part two:

Life after the villain's... generosity... is strange. The hero finds that they're no longer so stressed about paying rent or having enough groceries. They're well-fed and well-rested, for the first time in several months (years). The hero doesn't know how to feel about it all: they're frustrated, wary, exhausted, angry, ashamed. They have never been comfortable with accepting assistance, and the enormous sum of money forced onto them by the villain is an assistance they're entirely unable to refuse (literally). They remember how futile their attempts at resistance felt, as the villain firmly steered them down the sidewalk and forced them to walk in their bank and cash in the check. It was humiliating. They felt their eyes stinging with unshed tears, but they hid their guilt and remorse until they were alone behind the walls of their apartment. Those feelings don't leave them, even as time passes and the memory of that night blurs around the edges.

“You’re a strange one." The hero is torn from their thoughts and they instinctively bristle at the sudden, unexplained voice. When their gaze catches on the villain lurking in the corner of the room, they relax a little. And once they realize that they've relaxed, they scold themself for thinking their enemy's presence could be anything but unnerving.

“…Thanks?” The hero eventually remembers to reply. It seems that the villain has broken into their apartment just to speak to them. Either they have something important to discuss, or their enemy has too much time on their hands. The hero suspects the latter.

“Wasn’t a compliment,” the villain says. The hero rolls their eyes as their enemy continues. “Most people wouldn't need to be blackmailed into accepting a rather large sum of money."

Ah, this again. The hero was foolish to think their enemy would ever let them forget their... arrangement. “I’m not like most people,” they decide to say, after struggling to come up with a response for a few moments.

“Fair enough,” the villain sighs, as if that was a foregone conclusion.

“If I’m being honest,” the hero continues, their mouth moving before their mind can stop it, “Your, ah, gift…" The absolutely outrageous sum of money, the hero thinks, "...gave me some much needed vacation time.” Indeed it did. They enjoyed a few vacation days last week, which was quite the rarity. Not to mention the sudden stability and security they were awarded.

“Really?” The villain asks, crossing their arms over their chest and raising an eyebrow at them. They look frighteningly at ease, despite the indisputable fact that they're standing in a space that isn't theirs.

“Yes,” the hero answers. “I took a day off work for the first time last week.” That statement slips out before they can stop it. Immediately, they feel the villain's gaze focus on them intently.

“The first time?” The villain asks, a strange expression on their face. It looks to be a mix of disbelief and indignation. They cross their arms over their chest. “You’re joking.” They're performing a strange balancing act between boredom and interest. One moment, the villain is listening with rapt attention; the next, they're looking around the room as if they'd rather be literally anywhere else in the world.

Meanwhile, the hero suddenly knows they’ve committed a grave mistake. They remain silent, knowing any further explanation will only make things worse. The villain studies them for a long moment, and even as they continue speaking, it's clear that this conversation will occur again at a later date.

“I’m surprised you didn’t donate the money,” the villain hums, a smile working its way onto their face. The hero nearly sighs in relief at the change in subject.

“I think we both know I tried,” the hero huffs, not realizing their enemy's remark is a trap until it's too late. They engineered that verbal trap just to applaud their own ego.

“Ah, yes,” the villain smirks, their lips parting to reveal sharp teeth. “I blacklisted all of the prominent charities in the area. Rather ingenious of me, I have to admit.” They hold up their hand and look at their nails, before flipping it around to pick at something under their nail.

“There’s so much you could be doing with that kind of time and money,” the hero says with a shake of their head, resisting the urge to bury their head in their hands. They've done far too much agonizing about this for their own good. At some point, they're forced to accept the reality of the situation. Besides, the more attention they devote to the villain's strange and selfish philanthropy, the less energy they have for the more important things.

“But alas,” the villain sighs dramatically, wrapping an arm around their shoulder. The hero stiffens and pushes them off. “What has the world done for me?” They muse.

The hero has had too many circular conversations on the same topic to fall for the bait once more. They know they cannot change their enemy’s mindset, no matter how hard they try. They settle for throwing their hands in the air to indicate their helplessness. The villain seems surprised at their evident agreeableness, as they raise their brows before mimicking the gesture.

"What can we do?" The villain shrugs. "We're mere chess pieces in a far broader battle between good and evil." That's a gross oversimplification, but it still holds some degree of truth. Despite the fact that their enemy's question is clearly rhetorical, the hero's mind latches onto it and tries to pick it apart. What can they do, if they are a mere tool for someone else's use?

"We can hope we're not meant to be sacrifices," the hero eventually responds.

"Touché," the villain acquiesces. A slight smile rises on their face as they take in the space around them, evaluating the hero's apartment design with a critical eye. Eventually, they take a deep breath and announce their departure. "Well, while I'd love nothing more than to stay here and pester you, I'm afraid I've worn out my welcome."

"You were never welcome in the first place," the hero mutters darkly. The hero never invited their enemy over, after all.

Unfortunately, their remark only serves to amuse their enemy. "Now you're getting it," the villain grins, flashing them a mocking thumbs-up before promptly turning down the hall and disappearing from sight. The hero stares at the empty space they occupied for several seconds before finally submitting to the urge to bury their head in their hands in disbelief and irritation.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

lol these two are great

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[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 12

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.5k

Chapter rating: SFW-ish

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 12: Shiawase

Roronoa Zoro was struggling. He hated to admit it, but he was coming to his wit’s end on how to handle the sword the witch had presented to him. He'd been at it for almost three days now, and there had been no progress. The damn thing was as stubborn and temperamental as the one who forged it.

He paced back and forth on the sun-drenched deck of the ship, slowly circling the sheathed Shiawase as he pondered how to approach it next. His mind was a battleground of contemplation, frustration, and a tinge of admiration for the weapon’s defiance. With a frustrated sigh, he picked up the blade, fingers wrapping around the handle in a now familiar battle of wills.

He unsheathed it, the scabbard sliding smoothly against the blade. The steel gleamed under the harsh sunlight, its surface adorned with an intricate Damascus pattern that danced in hues of amethyst and obsidian. Despite his vexation, he couldn’t help but admire the blade’s craftmanship, the perfect balance as he twirled it, the deadly sharpness of its edge.

And then it started again. The push and pull the blade demanded of his haki. A dizzying rhythm that left him breathless and sweat drenched. He groaned as he extended his haki towards the blade, trying to overwhelm the sword’s will with his own determination. His brow furrowed as the blade suddenly pulled at his haki, devouring it insatiably. He tried to pull back, beads of sweat travelling down across the muscles of his bare back, the scorching sun drying them out almost instantly.

His hand twitched.

The blade dropped.

An annoyed ‘fuck’ passed his lips.

A sly smile played on your lips as you observed Zoro's fruitless attempts to subdue the rebellious Shiawase. It was a spectacle of futility, a dance of frustration that seemed to distance him further from mastering the obstinate blade. Each move was a misstep, a testament to the intricate challenge that lay before him, and you found a unmistakable enjoyment in witnessing his struggles.

While a part of you yearned to approach him, to reveal the secrets of the blade with effortless finesse, another part reveled in the idea of prolonging his torment. The allure of letting him grapple with the realization of his own limitations appealed to you far more than you liked to admit.

Leaning casually against the ship's railing, you crossed your arms, the glint in your eyes betraying your amusement. The unfolding drama below held your attention like a captivating performance, a blend of determination and stubbornness that both entertained and intrigued.

As the scorching sun reflected brightly off the blade, highlighting Zoro's increasing frustration, you couldn't resist a playful taunt. "Need some help, swordsman?" you called out with a teasing tone. "I can show you how it’s done if you beg.”

His response was a nonchalant flip of the finger, a gesture that spoke volumes, even without a direct glance in your direction. You laughed in the face of his irritation.

Nami strolled over, her eyes flickering between you and the swordsman with an arched eyebrow. “Not in your forge?” She inquired. “I thought you were itching to get back to work.”

Your gaze flickered to her momentarily before going back to the entertaining display before you. “I am” you admitted. “It’s just too hot. I’ll have a stroke if I light those fires.”

A noncommittal sound passed her lips in acknowledgement as she leaned against the railing with you. “Looks like Zoro’s having a rough time” she remarked, glancing down.

You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips. “He’s going at it all wrong. Shiawase’s not a sword you can overpower. You have to play along with it, entertain its demands, let it gauge your intentions before you can take control.” You explained. “He’s trying to brute force his way in.”

Nami raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your assessment. “You talk like swords are people.” She observed.

You smiled. “Because they are. Each and every sword has a personality. Mine are just a little more difficult.” you clarified with a chuckle.

Nami eyed you curiously. “Well, he’s not one to back down from a challenge. It is amusing to see him struggle for once though.” She said.

As if on cue, Zoro let out a frustrated grunt, his movements growing more erratic as he attempted to force the sword into submission. It was clear that he was only digging himself deeper into his frustration.

“You can do it, Zoro!” Chopper and Usopp cheered from the sidelines in sync.

You snorted at the evident anger in the swordsman’s features.

“Think he’ll ever figure it out?” Robin asked, tone laced with amusement as she joined you and Nami.

“He will” You don’t skip a beat, your answer confident.

A mischievous gleam sparkled in Nami’s eyes as she leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Should we make a wager on it?” She suggested, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Why not? It’ll make things more interesting” Robin agreed, playful sparkle in her eyes matching Nami’s

“I bet it’ll take him three more days to figure it out” Nami smirked, crossing her arms.

You considered the proposition, a devious grin forming on your face. "I'll take that bet. But I say he'll get it by tomorrow evening."

Robin chuckled. “I didn’t know you were so confident in Zoro’s abilities” she remarked. “I bet he’ll cave and ask you for advice in two days.” She said after much consideration.

You snorted at the thought. “I doubt so, but I’ll put 1000 berries on that wager.”

“Deal” Nami sealed the bet, anticipation hanging in the air as the three of you looked back at the spectacle before you.

The day had dragged on, the relentless sun casting long shadows across the ship's deck as Zoro stubbornly persisted in his futile attempts to tame the unruly Shiawase. From your vantage point, you continued to watch with a mixture of fascination and amusement.

With each passing moment, you observed the subtle shifts in Zoro's technique, his movements growing increasingly erratic as frustration threatened to engulf him. The once calculated swordsman now seemed consumed by wrath, his determination bordering on obsession.

As evening descended and the crew gathered for dinner, Zoro remained absent. Bets from the rest of the Straw Hats were made as they all animatedly shared their own hypothesis of the outcome between the swordsman and the sword. As night settled in the sky, Zoro stormed in a whirlwind of unchecked fury, interrupting the lively conversations, and left just as fast with two bottles in hand. The door slammed hard behind him, the reverberation a punctuation mark on his turbulent mood.

“Why don’t you point him in the right direction?” Luffy’s curious inquiry cut through the lingering silence, his innocent curiosity revealing the unspoken question that lingered in the minds of many aboard the ship.

You glanced over at Luffy, his expression one of genuine curiosity, and then turned your gaze back to where Zoro had stormed off. A wry smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you considered your captain's question.

"He's a bit too proud for that," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Besides, some lessons are best learned through experience."

Luffy nodded thoughtfully, seeming to accept your explanation without further inquiry. Around you, the rest of the crew had resumed their conversations, though the tension that had accompanied Zoro's departure still hung in the air like a heavy fog.

With a sigh you got up, leaving the galley in search of the angry swordsman. He was sitting down, back resting on the mast of the ship as he downed alcohol with abandon.

You approached him, the night air offering a refreshing reprieve from the day's scorching heat. "Like I said earlier, I can help if you beg," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes contrasting with the seriousness in his. “There’s really no need to get so angry over a sword, it’s not like it’ll disappear tomorrow.” You added softly.

"I’m not in the mood to talk to you, witch," he snapped, the bitterness in his voice evident as he took a long gulp of amber liquid, his gaze fixed on the unsheathed Shiawase before him.

Ignoring his sharp retort, you settled beside him, breaking the heavy silence with a question. "Which one of your swords are you going to let me study first?" you inquired, attempting to lighten the tense atmosphere.

Zoro shot you a skeptical glance, his gruff response cutting through the night. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he warned, his tone laced with impatience.

Your laughter rang out, undeterred by his bluntness. "Oh? Planning to throw in the towel already? I didn’t peg you as one to give up so easily," you remarked teasingly, a hint of scorn in your voice.

“I’m not fucking giving up,” he shot back, his resolve evident despite his frustration.

Mocking his stubbornness, you continued, "Ah, of course, because the great Roronoa Zoro, pirate hunter, knows all about swords, doesn’t he?" you taunted. "Perhaps you'd make some progress if you weren't so pathetically stubborn."

Zoro's grip on the glass tightened, his anger palpable. "I’ll figure it out," he grumbled, his voice tinged with cold determination.

Scoffing at the memories of his futile attempts, you reached for the bottle in his hand, draining the last drops in exasperation. "Oh, please. You couldn’t handle Shiawase if it came with an instruction manual. You’re only pushing yourself further from the solution," you remarked, the irritation in your tone matching his as his anger mingled with your mood.

His temper flared, his words cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. "Listen, witch. I don’t need your condescending advice," he growled, the venom in his voice stinging.

Seething at the derogatory inflections as he uttered the nickname, you stood up, your resolve unyielding. "At least I’m not too proud to admit when I need help," you retorted, looking down at him with a mix of defiance and pity.

His jaw clenched in response, the tension between you palpable.

With a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, you gracefully bent down to retrieve the sword. “Watch closely, swordsman. Consider it a gift from me to you,” you quipped, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

As your fingers wrapped around the silk of the handle, you felt Zoro's intense gaze fixed upon the blade. Your haki danced with the steel in a mesmerizing display of power, the complex waltz between your mind and the sword unfolding effortlessly.

Deciding to showcase your skill, you allowed red lightning filaments to saunter along the Damascus patterns in intricate swirls, a spectacle that demanded attention.

After a brief demonstration, you sheathed the blade, denying Zoro any further observation. “Understood?” you inquired, your voice laced with self-satisfaction as you leaned back casually against the mast.

A flicker of anger flashed in Zoro's eyes as he twisted open a new bottle, consuming its contents with reckless abandon. “I'll handle Shiawase my own way. I don’t need your tricks and mind games,” he spat through gritted teeth, as he stumbled up.

He drunkenly took a step forward, his hand dangerously close to your head as he pinned you with a look of unbridled contempt.

Refusing to back down, you met his gaze with unwavering defiance, a sneer curling your lips. “Tricks and mind games? You overestimate yourself, swordsman,” you retorted, matching his venomous tone with your own.

As your eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, you prepared to unleash another scathing remark, but a shift in Zoro's demeanor gave you pause. Your mouth opened and closed in doubt. The moment of uncertainty seemed to go on forever, a standstill in eternity as the unstoppable force met the immovable object.

Releasing the bottle with a loud thud against the wooden deck, his gaze bore into yours, searching for something elusive. Unable to resist, he roughly brushed his thumb against your lips, a crude gesture that demanded compliance.

“So you can shut up, witch,” he declared haughtily, The rough pad applying soft pressure against your teeth in a call for submission.

A surge of conflicting emotions swept through you, leaving you momentarily disoriented. You wished you could attribute it to the alcohol's influence, but you knew deep down it wasn't the case. Despite your inner resistance, you yielded slightly to his unspoken demand, a defiant glint shimmering in your eyes.

A smug smirk danced upon his lips, fuelled by the haze of alcohol as his index and middle finger ventured into the soft recesses of your mouth.

The tension in your grip on Shiawase intensified, the wooden scabbard creaking under the strain of your tightening fingers.

“I don’t like you,” he declared, his voice dripping with disdain as he peered down at you from his intoxicated perch.

Your knuckles whitened as your nails threatened to etch crescent marks into the lacquered walnut surface.

“Fuck you,” you retorted for lack of cleverer arguments, your words muffled by the intrusive weight of his fingers within your mouth.

An arch of his eyebrows betrayed a blend of amusement and irritation at your defiance. The charged atmosphere crackled between you, an intricate dance of egos teetering on the brink of conflict. Despite your verbal insolence, he maintained his condescending gaze, seemingly unaffected by your resistance.

The pressure of his fingers on your tongue shifted, edging perilously close to the back of your throat, coercing your jaw to widen further. He paused, savoring the control he appeared to have over the situation.

With a flicker of irritation, you shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating stare, a rebellious scowl etching across your features before you firmly bit down on his fingers. It wasn't a bite meant to inflict pain, but rather a not-so-subtle gesture to convey your displeasure.

The look in his eyes hardened momentarily, amusement flickering in and out as he contemplated his next move. However, before he could act, you took the initiative. Your hand, clutching Shiawase, interposed itself between you and the swordsman as you attempted to nudge him away, but his stance stayed resolute.

His smirk widened at your defiance. He withdrew his hand from your mouth, the bitter taste of skin remaining on your tongue, a stark reminder of what just happened. With a nonchalant shrug, he took a step back, his gaze lingering on you with a blend of satisfaction and an enigmatic something that eluded your understanding.

“You’re drunk, swordsman,” you remarked, pushing the sword towards his chest.

“I suppose I am,” he conceded, his hand overlapping yours as he grasped the sword. The cool touch of his spit-covered fingers against yours sent an unfamiliar chill coursing down your spine.

With a dismissive huff, he turned away, sword in hand. “Thanks for the tip, witch,” he called out over his shoulder. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

And indeed, he had.

Just as you had explained all those nights ago in the crow's nest, you and your swords were one and the same. If he could silence your defiance, he could conquer Shiawase. He simply needed to approach the sword with a different mindset, teasing out its secrets with a more playful and taunting demeanor, echoing the rhythm of your now familiar banter.

It took Roronoa Zoro two more days before he presented the sword back to you, a triumphant grin on his lips.

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Masterlist

[katarite-franz]

The Hostel Shower Room [Part 2]

CW: rough CNC, mind break, double penetration, free use, corruption.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I approached the door with a hesitant steps, my legs ached and my flesh felt tender. My mind hissed with self-rebuke: What am I doing? He just took advantage of me in the shower and ordered me to come to his room, why am I obeying? As I stood in front of the door my thighs stuck together, no matter how much I washed and scrubbed his cum kept dripping out of me, a glistening trail emerging from under the towel wrapped tightly around my waist. My shaking hand my raw instinct overturning all common sense as I knocked on the door.

Laughter and foreign voices clawed through the thin barrier, harsh and mocking. A loud creak punctuated the opening door as I saw his wet, blond hair come into view. He once again loomed over me, looking down with a mixture of satisfaction and cruel anticipation. I didn’t dare hold his gaze for long; it burned too much, instead I stared at his exposed waist, his hand reaching up to grasp my wrist with deceptively gentle grip and pull me past the threshold into the dimply lit room.

His heavy accent, deep and commanding, echoed through the silence; “Are you going to show my friends what a nice girl you are?” His hand travelled up to my chin, lifting it up to look into his piercing eyes. My gaze shifted around the room to his friends, lounging in their beds, predatory smirks paining their faces, as they exchanged glances and laughter. My face lit up with a searing blush of humiliation but at the same time I could feel my thighs slicken, not with his cum but with my own  shameful eagerness.

“I want to be nice for you…” The confession slipped, muffled and soft, betraying my internal tumult. My heart pounded with a sick thrill and fear of whether I’d see the next morning. I wanted to experience new cultures and see new places, but not like this, or perhaps, exactly like this– fear, submission, a stark reminder of my helplessness?

Before I could collect my thoughts his gently hand on my chin shifted into a firm, disarming grip on my cheeks. He held me in place as he tore the towel off my body, presenting me to his friends. They all cheered as I scrambled to cover myself. However, this was futile.

Mirko swiftly moved behind me, his hot cock leaving imprints of warmth on my back as I fought against his grip, his hands groped and jiggled my breasts, pinching my nipples and eliciting loud whimpers from my tired lips.

His friends continued cheering in glee as he showed me off, “See? Great tits, right?” His hands traced down my waist to my hips, “And wait till you see her ass” He laughed as his hands gripped the soft flesh around my hips, wiggling my ass against him. I was nothing but a doll to them, a plaything to be discarded after. I hated them but fed on their attention, not daring to look at their faces, but filling with ecstasy at each gleeful cheer.

His hands shifted lower, cupping the skin under each thigh as I felt my stomach shift with movement, my toes left the floor as he lifted me up, spreading my legs apart, “You can use her pussy, but her ass is mine, got that?” His voice resonated loudly in my ear as his hot breath brushed my cheek. Struggling was useless; my elbows met the unyielding strength of his body. The laughter and agreement once again filled the room with a dreadful echo of my impending fate. I watched as one of his friends got up, dropping his boxers and stoking his cock as he approached me.

My resistance grew more desperate as he stroked his cock until it shined and throbbed in his hand. I scowled as I closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable. I could feel the heat of his cock against my dripping pussy before I felt it’s touch. His tip rubbed cruel circles on my engorged clit, I tried to resist the flood of pleasure but it was futile a gasp left my lips.

“What a slut!” His voice dripped with mocking amusement, as his cock began slapping my clit, the sound wet and obscene, running it up and down, spreading the lips of my aching pussy. His friends encouraged him with laughter and amusement, punctuating the degradation. Mirko's grip dug into me, muscles straining - both mine and his. Despite my lingering sense of shame, I craved his friend's heat.

He pushed into me, his hand lifting my breast, His hand clawed at my breast, squeezing as my pussy enveloped him, each inch filling me. I felt the fullness spread through my belly, gripping him tightly as he pushed all the way inside, the base of his cock pressed against my wet pussy. I felt him groan into my mouth with his searing breath, scorching like a brand. I didn’t dare open my eyes and witness my own corruption.

“Come on, hurry up, I can’t hold her like this for ever!” Mirko barked, pushing me harder onto his friend’s length, I whimpered with potent humiliation and delirious ecstasy twisting inside of me.

His friend’s thrusts were desperate and deep, he wasn’t as big as Mirko but the pressure in my stomach was blinding. I wanted Mirko again.

His friend’s groans grew strained, his cock throbbed inside me, I felt a slight disappointment in how short a time lasted, his fevered breath signalled his satisfaction as I felt his cock pulse inside me, twitching pathetically as it spilled into me. I whimpered and moaned as I heard a slow drip onto the wooden floor. The slick drag of his cock withdrawing from me leaving me hollow.

Laughter and high-fives echoed at my expense. I was eager for the next round, my turmoil shifting as I felt elation in my submission to their will.

My stomach shifted again as I felt Mirko move. He staggered forward with loud steps as I opened my eyes to orient myself. We approached an old sofa in the dark recess of the room. My heart raced as he draped me over the cushioned armrest with my belly, the pressure of my body causing the remaining cum to ooze out of me and onto my clit as my legs dangled helplessly.

Mirko’s commanding voice sounded again; “Radek, get over here, your turn.” The man in the corner sprang up from his bed, hurrying over to the couch with a gleeful step.

A faint, barely audible “No.” left my lips, I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing the broke me. Mirko’s friend, Radek, knelt on the sofa in front of me, his cock was still soft but it’s size formidable. My lips parted slightly in preparation as I exhaled warm breaths onto his shaft.

“You’re going to have to make it hard yourself, I’m afraid.” Radek’s voice taunted me as he positioned himself closer. My hands reached out instinctively, cupping his balls and lifting his long cock to my lips, “Yes, sir.” I whispered, my words a reluctant admission of control. My lips wrapped around his cock, my tongue swirling with eager fervour. Behind me I felt Mirko, spread my legs and get between them, my toes curled as elation crept up my back.

“You have such a delicious looking asshole.” Mirko's voice crackled with anticipation. His warm hands sank into the flesh of my ass, parting me. The stretch of my skin, the vulnerability—it inflamed my senses.

As Radek’s cock swelled in my mouth, I felt Mirko’s cock tease my dripping pussy. The stretch was intense, filling every inch of me as pleasure fought to overpower the pain. Then, the sound of spit, followed by the warmth of his saliva landing on my ass. I knew what was coming, and every fibre of my being tensed in a blend of terror and excitement. I fought to relax my body. I needed him to break my final threshold and take everything from me.

The hollowness engulfed my tummy again, Mirko pulled out of my pussy, his slick cock gliding to my ass. Despite Radek's cock filling my throat, making me gag and struggle for breath, my mind was fixated on Mirko. His cock poised at my twitching entrance, his accented voice revealing my fate: “You’re all mine now.”

I gripped the sofa cushions tightly, nails biting into the fabric as he pressed his tip into me with a satisfying pop. The pain melded with pleasure, a fine line that made me want to scream and moan simultaneously. My jaw ached, my body aflame with sensation. I arched my hips to feel the rough fabric of the couch against my clit, my pussy offering a warm slickness.

His thrusts were relentless, a rhythm of fullness and emptiness driving me to the edge. Beneath me, the couch's fabric scraped deliciously against my clit, my body moving of its own will, a slave to the pleasure and humiliation.

A tight grip seized my waist as he thrust into me, fullness and hollowness in a rhythmic dance of pleasure and humiliation as I rubbed my pussy on the sofa like the slut I was becoming, it was a liberating feeling of submission.

Radek's cock throbbed in my throat, his breath becoming erratic. His words, a jumble of Polish curses, preceded the flood of warmth as he came. I swallowed in sync with his pulses, taking all he had to give. As he fell back, his cock slid out, leaving me gasping for air.

As I regained my senses, I peered back at Mirko, his body straining, slick with sweat as he fucked me. Each thrust deeper, as I felt more of his heat inside me, the potent pleasure of his violation and the pressure stirring my insides.

“Cum in my ass, please” The plea escaped my lips through gritted teeth as I teetered on the edge of sanity, my sensitive clit rubbing the sofa with fervour.

“Well, seems you’re not such a nice girl after all,” he groaned, each deep thrust sending waves of pleasure rippling through me, slamming against my ass. A moan escaping my lips as I arched my back. His thrusts deep and sloppy, emptying my mind completely. The deep powerful thrusts pushing my pussy against the sofa now, I was close, my belly convulsed, I was past the blinding precipice of please, I was cumming! I yelled and screamed with animalistic pleasure, tightening my ass around him as his cock pulsed so clearly inside, the warmth filling me so clearly, his seed now coating every hole I could offer.

I collapsed, my body almost lifeless apart from my panting breaths, his cock still inside me, I never wanted it out.

“Good girl, you’re free to go now” He laughed, “If you want…”

[llamagoddessofficial]

I can’t stop thinking about it now, but nose nuzzling with siren boys? -oh wait they don’t have noses-

Hmmm… gentle and affectionate forehead bonking?

Gentle siren forehead bonks??? ON MY CHRISTIAN BLOG?????? How obscene!!!

Sans: Forehead touching? Nuzzling? He might actually hesitate a while. He may even pull away, once or twice, if you go in for one. Those kinds of casual and universal displays of affection were commonplace in his old pod, and the memories can sometimes be a bit much for him.

... He won't hesitate for long, though. He's affection starved. Be careful, though- giving him nuzzles really solidifies in his head that you're his forever mate. He's gonna start getting aggressive with anyone he thinks is a rival for your affection.

Red: As a shark, he's used to much more tough displays of any affection. Biting, scratching, roughhousing... so he'd actually be pretty flustered by a forehead bonk or a sweet nuzzle. It's just so soft? So unequivocally gentle? He sits there momentarily stunned, before needing to sink under the surface of the water for a little while to process what just happened. One of very few times you're going to see Red being the flustered one.

Skull: Going in to give siren Skull a forehead bonk is a dangerous game to play. He'll see you leaning in as 'wife is giving open invitation to kiss and nuzzle'. If you don't heed the warning of his eyelight getting huge and excited, as soon as you're within range, you're trapped until he's had his fill of affection. Which could be anywhere from a few minutes, to nearly an hour. With tentacles and dexterity like his, escape is not an option.

You've also now opened the pandora's box of unwittingly informing him that nuzzling is one of your ways of showing love. He wants to show love in ways you understand. Expect him to drag you in and smoosh his face into yours at any chance he gets. Doesn't matter what you're doing near his tank, you will be leaving with a wet face and messed up hair.

[thewulf]

Hidden Away || Rhysand

Summary: Request -hi if ur reqs are open, could you maybe write a fic with rhys where feyre is not his mate but reader? can r also be tamlins sister so when he locked feyre up in the manor, he also locked r with her? then r is just trying to break the barrier but shes draining her powers in the process so when mor and rhys arrive, r is just on the brink of passing out. thank you so so much! hope u have a good day!!

A/N: Rhys is challenging! Let me know how you like it below :) As always thank you for the requests!

Pairing: Rhysand x Female Reader (Spring Court Reader/Tamlin's Sister)

Word Count: 8.4k +

TW: Talks of abuse, use of magic

As Tamlin's nearly unknown sister your life within the Spring Court is shrouded in secrecy. Tucked away from the public eye, you roam the silent corridors of the manor with your presence barely acknowledged. The manor's ancient stones, cool under your fingertips, are the closest companions in your secluded existence. Each day bleeds into the next marked only by your secret practice of magic in the hidden corners of the lush gardens where the wildflowers refuse to be tamed.

Tamlin had his reasons for keeping you a secret though they were rooted in a misguided sense of protection and control rather than genuine care. From the moment you were born your existence was cloaked in secrecy. Tamlin was always wary of political machinations and potential threats from rival courts. He believed that hiding your presence would keep you safe from those who might seek to leverage you against him. As you grew older this excuse became a method to maintain control by suppressing any threat your emerging powers might pose to his authority.

Whenever important guests visited the Spring Court Tamlin would go to great lengths to conceal your existence. Often you were confined to the secluded parts of the manor. Your movements restricted. Your voice silenced. These actions weren't just physically isolating. They were deeply wounding, reinforcing a sense of imprisonment. Over time you learned that resistance was futile. After a century of struggling against Tamlin’s overpowering magic, a magic that you could never hope to match due to your suppressed knowledge and training, you ceased fighting back. Your spirit, dimmed by isolation and the relentless dampening of your will, began to fade.

Despite all this you’ve learned to cloak your discontent with a veneer of obedience by teaching yourself the subtle arts of magic from fragments of ancient texts and whispers of the wind. Each spell you cast is a silent rebellion against the isolation imposed upon you. It wasn’t much but it certainly was something.

Meanwhile, Rhysand had always felt an inexplicable pull towards the Spring Court. This sensation was particularly strong whenever he visited Tamlin's lands. Each step within its borders intensified a feeling of latent connection. A thread of destiny that seemed to tug at his very soul. For years he couldn't decipher this feeling instead attributing it to political tensions or his natural distrust of Tamlin. However, he knew the sensation was far deeper. He just didn’t know he was connected to the bond that lay dormant between him and you waiting for the right moment to awaken.

This mysterious pull was part of the mating bond that neither of you were aware of yet. Rhysand’s visits to the Spring Court were unknowingly steps towards his destiny, towards you. His soul recognized what his mind could not yet understand. That his mate was hidden within the very walls of the Spring Court suppressed under Tamlin’s rule. It was a bond that defied explanation, woven by the threads of fate, magic, and a longing that transcended Rhysand's conscious understanding.

The monotony of your hidden life breaks when Feyre returns from Under the Mountain, changed. No longer the mortal girl who once crossed into the fae lands she now carries the weight of her new immortal form along with the haunting shadows of her trials. Initially your interactions are tentative. The air between you charged with the unsaid. However, as time weaves its slow dance you find in her a kindred spirit. Another soul chafing against the constraints of Tamlin’s overprotective nature.

Under the cover of night where the moon casts silver slivers through the windowpanes you and Feyre meet quietly. There in the tranquility of darkness, you share fragments of your lives. Your years spent hidden within these walls and her days under the mountain and the heavy price of her return. Each story shared tightens the thread of understanding between you.

In these stolen moments you reveal to Feyre the secret magic you’ve nurtured. Her eyes, reflecting the glow of your spells, flicker with a mix of surprise and a burgeoning sense of solidarity. Encouraged by her interest you find the courage to dream of more than just secretive practices. Together you whisper of freedom and plot beneath the starry sky. Your magic mingling with her newfound strength.

Tamlin had cast a powerful and intricate spell around the manor. Not just as a means of protection from external threats but also as a method of control over those within its walls. This spell was multi-layered, designed to enforce Tamlin's rule and suppress any dissent. For you it was a tangible manifestation of your confinement. An ever-present force that limited your movements and dampened your inherent magical abilities.

The spell was woven into the very foundations of the manor. Invisible yet oppressively palpable. It acted as a barrier not just against physical entry but against magical influence from outside. And crucially it curbed the magical potential of those it enclosed. For someone like you whose powers had been stifled and knowledge kept minimal the spell represented a severe handicap. A chain around the very essence of your being.

On a stormy night, you and Feyre found yourselves poring over ancient texts and forbidden scrolls. These documents were hidden away in the darkest corners of the library and contained arcane knowledge that Tamlin had likely never intended for you to find. They spoke of old magic, powerful and untamed, the kind that could potentially unravel the complex web of spells Tamlin had cast.

The air in the library was heavy with the scent of old parchment and an undercurrent of desperation. Each incantation you attempted, every ritual you performed to try and dismantle Tamlin’s barriers, drained you more profoundly than the last. The magical exertion pulled at the very essence of your being. Proof to the spell's strength and your own nascent powers trying to break free.

Feyre who was transformed and strengthened by her ordeal under the mountain was exactly what you needed beside you. She lent her newfound powers to your cause. Yet, as the night unfolded and the storm outside mirrored the tumult within her concern for you deepened. She saw the physical and magical toll the efforts took on you. The color draining from your face. Your hands trembling with the strain. But still, you wouldn’t give up. Couldn’t give up.

Despite the risk the need to break free from the suffocating constraints of Tamlin’s spell pushed you both forward. It wasn't just about escape. It was about reclaiming your right to autonomy, to magic, to life itself. The friendship that grew between you and Feyre was cemented not just by shared secrets but by this mutual struggle for liberation. A struggle against the literal and figurative walls that Tamlin had erected around you.

As dawn approached with the storm still raging outside you and Feyre reached a critical point in your efforts. A breakthrough seemed tantalizingly within reach. The words on the ancient scrolls beginning to resonate with the energy you both channeled. The walls of the manor groaned under the pressure of your combined powers. A sure sign that Tamlin's spell was finally beginning to falter.

Determined to break the oppressive chains once and for all you both head into the heart of the storm where the barrier's energy pulses strongest. The rain beats down mercilessly mingling with the energy of your combined spell. A desperate, powerful incantation aimed at shattering the bonds. The backlash is swift and fierce. A surge of raw, antagonistic energy from the barrier meets your spell head-on. The impact is like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs and sending sharp tendrils of pain coursing through your veins. The world tilts dangerously with your vision narrowing.

Feyre grips your hands as her own powers flared around you both in a protective embrace. "We can do this, Y/N, just a bit more—"

But her encouragement turns to a scream of horror as your legs give out completely. Your strength finally failing. As you collapse into her arms, your consciousness fading, her fear peaks. "No! Y/N, no, stay with me, please!" The raw panic in her voice is palpable. Her plea filled with a primal terror that she cannot contain. Her scream is not just vocal. It's a surge of emotional energy that travels through the bargain she shares with Rhysand.

At that moment, in the distant Night Court, Rhysand feels a jolt. A sharp, unbidden intrusion into his thoughts. Feyre’s voice was distorted by panic and edged with despair, echoes in his mind. "No! Y/N, no, stay with me, please!" The words hit him with the force of a physical blow. His heart races. His instincts scream. Without a second thought he’s on his feet. The protective and commanding part of him taking over. Mor sensed the urgency. She looks up from her work with alarm spreading across her face.

"We need to go to the Spring Court. We must go now." Rhysand barks out. His voice brooking no argument. He can't explain how he knows only that the terror in Feyre's voice has triggered something primal in him. Something fiercely protective. As he and Mor prepare to leave Rhysand's mind races with possibilities. His worry mounting with each passing second. The bargain was not one of mates but has acted as a lifeline in this critical moment. He is driven by a deep-seated need to respond, to protect, to arrive in time.

In the dim light of the storm-lashed evening back in the confines of the Spring Court, Feyre cradled you against her as her arms forming a protective barrier against the unrelenting winds and rain that battered the walls of the manor. The spells that Tamlin had woven around the estate groaned under the strain, resonating with the fury of the storm.

As you lay there nearly depleted by your attempts to break through Tamlin’s magical barriers you found every breath to be a battle. Feyre leaned close. Her voice barely audible above the howl of the wind. "Help is coming, Y/N. Just hold on. Please, hold on." Her words were infused with a mixture of determination and desperation. A fervent plea cast into the chaos of the night.

Despite her assurances you knew that Feyre had no way of knowing if help would truly come. She wasn't versed in the intricacies of the bargain she made, nor did she understand the silent, unseen forces that might be at play beyond the reach of Tamlin’s spells. Her faith was not based on certainty but on hope. A hope that Rhysand was somehow attuned to the peril you faced and would sense your need and find a way to breach the seemingly impenetrable defenses of the Spring Court.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the storm outside seemed to mirror the tumult of your emotions. With every gust of wind, with every crack of thunder, you felt the edges of your resolve fray. Yet with Feyre’s presence and her unwavering support it fortified you. Together you were wrapped in the scant warmth her body provided against the chill of the rain. You waited silently hoping.

Feyre continued to whisper into the storm. Words of encouragement and silent prayers mingled with the rain reaching out into the night as if the very force of her will could summon the help you so desperately needed.

As Rhysand and Mor race through the turbulent night sky the urgency of Feyre's distress call pulses within Rhysand. However, the formidable magical barrier erected by Tamlin at the Spring Court looms as a daunting obstacle. As they approach the boundary Rhysand's expression turns contemplative knowing they must penetrate the shield without triggering a violent magical backlash that could harm those inside.

"We can't just break through. It could harm them," Rhysand says. His thoughts on Feyre and the unknown others who might be caught in Tamlin’s protective snare. He suspects there are more secrets hidden within the Spring Court than Feyre alone.

Mor nods before pointing towards a section of the barrier shimmering less steadily than the rest—a weak point. "Here, let me," she offers, her hands glowing with a soft, probing light.

Together, they carefully manipulate the energies. Mor’s magic coaxing the threads of the barrier apart while Rhysand supports and stabilizes the surrounding spells to prevent a sudden collapse. The barrier relents under their skilled hands. Parting just enough to allow them a silent passage.

Once inside they quickly make their way towards the garden guided by the unerring pull of Rhysand's intuition, which grows stronger with each step. The night air is heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the lingering traces of magic.

There, under an ancient oak, they find you lying in Feyre's protective embrace. Your appearance is startling to Rhysand. You were someone he's heard of but never met. A whispered secret of the Spring Court. Feyre’s eyes were wide with fear and relief. She meets their stares as they approach.

Rhysand’s initial intent to aid Feyre shifts as he catches your gaze. Something profound stirs within him as your eyes lock. There’s an unexpected jolt. A powerful surge of protectiveness that grips him. His knees nearly buckle under the sudden intensity of the emotion. His breath catching in his throat. The connection is unexpected, overwhelming, and in that moment, the significance of your presence begins to dawn on him.

"We will get you both out of here," Rhysand finds himself saying, the words carrying a weight he hadn't anticipated. His voice is gentle. Meant to reassure as he reaches out to steady you. His own magic instinctively flaring to envelop you in a warm, healing glow.

The touch confirms what his heart has already started to suspect. The mating bond, still new and unexplored, thrums with a rightness that transcends his understanding. It’s only when he helps lift you, his arms secure around you, that the realization fully settles in… his fate is irrevocably tied to yours.

With Mor and Feyre's assistance they carefully navigate back through the garden. Rhysand carrying you with an ease that belies the turmoil brewing within him. Each step back through the breach in the barrier is a step towards a new unknown, a journey he hadn't planned but now cannot imagine avoiding. As they slip back into the night heading towards the sanctuary of the Night Court Rhysand is quiet. His thoughts a whirl of possibilities and new realities. Beside him Mor watches thoughtfully. She was acutely aware that the High Lord of the Night Court was about to embark on a profoundly personal journey.

-

The night was deep and still when Rhysand was abruptly torn from his sleep. A sharp, jarring pulse of panic surged through the bond—a connection still new and startling in its intensity. It was you, finally waking from your long, enforced slumber, and the raw fear that washed over him from your end of the bond had him on his feet before he fully registered moving.

His heart raced as he crossed the space between his private chambers and the room where you rested. The halls of his residence silent save for the quiet thud of his bare feet on the cool marble floor. The bond pulsed with each heartbeat guiding him directly to you underscoring the urgency of your distress with every step he took.

As Rhysand approached the door to your room, he paused, taking a deep breath to calm the storm of his emotions. He needed to be a presence of peace for you not one of turmoil. Gently pushing the door open he stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusting to the low light that bathed the room in gentle silvers and blues.

There you were attempting to sit up, your movements clumsy with weakness and disorientation. The room's luxuriousness that meant to comfort seemed only to add to your confusion. You grasped at the sheets. Your breathing quick and shallow as if the soft fabrics were the only things tethering you to reality.

Rhysand’s heart clenched at the sight. It was one thing to feel your panic through the bond, but quite another to see it etched so clearly across your features. He approached slowly. His presence commanding yet gentle, stopping a respectful distance away to not overwhelm you. His deep-set eyes, usually a striking shade of violet were clouded with concern.

"It’s okay, you’re safe here," Rhysand said. His voice a soft yet firm anchor in the swirling uncertainty you felt. His relief at seeing you awake, even in such a state, was palpable in his tone. Despite the fear there was an underlying gratitude that you were finally conscious. That there was a beginning of recovery however fraught it might be. "You're in Velaris, the heart of the Night Court." He adds hopping to provide you some comfort.

"Velaris?" you repeat. The name unfamiliar and puzzling. You squint at him trying to place the city that sounds more like a myth than reality.

"Yes, Velaris," he continues noting your confusion. "It's a city unlike any in the fae realms, hidden and protected by powerful spells. It's a place of peace and freedom. It is far from the reach of those who would impose their will unjustly." His voice holds a note of pride when he speaks of the city, and his explanation paints a picture of a safe haven. A contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the Spring Court.

Seeing your slightly eased expression he decided to introduce himself, "I'm Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court." He keeps his tone even giving you space to process the flood of new information. "You were very ill, so we brought you here to recover. Tamlin cannot reach you here. Our city's protections are strong."

His explanation about Tamlin brings a different kind of tightness to your chest—the fear of pursuit and retribution. Feeling and seeing your growing anxiety, Rhysand adds, "Tamlin has no power here. You and Feyre are both safe and you will always have a place in Velaris."

As Rhysand speaks of Velaris and its protections you find yourself momentarily comforted by his description of the city as a safe haven. Yet, another concern quickly surfaces, tugging at your thoughts with earnest sincerity.

"And Feyre?" you ask. Your voice carrying the weight of genuine worry. "Is she okay?" Your expression reveals the depth of your concern not just for your own situation but also for Feyre who had been entangled in your fate by association.

Rhysand’s expression softens further at your question. His smile tinged with a mix of admiration and surprise. He steps closer, his presence comforting rather than overwhelming. "She is doing well," he assures you, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze more directly. "Are you going to ask about everyone but yourself?" His tone is light and teasing yet it carries an undercurrent of deep respect for your altruism.

He finds it endearing how your first thoughts are for others even in your own time of uncertainty and recovery. It’s a trait he notes is incredibly sweet. Almost too kind for someone who grew up under Tamlin's strict and often harsh rule as his sister, no less.

A faint smile flickers across your face at Rhysand’s light teasing before it quickly fades. You glance away looking out over the vista that the Night Court offers feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. "I... it's just easier to worry about others," you murmur. Your voice barely above a whisper. The unfamiliar concern in his eyes makes you unexpectedly uncomfortable. A reminder of how long you've had to rely solely on yourself. You shift away slightly putting a small distance between you and Rhysand as if the space could help you regain some control. "I'm not used to being someone's concern," you add while keeping your gaze averted. "It feels strange I guess. Not having to fend for myself."

Your words hang in the air showing the walls you've built from years under Tamlin's rule. The Spring Court was a place where self-reliance wasn't just a trait but a necessity for survival. The vulnerability of relying on someone else, even someone as seemingly gentle as Rhysand, feels as foreign as the magical landscape of Velaris itself.

Rhysand senses a subtle shift in your emotions through the bond. A twinge of discomfort, a whisper of withdrawal. He understands too well the complexities of adjusting to new dynamics of care and concern. As you glance away he gives you a moment. He respects your need for space before responding himself.

With a slight adjustment in his stance, Rhysand maintains his gentle smile, hoping to ease the tension. "Feyre visits often," he begins, his voice soft, an attempt to gently steer the conversation towards a more comfortable topic. "She's taken quite well to her roles here. She worries about you too, you know," he adds trying to build a connection through your shared concern for Feyre.

His words bring a small comfort, and you nod to him feeling a thread of relief woven through the lingering disquiet. "That's good to hear," you murmur giving yourself a moment to absorb the reassurances about Feyre's well-being.

Rhysand watches you with a thoughtful expression appreciating the selflessness displayed in your first waking moments. "Now, let’s focus a bit on you," he suggests kindly. "You’ve been through a lot and while Velaris is safe… I imagine it's quite a lot to take in."

Rhysand's words wash over you and you pause to absorb them feeling both comforted and overwhelmed by his understanding. "It is a lot," you agree softly, your gaze drifting around the unfamiliar yet beautiful room. "Everything here is so different. So overwhelming but not in a bad way."

You take a deep breath making sure to gather your thoughts before continuing. "I appreciate the safety and the peace here, Rhysand. It's just... I'm still figuring out where I fit into all of this." Your voice is tentative, reflecting your uncertainty about the future.

Rhysand nods. His expression empathetic. "And that's perfectly okay," he reassures you gently. "Take all the time you need to feel comfortable. There’s no pressure for you to decide anything right now."

Feeling a mix of reassurance and nascent courage from his support you decide to push yourself a bit. Attempting to rise from the bed, your movements are unsteady. A reminder of the physical and emotional tolls from your past. You pause, placing a hand on the mattress to steady yourself.

Rhysand notices your struggle immediately. His sharp gaze softening with concern. "You shouldn't be on your feet just yet," he cautions with his voice gentle yet firm.

You steady yourself with a hand against the soft bedding and look up at him. Your eyes were wide and earnest, silently pleading for understanding before you voice your deep-seated longing. "Please, I've... I’ve never left the Spring Court. I wish to see what other courts look like."

The raw honesty in your words strikes Rhysand deeply. He hesitates aware of the physical contact you might need to stand and walk, yet also conscious of the trauma you’ve likely endured under Tamlin's watch. His heart clenches at the thought of your centuries-long confinement. A life that wasn’t meant to be spent caged within a single court's borders.

As you continue to gaze at him with a mix of hope and vulnerability in your eyes Rhysand's resolve softens. "Alright," he murmurs. His expression a mix of encouragement and a hint of sadness for your past suffering. He steps forward offering his arm for support being careful to let you decide the level of contact you're comfortable with.

When you gratefully accept his help you leant slightly into his strength. Rhysand carefully supports you, mindful of your frailty. As he guides you slowly around the room his mind races. He was appalled by the reality that you, centuries old, have been essentially a prisoner for just as long.

"We’ll start with Velaris," Rhysand says as you take tentative steps towards the balcony. "It’s beautiful this time of year. The city is alive with lights and the people are free. You'll see, it’s a world away from what you've known."

Your curiosity brightens your features as each small detail of the room you now notice seeming to intrigue you. Rhysand watches this small transformation with a protective fierceness settling in his chest. He makes a silent vow then, to not only show you the beauty of the Night Court but to gradually introduce you to the freedoms and wonders of each of the courts ensuring you experience everything you've been denied.

With each step you take leaning on Rhysand a surprising sense of security begins to wash over you. There’s an inexplicable comfort in his presence. A safety that seems to emanate from him directly. You can't quite pinpoint why he feels so safe, why every instinct isn’t screaming for you to run from the unknown. But as you lean more heavily against him while navigating through the unfamiliar room it felt right.

Rhysand notices the subtle shift in your demeanor. The slight relaxation in your posture as you trust him more with each tentative step. It’s a trust he doesn’t take lightly as he was acutely aware of the preciousness of it given your past. He guides you gently, ensuring each movement is steady and unhurried.

“Just a little further,” he encourages softly as you approach the grand doors leading to the balcony. As he pushes the doors open a gentle breeze wafts in carrying with it the unique scents of Velaris. The crisp, clean air mingled with distant sea salt and the vibrant aroma of night-blooming flowers.

You step onto the balcony and the view that unfolds before you steals your breath away. The city of Velaris stretches out beneath a sky littered with stars. Its buildings adorned with luminescent glyphs and streets alive with softly glowing lanterns. The Sidra River reflects the lights creating a sparkling path that leads to the heart of the city. Your eyes dart from spot to spot taking in the sight of sprawling bridges. From the artistic sculptures that line the walkways to the fae moving about with an ease and freedom so alien to what you’ve known. Everything is so vibrant, so vividly alive. It's like stepping into a dream.

Rhysand watches you. His expression a mix of pride and gentle amusement. “It’s a lot to take in,” he say as his voice is barely above a whisper not wanting to break the enchantment of the moment.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe out as your voice was filled with wonder. "I never imagined..." Your words trail off as you continue to soak in the sight, the reality of Velaris surpassing any tale or description of the Night Court you had ever heard in the Spring Court.

As you stand there, awestruck, Rhysand stands close. He was ready to offer support if needed but giving you space to experience this revelation on your own terms. There’s a warmth in his gaze. A certain softness when he looks at you, moved by your reaction, understanding just how transformative this moment is for you. “This is only a part of what the world has to offer,” Rhysand finally says, his voice low and encouraging. “And you’re free to explore all of it at your own pace. You’re not confined here, or anywhere anymore.”

As his words wash over you a new fear prickles at the edges of your newfound sense of wonder. "But Tamlin..." you start. His name a dark cloud threatening to overshadow the bright promise of freedom.

Rhysand’s reaction is immediate though. He shakes his head, cutting off your spiraling worry with a firmness that is both surprising and comforting. "Tamlin will never touch another hair on your head, darling. I will ensure it." His voice is resolute as it leaves no room for doubt. The sincerity in his tone and the warmth of his smile are reassuring, conveying a depth of commitment that makes you believe him. He’s telling the truth. You can feel it not just in his words but in the protective energy that seems to radiate from him.

As you stand there on the balcony looking out over the luminous city a confusion mingles with your gratitude. He is the High Lord of the Night Court. A figure of immense power and responsibility. Why would he extend such kindness, such personal assurance, to you? His station alone would suggest a detachment from individual affairs, yet here he is, offering not just his protection but his personal attention.

"Why?" The question escapes you before you can think better of it. Your gaze turning from the cityscape to meet his eyes. "Why would you do this for me? You're the High Lord, and yet..."

Rhysand’s expression softens understanding the root of your bewilderment. "Because everyone deserves freedom and safety," he begins, his gaze steady and earnest. "And because, despite my title I see no one as beneath my care. Especially not someone who has suffered as you have under such tyranny."

His words hint at a broader philosophy. One that governs his rule, a complete difference to the oppressive leadership of Tamlin. "Here in Velaris we protect our own and now that includes you. You’re not just under my protection because of duty but because I believe in a world where everyone has the right to choose their own path, free from fear."

His explanation resonates with you. The sincerity and conviction in his voice weaving a stronger thread of trust between you. The High Lord of the Night Court you realize is not just a ruler but a protector. He was guided by a compassion that perhaps defines his reign more than his power. As you absorb his words the city of Velaris seems to glow a little brighter. Its lights a hope of the promise Rhysand offers. A promise not just of shelter but of a life reclaimed and respected.

As Rhysand's words and the gentle sincerity behind them settle over you something shifts inside you. The fear that had been a constant companion starts to ebb away instead replaced by a sense of security you hadn’t felt in a very long time. Standing beside him, overlooking the luminous city of Velaris, you allow yourself a moment to truly take in his presence. A protector not just in title but in spirit.

The tension that had knotted your shoulders begins to unwind and without fully realizing it a small smile curves your lips. It's slight but it's the first genuine smile you’ve allowed yourself in what feels like centuries. "You know, my brother made you seem terrifying," you confess as the smile growing a bit as you speak. "You're anything but that though."

Rhysand catches the change in your expression and his eyes light up with amusement. In response he flashes you a devastatingly handsome smirk, one that's known to both unsettle and charm. "Did he now?" he says lowly. His voice laced with mock severity before it softens into warmth. "Perhaps I should be offended but coming from Tamlin I'll take it as a compliment."

His response was light and teasing. Spoken to ease the atmosphere, to let you know that it's okay to relax, to laugh, to feel safe. "Tamlin has always had a flair for the dramatic," Rhysand continues. His tone playful now. "But I hope that here in Velaris you’ll see me as I am. And perhaps find that the 'terrifying' High Lord of the Night Court can also be a friend." His words were spoken with a gentle candor and encourage a lighter heart. The warmth in his voice, the open invitation to view him as more than just a lord but as a person, deepens the budding trust and comfort you feel in his presence.

As the night air swirls around you carrying with it the vibrant energies of Velaris you find yourself more receptive to the idea of a new start. Rhysand with his easy charm and sincere protection seems not just a guardian but a companion on this journey of rediscovery. His ability to blend strength with kindness, authority with empathy, makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can truly start anew here.

"You make it sound almost easy," you reply. The smile now firmly in place, feeling more natural than it has for ages.

Rhysand's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "I'll do my best to make it feel that way," he assures you. "You’ve had enough of the hard path. It’s time for you to experience the peace you deserve."

-

In the weeks following your awakening Rhys had been a constant, reassuring presence by your side as you navigated the complexities of the Night Court. The city of Velaris had begun to feel less like a foreign land and more like a potential home. Rhys had carefully gauged when you might be ready to meet more people. He was intentionally keeping even his closest friends, Cassian and Azriel, at a distance to allow you time to adjust. He mentioned plans to introduce them soon ensuring that you felt comfortable with each new step.

During this time your days were filled with activities that gradually stitched you into the fabric of this new life. Rhys guided you through physical training sessions aiming to strengthen both your body and spirit. But it wasn’t all rigorous. You spent serene afternoons with Feyre, dabbling in painting. Despite your initial lack of skill Feyre was a patient teacher, encouraging every brushstroke. In exchange you helped her continue learning to read turning each session into a mutual exchange of growth and laughter.

It was a clear, crisp day in Velaris. The kind of day that made the light seem to dance off every surface, imbuing the world with a vivid sharpness. You were in the middle of a training session with Rhysand in one of the secluded gardens of the Night Court practicing your swordplay. The metal felt cool and heavy in your hands as it slowly became more familiar with each controlled swing and parry.

Rhys was ever the patient instructor. He watched and guided you, his instructions both precise and encouraging. As you moved to execute a particularly complex maneuver, something unexpected happened. Amidst the focus on your movements and the rhythm of the blades, a sudden surge of warmth blossomed deep within your chest radiating outwards like the morning sun cresting the horizon.

It was an intense, engulfing wave that seemed to momentarily still the world around you. The sensation was as if a veil had been lifted, connecting you to Rhysand in an indescribably profound way. It felt as though your very souls had reached out and intertwined creating a bond that pulsed with life and energy.

"What... what was that?" you gasped, lowering your sword as you looked up at Rhysand, your heart pounding not from exertion but from the shock of the unexpected connection. The air between you seemed charged, heavy with a significance that you struggled to comprehend.

Rhysand’s eyes met yours with a spark of recognition and perhaps something akin to relief flashing across his features. His stance softened, and the world seemed to resume its usual pace, but the atmosphere remained changed. It was thick with the newfound awareness between you.

"That," Rhysand said softly. His voice steady yet filled with a warmth that echoed the sensation in your chest, "was the mating bond. It's rare, profound. A connection of souls that can occur between two individuals. It seems it has chosen to manifest between us now."

His words sank in, each one laden with meaning as you tried to process the enormity of what had just occurred. The bond, this deep and intrinsic link, had unveiled itself without warning. It aligned you with Rhysand in a way that went beyond mere physical presence or shared goals. It was as if a part of you had known him, deeply and irrevocably, for much longer than you physically had.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. Heavy with the realization of how deeply the bond affected him from the very beginning. “You mean, we’re..." you started, the reality of his words slowly sinking in.

"Mates," Rhysand confirmed gently. "Yes. And while that might mean many things, know this—you're not bound by it against your will. We can explore what it means together, at your pace." The reassurance in his words allowed you to smile, feeling a genuine connection to the path unfolding before you. The bond was no longer just an abstract force. It was a tangible link between your present recovery and a future filled with possibilities.

Rhysand watched you with something akin to awe as you carefully practiced the sword techniques he had shown you. "We have all the time in the world," he said softly. His eyes never leaving yours. "There's no rush. You’re safe here, with me, with us, in Velaris."

His words seemed to only deepen the stir of emotions within you. Pausing, the sword momentarily forgotten in your hand, you met his gaze, vulnerability shadowing your features. "And... are you okay with that? A bond with me of all people?" Your voice was tinged with disbelief as though the very idea of someone like Rhysand being tied to you was something unfathomable.

The sadness that flickered across Rhysand’s face was swift, a passing cloud on a sunny day, but it was enough to reveal the depth of his feelings. He set aside his own weapon and stepped closer with his expression turning earnest. "I can't think of anything I'd want more," he said quietly while reaching for your hand to provide a tangible reassurance. "These past few weeks of getting to know you, seeing your strength and your kindness. It's not just the bond that makes me feel this way. I... I already care about you, deeply."

His confession hung in the air between you, sincere and heartfelt. The way he looked at you in that moment, his eyes filled with a gentle intensity, made it clear that his words were not merely spoken out of obligation or a sense of duty that the bond might impose. They were rooted in genuine affection and respect for the person you were.

Rhysand gently squeezed your hand, his touch warm and encouraging. "I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have this bond with you," he continued with a soft smile touching his lips as he tried to alleviate the heavy atmosphere. "You're remarkable darling. And yes, I am more than okay with it. I’m grateful."

His reassurance was spoken with such candor and helped ease some of the uncertainty that weighed on you. The bond was once a source of confusion and a reminder of your past constraints but began to feel more like a gift. An unexpected but precious connection to someone who not only promised safety but offered understanding and companionship.

As Rhysand released your hand and stepped back, giving you the space to process his heartfelt words, a sense of warmth unfurled within you. The weight of uncertainties began to lift replaced by a burgeoning sense of connection to this man who was both your protector and, unexpectedly, your confidant.

Mirroring the soft smile that graced Rhysand's lips you found the courage to voice your own budding feelings, simple yet profound. "I like you too, Rhysand," you said. Your voice carrying a tender sincerity that made his smile widen. "More than I thought I would." The admission was shy, sweet. A genuine acknowledgment of the bond growing between you both not just magically but emotionally.

His eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and happiness. The atmosphere around you charged with a gentle, joyful energy. The training session resumed but now there was a lightness to your movements. A reflection of the ease settling in your heart. The conversation with Rhysand, though brief, lingered in your mind like a cherished melody. It was a powerful reminder of the new beginnings and genuine connections now possible in your life with Rhysand and the Night Court. A life that was slowly but surely becoming your own.

As you navigated through each day your confidence grew and the tapestry of your new life in Velaris began to weave itself more vividly. Each encounter, each lesson with Rhysand, and every quiet moment spent under the stars of the Night Court fortified your sense of belonging. These experiences were threads in a vibrant, ever-expanding fabric, each one adding strength and color to your life.

One evening as you stood beside Rhysand on the quiet sanctuary of your favorite balcony overlooking Velaris, you felt a calm certainty settle over you. Below, the city sparkled. A tapestry of light and life that seemed to pulse with the same vibrant energy that now flowed through your veins. Rhysand's gaze was fixed on the horizon, the soft glow of the city lights casting shadows across his strong features when you turned to him ready to voice the thoughts that had been crystallizing in your mind.

"You know," you began. Your voice steady and clear, "I've spent a lot of time thinking about what all of this means. The mating bond, this new life, everything."

Rhysand turned to you with his expression open and attentive. The bond between you hummed softly. It was a growing and comforting presence at the back of your mind.

"I've realized that this bond... it's not just a tie to you. It's a connection to myself. To a life I didn't think was possible," you continued. The words flowing more freely than you expected. "I accept it, Rhysand. Not just accept it… I'm grateful for it. For you."

A slow smile spread across Rhysand's face. That beautiful smile you were slowly coming to cherish. "I can't tell you what it means to hear you say that," he said as his voice was thick with emotion. "You've become a part of this world. A part of my world in a way I always hoped but never dared to expect."

Encouraged by your acceptance and the growth you had shown Rhys felt that the time was right for a significant next step. As the days progressed and you continued to integrate more deeply into the fabric of the Night Court he planned an upcoming evening that would mark a new chapter in your life. The occasion was chosen with care. Not rushed but timed perfectly to coincide with your readiness to meet new faces and embrace the wider community of the Night Court. It was a testament to your journey thus far and a celebration of the future you were building together.

With the day finally set, a gentle breeze whispering promises through the halls, the stars above Velaris began to unveil themselves in the twilight sky. The air was charged with a sense of anticipation. Rhysand who was usually the epitome of composure carried a subtle excitement mixed with nerves as he prepared to introduce you to Cassian, Azriel, and the rest of the Inner Circle. This evening was not just another night. It was a milestone, a true celebration of your integration into his world and the bonds you would soon form with those closest to him.

You had spent the afternoon with Feyre who had helped you select a gown for the evening. The dress was a deep shade of midnight blue and adorned with silver threads that mimicked the starlit sky of Velaris. It perfectly embodied the essence of the Night Court. As you descended the grand staircase the gown flowed around you like a night shadow brought to life.

At the base of the steps Rhysand waited. His usual composure shaken as he caught sight of you. The world seemed to pause, his breath caught in his throat, his heart raced rapidly. There, in the soft glow of the House of Wind you looked not just a part of the Night Court but as if you were its very spirit. The realization that you were his mate, utterly beautiful and resplendent in the regalia of his court, struck him with renewed force.

Rhysand who was ever mindful of the boundaries and comfort of those around him had been particularly cautious about not overwhelming you with the intimate connection that mind-speaking entails. Despite this, the sight of you this evening descending the grand staircase dressed for the event was simply too much for him to resist. The gown you wore reflected the starlit sky of Velaris and accentuated your presence. It made you seem as ethereal as the city itself. Overcome with admiration, he reached out with his mind. "You look breathtaking, darling," his voice echoed in your thoughts for the first time in a while, startling you slightly with its warmth and closeness.

The mental whisper drew a surprised laugh from you. A sound that delighted him to no end. Rhysand's smile broadened. His eyes twinkling with mischief as he observed your reaction. "I see we still need to work on your shields, won't we?" he added playfully. His tone warm and teasing. It was moments like these he cherished deeply. Ones that always kept you on your toes. A trait you’d come to love about him.

Blushing slightly at the intimacy of his mental caress you couldn't help but respond in kind. Your newfound boldness surprising even yourself. "Perhaps I left them down on purpose Rhysand," you flirted back. Your mental voice a soft murmur that only he could hear.

Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up in amused surprise. A rich laugh escaping him that resonated deeply in the space around you. "Is that so? Well, in that case, I might have to keep complimenting you just to see what else you intentionally leave unguarded," he teased back, the affection in his voice unmistakable.

His impulsive act, born from a burst of admiration, turned into a playful exchange that highlighted the growing ease and affection between you. Rhysand quickly added sensing your enjoyment yet still cautious of overstepping, "Apologies if that was too much, but seeing you tonight, I couldn't help myself."

This flirty banter, interwoven with moments of laughter and shared glances, underscored the deepening connection between you both. Even as Rhys continued to respect your boundaries. He also found joy in these light-hearted exchanges, each one building upon the last. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth from his words. This gentle mental whisper was another sign of how your relationship with Rhysand was deepening, weaving together both profound moments and light-hearted banter.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs Rhysand gently took your hand helping you to navigate the last step. His presence was comforting and his proximity a reminder of how much had changed between you. The grandeur of the staircase faded into the background as you focused solely on him.

You couldn't help the smile that danced across your lips, nor the lightness in your heart from his words. "No need to apologize, Rhys," you responded. Your voice a blend of amusement and reassurance. "I quite liked it. It's... nice, hearing your thoughts sometimes."

"We’ll make quite the team, you and I," Rhysand said, his voice now audible. A soft yet clear tone that carried through the grand space. "With or without your shields up, darling."

The playful banter that had begun in the privacy of your minds seamlessly flowed into the verbal exchange adding layers to your communication and highlighting the ease and comfort developing between you both. As you looked up into his eyes, still sparkling with that same affectionate mischief, you felt that profound connection. The bond was not just magical but deeply personal, spanning the quiet thoughts shared in whispers and the words spoken in the open.

This moment, under the soft lights and the eyes of the Night Court, solidified something essential between you and Rhysand. A partnership built on mutual respect, affection, and a delightful undercurrent of flirtation that promised many more such exchanges in the days to come.

Rhysand led you through the lush, starlit gardens of the Night Court where Cassian, Azriel, and others from the Inner Circle awaited. As you approached the atmosphere was charged with an understated anticipation. Both Cassian and Azriel rose to greet you both their expressions blending curiosity and respect.

Cassian's greeting was robust yet heartfelt. "Rhys didn't prepare us for someone quite so captivating," he remarked with a friendly nod. His tone genuine and devoid of any overstatement. His smile was infectious. He quickly added in a more casual tone, "And I hear you're as quick-witted as you are graceful. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Azriel who Rhys described as more reserved offered a calm nod. His deep-set eyes thoughtful as he assessed you with a discerning gaze. "Welcome to the Night Court," he said. His voice soft yet carrying a warmth that invited trust. During the evening as you engaged in a discussion about the strategic intricacies of the court’s defenses Azriel's respect visibly deepened. Later, he quietly shared with Rhysand, "She has a keen sense for the nuances of strategy. You've chosen well. She’s not just impressive in demeanor but in intellect."

Throughout the evening laughter and substantive conversations filled the garden. Cassian's heartier chuckles complemented your more measured humor. While Azriel engaged you with discussions that tested your insight into the court’s history and its future.

Rhysand watched these exchanges with a sense of deep satisfaction. The way you engaged with his friends. Not just with politeness but with a genuine interest and understanding solidified your place among them. Cassian’s easy camaraderie and Azriel’s quiet approval spoke volumes of their acceptance.

As the night progressed under the expansive, star-filled sky of Velaris your initial sense of being an outsider slowly dissipated. You found yourself woven into the evening’s tapestry as seamlessly as the shadows melded into the night. Each shared story, each moment of laughter, helped stitch you further into the fabric of this vibrant community.

Standing there among new friends you experienced yet another profound shift within. With Rhysand at your side and the bond between you growing stronger by the day you realized you had discovered much more than a haven. You had found a new family, a purpose, and a place where you truly belonged. The night ended not just with a feeling of contentment but with a renewed sense of anticipation for the future.

ACOTAR Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lilah-asteria

[risuola]

ENTRY #2 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I fear to lose you, you struggle to be with me.

contents: arranged marriage!au, brief mention of blood I guess — wc. 1235

series masterlist

It didn’t take long until you realized that there’s something no one considered when arranging the marriage between you and the honored one. An aspect of life that got heavily overlooked, painfully ignored. When the main objective was to secure the bloodline of your clan and make sure the precious genes of the strongest won’t end with the demise of the man himself, not even one person thought of the consequences you will have to face. Maybe no one expected that to happen, maybe no one was bright enough to realize that the moment your hand was adorned with a golden band, and the vows that echoed in between the walls silenced down, all of Satoru’s enemies will automatically become your enemies.

You were a warrior – strong and fearless. A sorcerer of true blood and bones, you were proud of what you represented while entering the battlefield, proud of your abilities and power. Before you became Gojo, not much was able to surprise you. Before your name was changed, nothing ever threatened you enough to make you feel uneasy. Nothing until now.

It didn’t really surprise you anymore, it wasn’t the first time. It was logical in a way, attacking your husband was bound to be futile – infinity made him invincible, untouchable, and those characteristics you lacked severely. You were an obvious target, a person that’s closest to the real target and in times like this, when facing few curses that you were certain were special grade, you wondered if their approach would be different if they knew how little you meant to your husband. Would they retreat if they knew that attacking a mere assistant like Ijichi would cause more emotions in Satoru Gojo than the death of his own wife?

You fought, making the most out of your abilities to stand against the force whose main objective was to brutalize you as much as possible. You saw it as a chance to learn more, to develop more resistance, to grow stronger. There was a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, a thrill of excitement as the battle unraveled with an air of dread and death surrounding the desolate area. The metallic taste of blood was distinctive on your tongue once your body failed to protect you from a series of attacks. You moved despite the sharp pain that slowly but surely was making its way throughout your entire system. For a moment you felt giddy, almost euphoric as the idea of going all in settled in your mind and then you realized that it might end up bad.

Equipped in a blade that’s made fully from your own cursed energy and sharp enough to cut through the hardest of stone, you moved forward, ready to collide with the cursed spirits that caught you in the middle of nowhere. But then you stopped and your eyes closed tightly as the bright, red light blinded you. A strong arm held you around the ribcage and a large frame of a man was pressed to your back.

“Can you please fucking tell me, is running away against your beliefs?” You heard the familiar, sharp tone of your husband, a groan of annoyance and something else that you couldn’t decipher carrying his words. You tilted your head to look at his unamused face. His eyes, now unobscured, weren’t even directed at you, but his jaw was clenched and his hold on you was tight. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to tell that it’s way above your level of jujutsu.”

You couldn’t tell how much of his words was care and how much was pure insult, but either way it put you at ease to know he’s there. There was a sense of safety that you never experienced before, the calm embrace of infinity that wrapped around your frame, the subtle taste of what it’s like to be untouchable. And it lingered, crawled softly across your skin along with the foreign warmth of your husband’s body.

“If you look around you might realize that there’s literally no way to run away,” you replied with just enough of venom to mask how grateful you were for his appearance. The spiteful tone felt natural on your tongue, a default of when you spoke to him and yet, this time you had to remember to use it.

“Yeah, right, so next best thing is to face something that will fucking kill you head on.” He groaned, annoyed, nervous. You felt his fingers digging between your ribs, he kept you closer than he needed to. “Such a wise and well thought through decision.”

“I’m not as weak as you thi–“

“I know,” he cut you off, bothered and harsh. “But you are too weak for this.”

He was right and you knew that. You were far from your best shape, the job you finished just few hours prior ate most of your cursed energy and even with full power you’d most likely struggle against the threat of those curses. But then, you were not given a choice. It was rather fight or die without a fight and the decision was easy.

“Good thing my husband is so strong.”

A sharp tsk left Satoru’s lips and then, the cursed creatures vanished, seemingly aware of how much the power scale tilted to their detriment. Next time you blinked, you were at home and your husband’s touch was gone. The subtle pressure of his fingers against your ribcage now only a ghost of what it was seconds ago.

“It wasn’t the first time now, was it?” He questioned and you struggled to tell if what you heard below the detachment and coldness was care or annoyance.

“It wasn’t. But I’m usually able to deal with it myself.”

Gojo sighed. A long and deep exhale of air left his lungs and he seemed to think, to weigh his next words and actions carefully.

“You should’ve told me. I’ll take care of it,” he said finally, bluntly, matter-of-factly. “You’re not strong enough to face my enemies.”

“I held them long enough for you to come, didn’t I?”

“And what if I didn’t show up?!” He snapped and growled, loud and angry. His fingers wrapped around your jaw, forcefully tilting your head back, to look at him fully. His face was closer, your noses almost touching and the piercing blue of his eyes fixed on you, as the tone of his speech got low and quiet, almost whisper-like. ”What if I didn’t come?”

“Then I’d be dead,” you replied, surprised by how small your own voice sounded. There was no right answer you could’ve given him.

“Yeah, you’d be dead,” he nodded, panted. You watched the spectacle of emotions playing across his handsome features. His brows furrowed and the narrowed eyes seemed to look straight through your very soul. For a second or two, his jaw clenched and lips pressed together forming a line and you were stunned to realize that even his beautiful face creased when angered. And then, his lids dropped, the muscles relaxed. He breathed out, you felt it on your lips and skin, a subtle sweetness and mint of his breath. The tight hold of his fingers loosened up as he looked at you again, allowing his eyes to run down your features, to linger on your lips before they got back to stare back at you. “I don’t want you dead.”

taglist: @kinny-away, @anan-baban

[konigsblog]

can’t stop thinking about cop!simon pulling over little naive college student reader for speeding, then sees her in skimpy shorts w/ a low-cut shirt n forces her to get in his car as bullies his cock in her while his hand muffles her screams and cries as he threatens her and puts a gun to her head 😵‍💫

cop-simon and his relentless, harsh punishments. :(

CW: DRUNK DRIVING, ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION, RAPE/NON-CON, USING GUNS AS A THREAT, ABUSE OF AUTHORITY. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - 18+

cop-simon is ruthless. he doesn't care for your pathetic excuses, or your futile attempts at acting all innocent. he can smell the alcohol off of you, the way your eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, looking up at him so innocently as if you'd never hurt a fly...

your attempts at getting off scot-free are pointless, as he orders you out of your car, with your hands where he can see them. he's unimpressed when he finds the alcohol lying around your car, packs of cigarettes, and your thong laying around on the passenger seat. fuck, the thought of a pretty, drunk thing like you wearing no underwear, in that tiny, skimpy dress left simon's cock sore as it began to harden rapidly, clutching his crotch to hide his bulge, making sure nobody was around as he handcuffed you and pulled your dress up, enough for him to see that tight rear of yours, giving it a few spanks whilst you gasped and squealed, muffled by his gloved, large hand.

the tip of simon's dick begins weeping in his tight boxers, pulling his hard length from the tight confines of his pants and prodding against your slicken, drooling cunt. he can hear your whines and protests, feel your struggles and attempts at pushing him away. but, he has you exactly where he wants you; limbs bound and restricted, and his bulbous cock between your thighs, rubbing against your sensitive folds.

you feel ashamed as he stuffs your worn panties into your mouth, tears rolling down your cheeks, too drunk to fight him off. god, simon thinks you look perfect with your panties in your mouth, silencing your cries as he humps your wet sex, preparing you a little to take him deep. the sounds of your weeps and pained moans are choked as you moan around your underwear, drooling all over yourself as he slips inside, pushing deeper with each hard thrust ‘til he's balls deep inside, rutting into you like a mutt in heat.

your sobbing makes it all the more enjoyable for simon, the way your eyes glisten when he shines the flashlight in your face, barely able to keep them open. with his hot and milky arousal seeping into your cunt, you shake and tremble, panting with your folds slicken and sopping.

fuck, he'll have to push you onto your knees, slam into that disobey mouth whilst you attempt to resist, crying and slobbering all over his meaty dick! :(

[fairyhaos]

◈ adorable and insufferable // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.5k+ words

tags: sick fic, fluff, crack, established relationship, joshua makes small snuffly bunny noises when he's sick

warnings: food mention at the end

notes: for his birthday present, i give him a cold. as you can see, i love him very much.

Your boyfriend is sick.

He is, also, an absolutely terrible liar.

That leads you to the situation right now, where you’ve cornered Joshua in the kitchen, hands on your hips, a bunny spa headband pushing your hair back, and it’s not the most intimidating sight but Joshua gulps all the same, eyes darting around the kitchen nervously.

He’s looking for an escape route. You can see it in his eyes, clear as day, so you step even closer, voice dangerously calm as you speak.

“No, keep your eyes on me,” you say, face set into an angry frown. “Shua.”

Joshua looks at you, and tries not to breathe too weirdly. “Um. Y/N?”

You look him up and down, and then slowly fold your arms. “Shua,” you say again. “Are you sick?”

He blinks rapidly, and then has to stop, because it makes his head feel all woozy. “No?” he tries, and then coughs a little. He’ll claim it was out of nervousness, because you look kind of terrifying right now, but your eyes immediately widen at the sound, and he knows he’s busted.

“You are!” Instantly, you lunge for him as he tries to dive past you and escape this interrogation. “Joshua, come back! You’re sick!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear I’m not,” he insists, trying to pull away from the iron grip you’ve clasped around his wrist. Resistance is futile, though. You’re not letting him go, now that him and his wellbeing are involved. “Y/N, baby, please, I’m totally fine.”

“No you’re not,” you say firmly, and then begin dragging your whining boyfriend out the kitchen and towards the stairs. 

“I—” He sneezes, then, a loud and wet sneeze that scrapes at his throat and makes his eyes water, and he pauses, shocked. He sniffles, rubbing his nose. “Okay. Maybe I am.”

You shake your head, partly exasperated, partly fond, and continue pulling Joshua up the stairs.

He’s been shuffling around the house looking mildly ill all day, and you’ve been waiting for the right moment to pounce on him and get him up to bed. Because Joshua, when he gets sick, utterly refuses to give in and accept that he’s coming down with something, always waiting until the last moment to finally admit defeat to whatever illness has plagued him this time.

By the time you’re opening the bedroom door and ushering Joshua inside, he’s looking considerably worse than before, face all flushed and eyes watering from the sudden coughing fit he had while coming up the stairs.

“Come on, baby,” you coax, tucking him into bed. You press a hand to his forehead, a little alarmed and a little amused by how quickly he managed to look severely ill during the short walk upstairs. “Sleep.”

“I can still function, you know,” he insists as you pull the covers over him. “I can—I can do things.”

“I’d rather you not,” you say, smoothing down his hair and tucking away a few stray strands. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “I knew you’d get sick from all those days where you went out wearing all those thin layers in winter. What were you thinking?”

Joshua huffs petulantly. “It’s called fashion.”

“It’s called making yourself sick,” you return, and then chuckle at his pout. Leaning down, you press a quick kiss to his forehead, brushing a finger over his cheek fondly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel way worse tomorrow if you don’t.”

He grumbles, but there’s a small smile on his face as he bids you goodbye and asks you to shut the door properly on the way out.

───────────── 💗

Your boyfriend is very, very self-sufficient. He tries not to bother other people with his struggles and his concerns, but he’s also very terrible at hiding it away when someone asks him directly if everything’s okay.

He’s also really weak in the face of attention.

Which means that while he’s very self-sufficient, the moment you notice he’s unwell and call him out on it, he melts instantly and gets taken over by his sickness so quickly that it surprises you every time.

Slowly, you creak open the bedroom door, peering inside to see Joshua staring blankly up at the ceiling. His head snaps towards you as you walk across the room, but his eyes are all glassy.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, and all he’s said is your name but it’s like he’s speaking through a ball of cotton. 

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, smiling a little, because his eyes positively shine when you confirm it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you place a damp towel over his forehead, feeling his cheek with the back of your hand, and wince a little at how warm he is. “Goodness me, Shua, you’re burning up.”

“No, I’m not,” he murmurs. “You’re burning up.”

You smile a little, pinching his cheek lightly. “If you were this sick, then why didn’t you say anything, hm? You should’ve told me earlier.”

“I’m not that sick. I can still do stuff,” he says, eyes falling shut just slightly as you begin stroking his hair, a relaxing movement. “Hey, hey, Y/N, watch this.”

“Hm?” You stop stroking his hair, sitting back and waiting patiently. 

There’s a long silence, and then Joshua cracks an eye open to look at you. He looks expectant—well, as expectant as a person with an extremely high fever can look—but when you don’t say anything, a small frown creases his brow.

“Didn’t you see it?”

“See what, baby?”

“The cartwheels. I did cartwheels.”

The statement is so absurd that you think he’s joking, but his face is set into such a serious pout that you can’t help but laugh a little, because there's something about fever-drowsed Joshua that is so adorable.

“You didn’t do any cartwheels, baby,” you say gently, and go back to stroking his hair. “You didn’t even get up.”

Joshua frowns, the pout deepening. “Oh.” His eyes close, and then open again. “I did them in my head, though. I’m sure I did.”

Cute, you think helplessly, unable to stop the smile spreading across the face. “Okay.” You kiss his nose. “I believe you. But I’m gonna go get you something to drink and eat, and then you’re gonna take some meds, okay?”

He makes a small noise of discontent when you get up, and then coughs, giving a pathetic sniffle like a sad little bunny, and you almost want to just stay next to him and never leave his side.

“You’re gonna need to take the meds to get better faster,” you say at the door. “I’ll be back soon, promise. Wait here.”

Joshua makes that sad noise again, but he watches you go. “Okay,” he says, all mumbly. “I promise not to cartwheel away.”

You laugh a little, because good lord, he’s so adorable. “Okay. I’m trusting you, alright?”

“Mhm.”

You close the door and walk down the stairs, shaking your head fondly.

───────────── 💗

It’s only several days later that his fever finally lets up, and he’s well enough to walk around the house once more. You wake up to Joshua in the kitchen, a blanket around his frame, making pancakes.

“Baby?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “What are you doing?”

Joshua turns to you, and then grins, eyes crinkling fondly. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and deposits the last pancake onto a plate. “I’m making you breakfast, of course. Here. Eat up. Want some french toast too?”

“Wh—huh?” you say, incredibly intelligently, slowly sliding into the seat that, like the gentleman he is, Joshua had pulled out for you. “Why?”

“It’s a thank-you present, obviously,” Joshua says, as he busies himself making french toast. As if the pancakes and spread of fresh fruit and waffles (he cooked waffles too?) aren’t enough. “I’ve been insufferable over the past few days.”

You chuckle a little, thinking of Joshua insisting he can do cartwheels while you try to spoon feed him soup. “Yeah, you have. But I didn’t mind. You’re my boyfriend. Of course I’m gonna put up with you.”

Joshua laughs. “Thank you, Y/N. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be dead without me,” you say, incredibly seriously, and it makes Joshua laugh again. His eyes are still a little puffed up, but he beams at you, all full of life, and it makes you grin too.

“You’re totally right,” he says, and leans over to peck you on the cheek. “I love you.”

You smile, taking hold of his chin and bringing him down to press a longer kiss to his lips. “I love you more.”

Joshua quirks a grin at that, kissing your forehead for good measure before going back to the bread. “Let’s not start that argument again. Eat your pancakes, sweetheart, before they get cold.”

You look over at him as he busies himself making yet more food, and it makes you a little dizzy, really, just how much Joshua loves you. And how much you love him in return. Even when he’s doing cartwheels in his head and insisting he’s doing them in real life.

“Hey, now you’re all better, you can do those cartwheels you kept wanting to do.”

“Really? Should I?”

“Yeah! I bet I can do them better though.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓁 ༻

Astarion can’t get over his lust for tav, she’s sleeping but he can’t resist.

Slight NSFW - Blood

His tongue glides over one of his fangs as his thoughts start to drift, the feeling of your body submitting to him, your oh so sweet whimpers that turn into blissful moans… And gods the way your spine curved up pressing your breasts into his chest as he gorged upon your neck. His jaw clenched, it was as if your veins ran with ichor… A goddess ready to be consumed by himself and only him, you were a gift to him he knows it. Perhaps this was his reward for surviving 200 years under Cazador.

Right at this moment you looked like a sacrificial lamb, the fires light dances across your smooth skin, your loose underwear straps were crawling down your arm every time you moved. Your breathing labored. This was all starting to become far too much for the spawn, Astarion could feel his ice cold body begin to warm just as a drug like high fills his mind.

It felt as if chains were wrapped around your limbs and struggling proved futile… The air felt like it was slowly dissipating around you, mind hazy while your head shakes back and forth as if begging for whatever was holding you down to stop. Panic rose in your chest, your dreams turning to a nightmare, you were running trying to escape the darkness that started to cloak your vision. A vision of your dream visitor appears before you in your nightmare, they were holding their hand out to you, offering to help you find an escape. Just as your hands touch theirs your eyes open…

There in the dimly lit forest you see him, Astarion. His head is between your legs, your one leg propped over his shoulder while the glow of the fire shines off his fangs. At first you’re unaware if he’s already bitten you, it’s not until you feel warmth trail down to your clothed groin, he’s already taken what he believes is his.

“A-Astarion” your arms attempt to lift to his shoulders, you try to push him away so you can speak to him, but it proves futile. He’s taken so much from you already yet he can feel your struggles. Lifting his head from between your legs he greets your eyes with pure benevolence, knowing this look would deceive you, “Yes, love?” is all he can conjure up before sliding his tongue down your thigh as he laps up the blood that’s found its way down to your sex.

“When I ascend I’ll turn you, little dove. That way-“ Astarion kisses your inner thigh, “that way any damage I inflict on you can heal with ease.” His voice was velvety, “But first, I have another craving to satisfy.”

Mouth curving into a feral sort of snarl, fangs protruding from his jaw and his teeth running over their sharp points, Astarion lowers his head back to your inner thigh. He sinks his teeth into your upper thigh, the heat from your sex radiates off his cheek while thick hot blood runs into his mouth and seeps out… Your vital fluid makes his bloodlust hasten..

A steady stream running down onto the ground… As more of your blood flooded his mouth, the weaker you became… Still though, you believed you could trust him and you let yourself melt into him, “As-Astarion,” His name came out as a begged moan, yet you sounded like you were barely still here on this plane.

Your shaky voice was the only thing that could ever break his trance, pulling him back to reality that you very well could die if he goes too far. He isn’t a true vampire, yet. He couldn’t bring you back should he mess up. With his teeth still pierced into your flesh he could feel your pulse weakening, he knew it was time to stop, if only for a moment.

Smearing the blood on his index finger, Astarion lifted the warm substance to his lips; the intoxicating sweetness hitting every taste bud.

“I- you know I’d never mean to kill you.” He rested his head on your thigh that wasn’t propped over his shoulder. Besides the crackling of the fire, you both laid there in silence for only but a moment until in one swift movement, Astarion sheds his clothing. His rapid movements had you pinned down before you could even blink. His perfectly toned body loomed over you.

“I trust you,” You could feel some strength return to you, enough to be able to slide a loose strand of his white hair behind his pointed ear, your gracious smile putting him at ease.

Astartion’s lips met yours in a passionate kiss, savoring the taste of his saliva you could taste specs of your own blood. Hands running through each other’s hair as the kiss became more forceful, teeth scraping against teeth, tongues mingling in the very deepest depths of one another’s mouths, and your blood continuously dripping from your bite wound. Struggling to sit upright, to put your arms around his chest, you felt the power behind him pinning you down, keeping you incapable of moving.

Breaking the kiss, Astarion looked like he did the first time he ever tasted you, ravenous, hungry, his pants deep as his chest rises and falls, “Dove, let me take care of you, trust that I won't stray too far.” He kisses the top of your hand, foreshadowing what's to come if you allow him to ascend… Tonight you bask in his embrace, his sweet words, ignoring the dreadful feeling deep within your gut…

[jobean12-blog]

Dark Desires

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x reader (Demon AU)

Word Count: 700

Summary: Now that he's finally found you he's never letting you go.

Author's Note: Another one for @pupandkisasaesthetics Aesthetic's challenge! Thank you bunches to beauties @sgt-seabass and @rookthorne for hosting such an awesome challenge!💕 And thank you bunches to my beautiful Ali @flordeamatista for reading this over and supporting me always!💕 Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰The moodboard is by me and the photo prompt I was given is the very top picture. I've also included it on its own at the bottom so you can get a good look!

Warnings: some angst and tension but he's soft (maybe soft!d-a-r-kish if you squint) and definitely s-e-x-y.

In the deep, dark of the woods, where the moon’s pale light struggles to pierce through the dense canopy of trees, there is a thick silence other than the rapid thumping of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears.

Your feet catch on fallen twigs and branches, your skin scraped and torn but you don’t stop running.

Unseen eyes watch from the shadows, a presence so powerful you can feel it in your bones.

You’re being hunted.

Instinct fuels your escape but it’s futile as the forest seems to shift around you, pathways twisting and turning in a disorienting dance.

As you stumble over the ground and fall to your knees you suck in a deep breath, the whisper of wind carrying strange murmurs in a language you don’t understand.

Suddenly, you feel a cool breath at your neck, your hairs standing on end and goosebumps shivering along your skin.

You turn with wide, fear filled eyes but there’s nothing but the darkness of the woods pressing ever closer.

You stand on shaky legs and step carefully toward a large tree, pressing your back to the thick bark and searching for the source of the palpable force.  

A tall and broad figure emerges from the shadows, it’s silhouette only something you’ve seen in books and as it moves closer, steps measured and deliberate, you can start to see the outline of huge wings.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will the image away, digging your fingertips into the tree.

The voice, when it speaks, is a whisper against the shell of your ear, powerful in it’s seduction and dangerous in it’s temptation.

 A slow and deeply satisfied smile frames sharp teeth and his breath quickens when he inhales at the soft skin of your neck.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “My perfect Angel.”

Your eyes are still closed tightly as a single tear rolls down your cheek. He lifts his thumb to tenderly brush it away.

“Open your eyes,” he says softly.

Unable to resist you do as he says.

“There,” he says, holding his saccharine smile. “Was that so hard.”

Your lips tremble as you try to find the words to speak. His thumb, still pressed to your skin, moves lower, tracing the outline of your mouth until he lightly presses against it, parting your lips.

“Don’t be afraid,” he coos, spreading expansive wings the color of twilight until you’re surrounded only by his presence. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He tilts his head invitingly and holds your gaze, the horns that crown his head, twisting upward with artistic grace, glinting in the moonlight.

Your lips part further as something moves behind him, long and sinewy but before you can decipher what it is it disappears from sight.

“Wh…who are you?” you manage to ask as you finally let your eyes wander over the rest of his features.

He inches closer, his nearness creating a complex blend of emotions and sensations, blurring the lines between fear and desire in a way you could never have imagined.

His blue eyes are mesmerizing, their intensity both powerful and imposing but yet softened by an unyielding desire. Long but strong fingers continue to ghost over your face, his touch igniting a fire under your skin that spreads through your veins.

“James. You can call me James.”

You gasp out his name when you feel something slide along your calf. It’s touch is gentle despite the power you feel and as it explores the contours of your skin with reverent curiosity you become aware of what it is.

Each caress of his tail leaves a lingering trace of tingling sensations, awakening a trail of longing that seems to coil around your very being. He slides it between your breasts, lightly tracing the curve of your neck before he loosely wraps it around the delicate column.

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His dark hairs falls forward, brushing your cheek as his soft lips caress your ear and his voice, like velvet, whispers promises that sink deep into the recesses of your desires.

“Everything Angel. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @late-to-the-party-81 @sebstanwhore @lookiamtrying @laineyreads @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @kmc1989 @littleseasiren

[maizylx]

How can a man like him be a mighty General?

Short Jing yuan x reader (gn) fluff story!

Words: 821

it's my first story on this account so don't expect too much! :D

As the tranquil evening settled upon the Xhianzou Loufu, your beloved boyfriend, Jing Yuan, was in the midst of a valiant battle against the forces of chaos reigning over his side of the bed. With determination etched upon his features he embarked on a quest to liberate the bed from the clutches of clothes and Mimi’s unruly fur. Despite his efforts, Mimi’s fluffy tufts seemed to fly merrily in the air, especially now as the weather gets hotter. You sat on your side of the bed, a grin playing upon your lips as you observed his valiant struggle to free his pillow from the feline’s fur, only to surrender with an exasperated huff. The day had been long and arduous and with a sigh he finally surrendered to the comforting embrace of the bed burying his face into the pillow. Bathed in the gentle glow of the evening sun his silhouette against the soft backdrop cast a spell of delight upon your heart, filling you with a sense of joy and contentment. Your boyfriend's gaze lifted from the plush comfort of his pillow, his lips curving into his trademark lazy cat smile. "What had you grinning just now, my dear?" His voice, deep and resonant, reverberated from his throat as he fixed you with a curious stare.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you replied, attempting to feign innocence, but Jing Yuan wasn't in the mood for games today. With a swift movement, he reached out, his hand encircling your hip as he drew you closer to his body, ensnaring you beneath him. Nestling his face affectionately into the curve of your neck from behind, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you securely in place, making any attempt to escape futile. You grumbled in protest, but his innocent cat-like smirk softened your resolve, and you found yourself reaching out to caress the side of his head, fingers tangling in his long, fluffy white tresses. He leaned into your touch, emitting a low purr of contentment as he cuddled you from behind, enveloping you in his warmth and affection.

As the evening sun began its descent, casting shadows that gradually enveloped the room in darkness, a switch seemed to flick on within him, prompting a wide yawn to escape his lips. A chuckle bubbled up from within you, unable to resist teasing him just a little. "Feeling a bit tired, are we?" you cooed teasingly.

"Indeed, my dear, tackling paperwork all day can be quite exhausting," your beloved replied with a hint of weariness and a touch of smugness.

"Oh, I'm sure pretending to do paperwork must be absolutely draining," you teased back, earning an instant pout from him. "There's still room on the couch, you know," Jing Yuan said in mock offense, lightly nipping at the skin of your neck.

You couldn't help but giggle at the ticklish sensation of his lips against your neck, squirming playfully under him to face him. As you turned around, he nestled into his favorite pillow; your chest. He let out a contented hum as you gently caressed the back of his head. With a blink of your eyes, he had already drifted off into slumber, soft snores emanating from his throat. Seriously, how could he fall asleep so quickly? It wasn't even night yet, and he was already sleeping like a baby.

You didn't complain, though you attempted to drift off to sleep as well. However, you hadn't quite mastered the art of falling into unconsciousness within seconds like him, so you found yourself staring up at the ceiling. After a while, the monotony of staring at the ceiling became too much to bear, prompting you to reach for a book resting on the nightstand. You couldn't read in the pitch-black darkness of the room, so you flicked on the small night lamp, casting a soft glow over the pages of the book. The light wasn't bright enough to disturb your beloved's peaceful slumber, but it did cause him to shift a few times.

The only sounds in the room were the rhythmic cadence of his breathing and the gentle rustle of pages being turned. Your mind became ensnared by the captivating tale within the book, your focus narrowing solely on the words and the vivid images they conjured in your imagination. However, a soft whining sound broke through the enchantment of the story, pulling you back to reality. You glanced down to find your boyfriend, his features contorted in sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. After a moment of attentive listening, you managed to discern a few words amidst his slumbering mumbles. He was mumbling your name with slight possessiveness "…y/n…mine mhh…" You couldn't help but smirk slightly at his childish display of attachment.

Seriously, how could someone like him, who behaved like a clingy child in his sleep, be the dreaded General of the Xhianzou Loufu who commanded thousands of men?

Thank you for reading <3

[queenshelby]

The Slave (Part 3)

PAIRING: TOMMY SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: NON-CON, CAPTURED READER, SLAVE READER, TOMMY GETTING OFF ON PAIN

NOTE: AGAIN THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I FELT A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE PUBLISHING IT...VERY DARK!

In the end though, after a torturous week, you did escape. During one of Thomas' business trips, you snuck out of the opulent mansion and ran as fast and far as you could, without looking back, without knowing where you were going. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, fueling your weary limbs with strength and determination.

You couldn't believe it when you finally found refuge but the peace and quiet in your life was short lived when, after as little a five days, he found you.

Thomas Shelby, with his piercing blue eyes and sharp features, was relentless and refused to let go of his property.

"Get into the fucking car," he roared, his voice booming like thunder through the quiet streets of London as one of his paid police officers had given up your location, 

Fear gripped your heart like a vice, your legs turning to jelly as you took off running once again. You wanted to scream, to plead with him to leave you alone, but the words got stuck in your throat.

Your lungs burned and your chest ached as you desperately tried to put some distance between you and your pursuer.

But it was no use. Thomas Shelby was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and he wasn't about to let you slip through his fingers.

As he tackled you to the ground, you could feel the breath being knocked out of your lungs. He pinned your arms behind your back, his breath hot and heavy against your neck as he whispered filthy, degrading things in your ear.

"You belong to me whether you like it or not," he growled. "You think you can escape from me? I own you." Thomas' grip tightened around your wrists, causing you to yelp in pain as he dragged you into his car.

You struggled in vain, your kicks and punches proving futile against his strength and determination and within hours, you found yourself locked up in an even less favorable place than before.

Like an animal, he had chained you to a wall inside the confides of Arrow House. Only a mattress on the floor, accompanied by a bucket of water were available to you now until you had learned your place.

As time passed, you slowly realized that you were stuck and with the tight ropes wrapped around your wrists you could no longer resist as the seasoned gangster made every effort to break down your inhibitions.

"Now look at you, eh," Tommy said as, a few hours after he had captured you again, he entered the room where you were curled up, naked, on the dirty mattress on the floor.

You were still handcuffed, your wrists raw and sore from struggling against your bindings. You looked up at him with terrified eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks.

He strode across the room and knelt down in front of you, his smoky scent engulfing you as he placed a hand on your thigh. 

"You think you can escape me?" Tommy sneered, tracing a finger up your inner thigh. You whimpered, trying to pull away from his touch, but he only gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. "You belong to me now, Love. There's no going back."

With those words, he forced himself upon you, his rough hands grasping at your delicate body as he pulled you on to your knees.

"And I think that, perhaps, you still need to learn your place, eh?" Thomas smirked, as the cruel glint in his eyes sharpened as he pushed your head down.

"Now tell me, who is your master Love? Tell me, who do you serve?" he asked again, tightening his grip on your hair. "Say it, Love. Tell me who your master is."

"You, sir," you replied softly, on the brink of tears.

"What was that? I can't hear you. Speak up," he demanded, his voice brutal and commanding.

"You sir," you choked out, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your cheeks. "You are my master."

He gave a twisted kind of smile. "Good girl," he murmured, releasing his hold on your hair.

"Now lick my shoes and beg for forgiveness for your disobedience," he commanded, his voice dripping with malice.

Your heart sank as you realized just how low he would make you stoop. 

"No," you protested, shaking your head as you tried to pull back.

"No, don't touch me," you cried, your voice pleading and desperate, but he paid no heed. Instead, he grabbed your hair, pulling your head back so you had to look at him.

"Do it," he growled lowly, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire that made you flinch.

"No!" you protested, struggling against him. "Get off me!"

But Thomas was too strong. He pushed you down onto the bed before spinning you around, flipping you over on to your stomach.

"Fine, have it your fucking way then," he snarled before attaching your bound wrists to one of the anker points in the wall. "You'll understand soon enough, Love, that this is how things work in my world."

With that, he abruptly pulled you onto your hands and knees, the cold hardwood floor biting into the skin of your kneecaps. You winced in pain but didn't dare make a sound. After all, you knew exactly what kind of person you now belonged to.

"Keep still," Thomas commanded in a hushed tone before running his hands roughly over your hips, squeezing and bruising your delicate flesh.

He then unbuckled his belt and removed it from his pants, folding it in half and taking a step back from you. You flinched instinctively, anticipating the pain that was about to be inflicted upon you.

Thomas brought the belt down with a loud crack, its impact sending a sharp pain shooting through your buttocks. You cried out, tears springing unbidden to your eyes, but he didn't stop there. He continued to lay into your flesh, the sound of leather against skin echoing around the room, punctuated by your cries of pain.

Each strike left another welt on your ass and thighs, your skin rapidly becoming a canvas of crimson marks.

When he finally stopped, your whole body shaking and sobbing, you felt him kneel down behind you. His hands gently stroked your heated skin, tracing the lines of pain he had inflicted.

"Ssssh, there now," he murmured softly, his voice almost soothing in its intensity. "Are you going to obey me now or am I going to have to belt that sweet little cunt of yours as well?"  Thomas' voice was a husky whisper, his fingers brushing against your sensitive folds.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, but you knew better than to argue with him, especially when he was in this kind of mood.

"Y-yes, sir," you squeaked out, your voice shaking with fear and anticipation.

Thomas gave you a cruel smile as he stood up and took a step back. His eyes were glued to your exposed body, his gaze searing a path from your battered ass to the pink petals between your thighs.

"Good girl," he said before taking position in front of you. "Now, you will lick my shoes and beg me for forgiveness and then I will give you a good hard fucking, just as you deserve." Thomas sneered, that familiar glint in his eyes.

You knew better than to argue so, with tears streaming down your face, you began to lick and kiss his shoes. Each swipe of your tongue was filled with resentment and hatred for the man standing above you. Soon, your saliva coated the leather as you pleaded for his mercy.

He watched you with a sadistic grin, seemingly enjoying every moment of your degradation.

Thomas leaned back against the bureau and undid the button of his trousers. His erection sprung free, long and hard, as he began to stroke it once you had finished licking his shoes.

"You are mine now. Mine to do as I please whenever I want. You will learn to love this life, or at the very least, you'll learn to play your part."

He stepped closer, his manhood brushing against your cheek.

"Open up and let me in, little one," he commanded. "I know you're hungry for it."

You hesitated for a moment, but the fear and disgust warring within you were easily swept away by the desire to please him. To survive.

You parted your lips, allowing him to guide his cock between them. The taste was foreign and slightly repulsive, but you swallowed hard and began to suck.

Thomas sighed in pleasure, his fingers weaving through your hair as he held you in place. He controlled the pace, sometimes slow and gentle, other times hard and fast.

His free hand fondled your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples until they were aching and sensitive. You whimpered and moaned softly around him, your own hands clenching into fists at your sides as you fought to maintain control.

"That's it, Love," Thomas groaned, thrusting shallowly into your throat. "Just like that... take it all in."

His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging harshly as his hips began to shift back and forth, setting a hot, punishing rhythm in which your mouth was expected to follow.

Your eyes watered at the force, but you dared not pull away or try to stop him; you'd learned quickly enough that your obedience was non-negotiable.

He pushed further into your throat, the tip of his shaft hitting the back of it as he began to moan, his fingers tugging harder on your sensitive scalp.

Saliva dripped from your chin as you struggled to breathe around him, coughing and spluttering slightly as he relentlessly thrust into your mouth.

Thomas' thrusts became more erratic, the head of his cock sliding against your tongue repeatedly. His free hand gripped your shoulder, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pushed himself as deep as he could.

You gagged, tears streaming down your face, but he didn't seem to care. He continued to thrust into your mouth, his hips jerking violently as he reached his climax.

"Right down the hatch, eh," he groaned as his warm and sticky cum shot into the back of your throat, causing you to swallow convulsively, trying to keep back the bile that rose in your throat.

Thomas eventually pulled out, his cock softening in front of your swollen and bruised lips.

You sighed in relief, your body shuddering as you fought to catch your breath. It tasted foul, but you knew better than to protest; the consequences would surely be far worse.

Thomas stroked himself a few more times, admiring his own erection before shifting back into position behind you.

"Wider," he grunted, forcing your legs apart with his knees. You bit back a whimper as he settled himself between your thighs, the tip of his shaft pressing against your entrance.

"That's a good girl." Thomas patted your bottom approvingly. "Such a good little whore."

He pushed inside you, and you cried out at the intense pain, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Look at this swollen red cunt of yours," Thomas muttered, pleased with what he saw. "You're mine now. I'm going to make you scream until you can't scream anymore."

You tried to move away, but his grip on your hips was too tight. He thrust deeper, causing you to howl in pain. Thomas savored the feeling, savoring the control he had over you.

"Please stop," you pleaded, but Thomas was relentless, merciless in his pursuit.

He kept thrusting deeper, harder, his fingers digging into your hips as he claimed you. Each move sent a sharp pain shooting through your body, one that you couldn't ignore.

"What's the matter, Love?" Thomas taunted, his voice thick with lust. "Can't take it?" He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "You're going to take it, you're going to take all of me."

You whimpered as he continued to plunge into you, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal.

"Please pull out," you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks as his cock scraped against the abused walls of your pussy.

"You want me to pull out?” Thomas sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Alright then, I will pull out and stick it up your arse instead, eh?" Thomas grunted, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled out of your pussy and teased the entrance of your backside.

"There, does that feel better, Love?" he taunted, pressing against your tight hole.

"No, please! Don't do this!" you begged, your voice shaking as you started sobbing uncontrollably. 

"Ssh, don't fight it, Love." Thomas whispered as he forcefully pushed past the tight ring of muscle that guarded your backside. You screamed in agony, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to pull away.

"Ah fuck yes," Thomas hissed, his voice thick with lust as he forced himself deeper inside of you. "I knew you'd like it rough."

"No, stop," you cried, your voice hoarse from screaming. But Thomas only laughed in response.

"Come on, Love. You know you like it," he sneered, grinding himself deeper into you.

The pain was unbearable, but you knew that fighting him would only make things worse. So you lay there, limp and sobbing, as Thomas took his pleasure from you.

"Your arse is so fucking tight," he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic.

"My cock barely fits inside," he bit out, gripping your hips tightly before lifting you up a little in order to fuck you harder.

"This ass was made for me, for taking my cock," Tommy told you, his voice almost guttural as he dug his fingers into your soft flesh, bruising you as he fucked you relentlessly with nothing stopping him, certainly not your tearful sobs and pleas.

"And I am going to fill it up with my cum now, eh?"

Tommy grunted, reaching around to fist your hair with one hand while the other continued to molest your breast.

"Shall I paint your insides with my seed, Love?" he asked, thrusting mercilessly into you, causing you to whimper in pain.

You felt your body being pushed to its limits as Tommy rammed his cock deep inside of you, again and again, totally ignoring the tears streaming down your face and the sobs you struggled to suppress.

The excruciating pain in your anus threatened to consume your entire being, and the sensation of him ripping through you was unbearable.

However, you knew that you had no choice but to endure it - Tommy had made it clear that your life as his sex slave would be filled with this kind of suffering.

"Goddammit Love," Thomas muttered, his thrusts faltering as he felt his orgasm building deep within him. "You're so fucking tight."

Then without warning, his grip on your hips tightened viciously and he buried himself deep inside of you, crying out loudly as he came, filling you up with his hot and sticky semen.

You gasped as he jerked inside of you, the feeling of his release overwhelming you. But even as he emptied himself into your body, Thomas showed no signs of tenderness or consideration.

As soon as he caught his breath, he withdrew from you with a grunt, leaving you feeling sore and violated.

Despite the pain, not a single word of protest escaped your lips. Instead, you bit back a whimper, trembling uncontrollably as you tried to hold yourself together. But as his semen dripped down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of despair wash over you.

Tommy had bought you as a sex slave, but the reality of your situation was far more brutal than you could have ever imagined. You were his now and you had no way of escaping again.

[inou-ie]

I WAS THINKING 😳 what do you think Rahu, Shalom and Cabarnet would act like if reader tried to push them off of them while they are breeding us 😳😳😳🙏🙏🙏🫡

For Rahu, I think she'd stop moving for a moment while looking at you with a confused expression. She'd ask you what's wrong and if it hurts then proceeds to push herself back inside you while waiting for your answer. Poor big puppy was about to cum when you pushed her off. Now she's whimpering on top of you, struggling to keep herself still while waiting for you to tell her what to do.

Shalom, well... it'll be the first and last time you'll be able to push her off. She never expected you to dare push her away during such moments. Next time, she'll make sure to tie you up so you won't be able to move while she pounds you hard. Shalom will make sure you're all sore and swelling before she pulls out.

For Cabernet, you can't push her away easily. She'll place you in a position where resistance is futile. Of course, you can attempt to push her off, but as much as she enjoys watching you squirm and whimper, she hates being interrupted. If you ever manage to do so, expect her to ensure you won't be able to walk for days.

[poprock-gangsta]

𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖗

☆ ☆ ☆ 𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 ☆ ☆ ☆

Summary: If life's hardships can be likened to a living hell, then your existence seems to have plunged into a realm of double torment. The perpetrator of this suffering? None other than Smiley, a figure who paradoxically claims affection for you.

Kinks: Degrading, Impact Play, Breeding (ofc), Humiliation, Sadism

Tw: Gaslighting, Manipulation, Bullying, Violence, Weird Ran

Word Count : 3.7k

Enjoy!

As you sat in class, your mind struggled to focus on the lesson at hand. Despite your best efforts, the minutes dragged on, and it seemed like time had come to a standstill. But just when you thought you couldn't take it any longer, the bell finally rang. You gathered your belongings, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid the gaze of your personal executioner.

As you stepped out of the classroom, you were suddenly enveloped into someone's embrace. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was - the familiar scent and uncomfortable pressure of their arms were unmistakable. "Not now, Nahoya," you protested, attempting to squirm your way out of his grasp .

Disgrauding your protest, he tightens his hold, pulling you closer into him until every breath is a struggle and you have to look up at him just to breathe. A wicked grin spreads across his face, as he maneuvers you forcefully towards the rooftop. Your attempts to resist prove fruitless, despite your desperate struggle. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes you both, and you find yourself on the ground, positioned between his legs, while he leans against the fence. As time passes, you endeavor to turn around and catch a glimpse of his face, only to have him thwart your efforts by wrapping his arms around your waist, and burying his chin in your shoulders.

"Come on, Nahoya I’m going to be late!” you urge loudly however he persists, nuzzling his chin deeper into the hollow of your shoulders. The pleas and appeals for understanding continue to fall on deaf ears, until, at last, he grows weary of your entreaties. Letting out a protracted sigh, he concedes, albeit in a sadistic tone that sends a shiver coursing down your spine. "Fine, fine, if you're so desperate to make it to class,give me a kiss," his words echo with an unsettling edge. Caught off guard by his proposition, you hesitate momentarily, but knowing how he was you knew this was your only way of getting out so summoning all your courage you turn around.

With your eyes locked, you reach out to hold his cheeks, gradually leaning closer, only to have him retreat at the last moment, denying your advance. Undeterred, you persistently make subsequent attempts, each ending in the same frustrating manner. Exasperated, you decide you've had enough, and turned back to gaze upon the solid expanse of the cemented rooftop floor. "Aw Snowflake I knew you wanted to spend some time with me " he remarks, in a playful yet theatrical tone. Determined to disregard his comment, you shift your focus to your phone, and text your friend in hopes to get their notes for the day.

Hearing you type causes Nahoya to resolutely rest his neck on your shoulders, drawing you in even closer. “Who are you texting Snowflake?” he says while his once playful tone takes a sharp turn, exuding an air of rudeness and dominance. Attempting to disregard his intrusive question, you find yourself at his mercy as he begins peppering your neck with delicate butterfly kisses. Your instincts compel you to squirm away, but his vice-like grip renders any movement futile, leaving you trapped in his embrace. The incessant teasing reaches its breaking point, and you assertively confront him, stating, "I'm texting my friend to ask if I can borrow his notes since you refuse to let me go."

Abruptly, Nahoya ceases the trail of kisses down your neck and swiftly rises to his feet, simultaneously tugging you up with him. Not uttering a single word, he forcefully presses you against the fence's edge on the rooftop. A sense of confusion lingers in your gaze, yet he perceives it as an invitation, seizing the chance to engage you in a passionate, consuming kiss. As you lean back against the fence, attempting to find stability, Nahoya remains unfazed, wholly consumed by the fervent clash of your tongues.

As your lungs start to sear, you surrender the power struggle. Nahoya detects the intensity of your grip, and after what feels like an eternity, he gradually releases himself. Helplessly, you witness the thread of saliva snap, and just like the thread you collapsed to your knees. Nahoya proceeds to depart, leaving you with a final remark. "Talking about another man while I’m right here is such a turn off, so let's give this another shot after school." And don’t try to run away cause I would rather not have to punish you.

He descends the stairs, his laughter resonating throughout, while you remain seated, lost in contemplation over the recent events. Nahoya had wreaked havoc on your high school existence, tarnishing your reputation through spreading rumors that kept potential relationships at bay. He even went as far as capturing images of himself on your phone, to falsely portray you as a stalker. Moreover, he coerced you into a forced kiss with a guy in the presence of his girlfriend, branding you as a pervert and subjecting you to relentless bullying. So why did a single kiss from him set your heart racing, and why did you find solace in his discomfort? Nothing seemed to align in this bewildering haze.

After regaining composure, you composed yourself and made your way to class. As you took your seat beside your best friend, you noticed your teacher shooting a skeptical glance in your direction. Unlike the rest, your friend saw past the rumors and odd perceptions, never deeming you strange. You made an effort not to burden him, knowing his genuine character, yet his expression betrayed his concern. To alleviate his worries, you hastily jotted down a message on a piece of paper and handed it to him. With a quick read, he responded with an affirming thumbs up. The note simply explained that your tardiness was due to a visit to the nurse's office.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of yet another class, you retreated, this time infused with a newfound fervor compared to earlier. The weight of impending consequences loomed over you, threatening harm to either yourself or someone dear if you dared to be late for your rendezvous with Nahoya. With a hurried motion, you hastily stowed away your last pencil, neglecting to bid farewell to your friend or fully zip up your backpack. Without delay, you bolted out of the classroom, driven by an urgent sense of purpose.

Returning to the rooftop before Nahoya arrived, you gently placed your book bag on the ground, allowing your gaze to descend upon the sprawling campus below. Surprisingly, from this elevated vantage point, the view revealed a captivating beauty that had eluded your perception from ground level. It struck you as paradoxical that a place which inflicted such profound anguish could possess such resplendence in the afternoon light. Regrettably, this allure only served to deepen the painful scars etched within you.

After a brief interval, Nahoya materializes, prompting you to turn your gaze towards him. Yet, his countenance lacks the usual exuberant smile that earned him his moniker. Evidently, he must have detected your suspicion, as he proceeds to explain, "Mikey insists we attend a party to celebrate his sister, and it's crucial that we bring along a companion of the opposite gender to maintain a balanced guest list as we’re Emma's exact words." As he finishes his statement, his anger becomes even more apparent. Drawing nearer, he enfolds you in a tight embrace, before confiding, "Every girl I contemplated inviting was either doused in a cheap ass perfume or concealed beneath layers of fake personalities." In that moment, you discerned his true intention.

Firm and resolute, you assert, "No, Nahoya, I’m not going " emphasizing your words with an air of authority. However, when he retorts, "Well, Snowflake, it would be a shame if something were to happen to your dear friend," a wave of fear and anger overtakes your countenance. Aware of Nahoya 's propensity to act upon his threats, you choose to remain silent, releasing a sigh of resignation before reluctantly conceding, "Fine, I'll go." In that moment, Nahoya finally relinquished his grip on you, planting a hasty kiss on your cheek. "Good. I'll meet you there at 6," he remarks before abruptly dashing off.

After casting one final glance at the enchanting vistas of the campuses, you swiftly made your way back home. With a sense of purpose, you stepped into the refreshing cascade of the shower, commencing your preparations for the evening. At first, uncertainty plagued your choice of attire, until a recollection stirred within you — the prom dress you had purchased but never had the courage to wear, apprehensive of the potential consequences. Determinedly, you locate the dress and carefully slip into its elegant embrace. Adorned with a pair of exquisite earrings and a delicate mist of perfume, you step out the door, embarking on your journey towards the address Nahoya had communicated while you were amidst the shower's rejuvenating waters.

Beneath the seemingly ordinary facade of a vacation setting lay a realm of sheer magnificence awaiting your entry. Stepping inside, you were instantly immersed in its resplendence. The air pulsated with energetic music, and the surroundings teemed with a vibrant tapestry of people engaged in various pursuits—some lost in passionate embraces in secluded corners, while others reveled in the liberating consumption of drinks. In this moment, everything seemed to align, and you found yourself truly enjoying the experience. No judgment or mistreatment weighed upon you; you were free to embrace your authentic self, basking in the brilliance of your existence.

Yet, the euphoria was abruptly shattered when an unfortunate misstep caused you to stumble, resulting in a twisted ankle. Gradually, the pain escalated, prompting you to seek respite in a place of solace. Thankfully, an unoccupied couch beckoned invitingly, conveniently positioned outdoors by the pool. As you reached the couch, you gingerly removed your heels, settling onto its comfortable cushions. Tenderly, you began massaging your ankle, seeking to alleviate the throbbing ache that had encroached upon your otherwise joyous affair.

After a few fleeting moments, you yielded to the impulse of closing your eyes, granting your mind the freedom to wander. Yet, your tranquil reverie was abruptly interrupted by a soft voice interjecting, "May I join you?" Startled, you opened your eyes to find a tall boy with a distinctive hairstyle, his hair twisted into two braided strands of contrasting blonde and black. Respectfully, you removed your feet from the couch, gesturing with your hands for him to take a seat. Obliging, he settled down beside you, and a conversation ensued. "It seems you were seeking some respite in the open air as well," you acknowledged with a nod, seeking to establish a shared connection with your newfound acquaintance.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, a sense of camaraderie blossomed between you and your intriguing new companion. Ran, as you discovered, hailed from a different gang, but had secured an invitation due to his brother's friendships within this circle. Expressing his aversion to the revelry and libations that pervaded the gathering, Ran confided that he sought solace in the fresh air, a sentiment you wholeheartedly shared. Engrossed in conversation, you and Ran continued to converse, gradually drawing closer until your shoulders nearly brushed against each other. This uncharted territory evoked a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty within you, for this was your first genuine connection with someone beyond the confines of your existing friendship.

Just then Ran's hand ventured onto your thigh, an instinctual reaction propelled you to gently place your hand atop his, a subtle gesture intended to halt any further advances. However, instead of acknowledging your boundaries, Ran's tone shifted, his voice acquiring an edge as he urged, "Come on, Doll. You're an enchanting girl, and I wouldn’t mind sharing something more precious with you." His words dripped with a demanding intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Attempting to extricate yourself from the uncomfortable situation, you mustered the courage to rise, only to be forcefully pulled back down by Ran, intensifying your fear and confusion.

Just when it seemed like things were spiraling towards an even darker path, a sudden appearance disrupted the unfolding turmoil. Nahoya materialized before you, but his countenance betrayed a sinister transformation. A grin adorned his face, but it was not the customary playful smile you had grown accustomed to; instead, it bore the malicious smirk he wore every time he succeeded in orchestrating the ruin of a significant aspect of your life. In this unexpected moment, despite the fear gripping you, an inexplicable desire for Nahoya 's intervention surged within you, magnifying the complexity of your emotions.

In that harrowing moment, a devastating realization struck you with unrelenting force—this was all part of Nahoya 's twisted machinations. Tears welled up in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as Smiley ominously drew closer. The weight of his presence, coupled with the weight of years of torment, caused you to crumble completely. His hand upon you unleashed a torrent of pent-up rage, an outpouring of emotions that surged forth with raw intensity. "Don't you dare lay a finger on me, you sick, despicable bastard! What have I ever done to deserve this treatment? You've shattered my life, you’ve destroyed me!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and anguish. Without a moment's hesitation, you fled, racing upstairs and seeking refuge within an empty room.

In that secluded space, devoid of solace or answers, you found yourself sprawled upon the floor, fixated upon the expanse of the ceiling above. It became your silent confidant, a witness to the turmoil consuming your soul. In that vulnerable state, your only recourse was to lay there, hoping that somehow, someway, the mere act of staring at the ceiling would grant respite from the anguish that enveloped you.

As footsteps echo outside the bedroom, you gather your wits, scanning the room to identify the approaching presence. It comes as no surprise when Nahoya appears at the doorway. "What do you want now?" you ask, your voice tinged with despair and desperation. He remains silent, advancing towards you on the floor. In response, you rise from the floor and take a seat on the bed’s edge.

So he joins you, bringing you side by side with the man who has inflicted immeasurable torment upon you. Honesty compels you to admit that the urge to strangle him is overwhelming, yet you valiantly suppress that dark inclination within you.

A tranquil silence enveloped the room, only to be disrupted when Nahoya swiftly seized your waist, pulling you into his lap. You attempt to utter a question, but it is swiftly silenced as Nahoya engulfs you in a passionate, fervent kiss. Struggling against his advances, you vigorously pound your hands against his chest, but he quells your resistance by firmly grasping both of your hands with one of his own. Eventually, he releases his grip, leaving you bewildered, and it is in this moment of perplexity that he utters something utterly unforeseen, catching you off guard.

"I love you," he murmurs gently into your ear, and a surge of emotions floods your being, as if a cherished part of your soul had been brutally torn apart, as if a searing flame had been mercilessly pressed against an open wound. With tear-filled eyes, you lock your gaze upon him, the weight of his words sinking deep within you, intermingling with the memories of his countless transgressions.

"Hahaha, love? Are you mocking me? If inflicting pain upon me is your twisted way of expressing love, then you are even more deranged than I had believed," you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of anguish and frustration. Your tears continue to flow unabated as you vividly recollect the litany of wrongs committed by this man. In that poignant moment, Nahoya abruptly seizes your cheek, his touch both possessive and venomous. "Any man who claims to love you is only seeking to possess your body, and we both know the bitter truth," he hisses, his words laced with a poisonous disdain.

His words struck a painful chord, resonating with a bitter truth. It was an undeniable fact that love had become an elusive concept, forever out of reach for someone like you. He had meticulously orchestrated a web of manipulation, ensuring that you would never experience genuine affection from another. He craved total possession, sparing no one in his relentless pursuit, driving you to a point of no return—a place where he alone held sway over your existence.

Yes, he had succeeded in molding you into his puppet, a mere object to satisfy his whims. However, the scars he had inflicted upon you, both visible and invisible, were etched deep within your being. And now, driven by a seething resolve, you were prepared to exact your revenge, even if it meant sacrificing everything, selling your very soul. Nothing held meaning anymore; your sole purpose had become witnessing his descent into the abyss of moral decay, just as you had.

Driven by your fervent objective, you seized his collar, forcefully pulling him closer until your lips collided in an all-consuming kiss. In that intense moment, a battle for control ensued, as tongues danced and mingled, each vying for supremacy within the confines of your mouths. Gasping for breath, you reluctantly disengaged, allowing the oxygen to replenish your lungs before willingly succumbing to the gravitational pull of one another. The fiery embrace recommenced, an unabated display of ardor, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your veins, awakening a primal desire that stirred between your quivering thighs.

With a swift yet deliberate motion, he gently guides you to recline upon the bed, the weight of his presence enveloping you. As his hands deftly weave through your tresses, your fingers instinctively entwine in his hair, hovering tantalizingly above your supine form. With each deliberate caress, his skillful touch sends electric waves of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the growing dampness that permeates your undergarments. "Are you sure ready to give in yet, Snowflake?" he queries, his voice a seductive blend of allure and sophistication, teasingly testing your desires. With a deep inhalation, you nod in affirmation, your breath hitching in anticipation, yearning to experience the euphoric ecstasy only he can bestow.

As he swiftly removed your pants and your adorable ribboned panties, his grin widened. While his fingers creep up your thigh and send shivers up your spine. A trembling moan of surprise escapes your lips as his hand slaps down against your pussy.As he ran his finger along your pouty lips, you melted in his hands. You moaningl arched your back and sank further into the mattress as he drew tight circles on your clit.

He grabbed his cock that was dripping with percum and lined it up at your sopping entrance, slapping his flushed pink tip against it a few times.

I’m He slowly eased his way inside, trying to giving you a chance to get used to his height and bulk. You whimper as you cling to the bed sheets. Just then he slammed himself into your sweet spot , saying, "Your so tight for me , f..fuck." He then dragged his cock back out, leaving only his flushed tip inside.

“M…Naho, too deep…sh~

You began to feel strange and whimpered. He speeds up to a more rough pace. He continued to stuff his thick cock into your cute little cunt. Digging his nail deeper into your love handles every time he slams his cock balls deep into you.

“ M’ mm if I knew y-youu were this goodd I would havvve done thhis years ago f-”

He thrusted hard into you causing you to see stars . It was as if your entire focus was on seducing him into cumming deep inside of you. At that precise moment, he grabbed you by the waist and impaled you on his plump cock, causing his balls to slap against your ass. 10x

He waited for your cunt to begin twitching and spasming around him. Your screams drowned out all other sounds in the room. You’re about to cum for me” Will then you dirty slut go head and cum all over my thick cock? Milk me dry” bet you can’t wait to have my fat load inside.” In a condescending tone, he leaned in and whispered in your ear.

In silence, you allowed him to continue pounding your weeping cunt, groaning into your ear, and biting at your neck. “I want you to cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are, so "cum for me Snowflake"

After a couple more hard thrusts, you finally unraveled on him, your cunt squeezing so tightly that he started to see stars. Your cum causes a creamy white ring to form on the base of Nahoya cock.

“Fuckkk… I need to be stuffed with my cum. Until it looks like I've used up every last bit of you, but that's fine, because you want me to fuck a cute little baby into you, right?” You nodded absentmindedly as your eyes rolled to the back of your head in response to his meow in your ear. He slammed you against his cock several more times before releasing a stream of warm cum into your uterus. A single step forward felt like it would bring you completely undone.

He held his position so that when he did eventually pull out, as little of his cum as possible would be wasted. You lay there, gasping for air as he gave you gentle thrusts to further embed his cum in your body.

Once he pulled out he got up from the bed and went over to the dresser and pulled out a butt plug. Getting back in bed he opens your legs and places it right inside making sure that not a single drop of his cum was wasted. And with that you pulls you into his embrace and says “ I love you Snowflake, and I can’t wait for a future” you in response braying your chin into his shoulder and whisper mound enough to wear you can only hear it.

“Yep I also can’t wait for are hellish future together”

[joshslater]

The Proposal

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I had to admit it really was a beautiful spot, just as he had promised. You could see the wheat fields stretching out for miles below the slope, golden in the afternoon glow. They were perfectly framed by the trees on either side of our parking spot, giving off that wonderful late-summer fragrance of hot greenery and hay. All of it wasted on me, my attention focused on the man sitting beside me on the truck flatbed, also fragrant with tobacco and hot afternoon man.

"You'll love it," he said with that local twang. "I can set you up in your own room if you like. Take it slow, you know, so you can settle in. There's so much work." My heart was racing as I looked him over. Lean, farm-built muscles, wrapped in late-summer tanned skin, poured into blue jeans and a cutoff shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination. He wasn't magazine cover shredded, but you could tell that if he ever bothered to cut he'd have abs like any model. The shitty tattoo peaking out on his back would probably keep him off the front pages though.

He turned and our eyes met. He had kind, greenish eyes. I wanted to look away, but his gaze was magnetic. "Fuck, you're cute," he said and smiled. We just stared for seconds. "You'll need some new clothes though to blend in. And a haircut," he said and ruffled my hair. "We'll do something about that tonight. Hang on, I'll get something. Stay here!"

He jumped off the flatbed in a well-rehearsed athletic leap and walked around to get something from the passenger's side. I wanted to jump off the truck too, run down the green hill, and into the fields below, but I remained as he had said. In a moment he was back with an opened beer can in his hand. Just as swiftly, despite the logger boots, he was back on the bed next to me. "I think you should get a tattoo also. Not a branding exactly, but something that shows you belong." He rubbed his thumb against my shoulder. "I can get Dylan to do it."

He looked out over the fields and took another big swig from the can, but backwashed quite a bit back into the can. "Here, drink this," he said and handed over the almost full can. I took a big sip. It wasn't as bad as I had feared. He must have stored it in a cooler because while it wasn't exactly cold, it was way cooler than the hot inside of the truck. I was about to take another sip when I could feel the tingle again. It was almost like the feeling of your leg falling asleep, but in your brain. I've been feeling it for about an hour now, though less and less, ever since he stepped out of his truck at the gas station, put his hand on me where I was filling up my car, and said "Be silent. You belong to me now. Do as you are told."

"Empty the can," he said. "I want you completely obedient before we get home, and fully broken in by tomorrow morning. I want you unrecognizable by the end of the week, in case the sheriff comes looking for some missing person." I felt desperation and panic surging in me. This would be my last chance to escape. I wanted to fight him, though probably futile given his body. Arms shaking, struggling to resist, I emptied the can and my mind felt like a glass of sparkling wine.

[gurokiitty]

Can i request Derek taking his anger out on fem!reader after the "he took you home" ending? You can make it as nasty as you want 👀

a/n: sure! i luv that sleazy, bleach-blonde bastard. hope you like it! :3

PLAYING WITH FIRE

{ derek goffard x f! reader }

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: NON-CON, painal, fire torture, burning, stomping, mutilation (?), degradation, name-calling, humiliation.

As you blink away the haze of sleep, the painful wound in your back throbs dully amidst newer aches. With a shuddering breath, you try to push yourself upright, only to be met with the uncomfortable resistance of chains binding your wrists. The cold, varnished floorboards press into your bare skin, making you acutely aware of your nakedness.

"Hello!? Where am I?" your voice cracks, echoing slightly in the vast, lavishly furnished room.

The door swings open as you struggle to make sense of your opulent, yet foreboding surroundings. Derek steps into the room, his presence immediately filling the space with a palpable tension. He's meticulously groomed and dressed in an expensive, tailored suit; a stark contrast to the dishevelled, agonising figure you remember from the desert.

“Ah, finally awake, are we?” His smooth voice cuts through the silence, his smirk widening as he hungrily scans over your body. It's then you realize this is the man who revelled in your torment under the brutal desert sun— the same man you had desperately stabbed, yet had been too terrified to finish off.

You try to speak, but your voice is strangled by the rising panic, words lost in the jumble of your frightened thoughts. Instinctively, you slide back as he approaches, the cold metal chains clinking as your throbbing back slams against the wall.

“You remember me, don't you?” His voice is smooth, almost casual, but you can hear the malice underlying each word. “You stabbed me.” He emphasizes the word, his eyes gleaming with a sinister delight.

“I-I'm sorry,” the words tumble out as a weak whimper.

“Oh, I know you’re sorry.” Derek’s tone is mockingly sympathetic as he crouches in front of you, his face inches from yours. “But an apology won’t quite cut it, will it? No,” he shakes his head slowly, his words sending a shiver of dread through your spine.

You press back against the wall, trying to disappear into its cold embrace. The chill from the varnished wood floors beneath you seeps deeper into your bones, mirroring the cold dread that fills you as he leans closer. His presence suffocates, looming over you, chained and vulnerable.

Without a word, he reaches for your ankles, pulling sharply to straighten your body along the cold floor. The chains at your wrists tighten as your arms twist and pull at your shoulders. The metal is cold and unforgiving against your bruised skin as your joints are stretched to their limits.

"You know... I've thought long and hard about what I wanted to do to you once I got you here." Derek says, towering over you. He reaches around in his suit pockets and then produces a small bottle filled with a clear liquid and a sleek silver lighter. "Here, we won't run out of time," he adds, his eyes gleaming as he holds up the items for your inspection.

"If you don't die too soon, at least." With a chilling smirk, he swiftly slams his foot down hard on your stomach, the polished dress shoe pressing cruelly into your flesh.

You gasp, air whooshing out of your lungs, pain splintering through your body like shattered glass. Your eyes water, a silent scream etching itself into the frozen air as you struggle futilely against the icy hold of the chains. The weight of his shoe pins you helplessly as he unscrews the bottle's cap.

"Wh—" Your breath catches in your throat as the acrid scent of alcohol permeates the air. He grinds his foot deeper into your soft stomach, eliciting a pained grunt from your lips.

"Let's see how long you last," he muses, his words slithering through the air and sending waves of panic crashing over you.

With a chilling calmness, he begins drizzling the alcohol over your breasts; trailing a cold, wet path across the marred skin. Some drops seep into your fresh wounds, making your muscles tense involuntarily.

"No, please— Wait!" you plead, your voice cracking as each breath is laced with the sharp tang of isopropyl alcohol.

As Derek lowers the lighter to your chest, his eyes alight with a perverse pleasure. With a flick of his thumb, a small flame dances to life and the liquid ignites a blazing inferno upon your writhing body. For a fleeting moment, there's a bizarre sensation of warmth that tickles your skin, almost deceivingly gentle. But this warmth rapidly morphs into a deep, searing pain.

Within seconds, the ticklish sensation escalates into an unbearable burning. Your skin reacts violently to the intense heat, the pain magnifying as the fire consumes the alcohol-soaked area. The room fills with the acrid smell of burning as you scream, raw and guttural.

The sound of his laughter mingles with your cries as the flames dance hungrily across your tender breasts. You instinctively try to recoil, but the chains and the weight of his foot, hold you mercilessly in place.

"Awww... I could listen to you squeal like that all day," Derek taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he watches the flames. "But I want this to last."

Abruptly, he shifts his stance, lifting his foot from your stomach and bringing it down sharply onto the flames on your chest. The polished shoe crushes the fire against your skin, smothering the flames with a series of swift, brutal stomps. The heat retreats as quickly as it had erupted, leaving behind a suffocating smoke, the grotesque smell of charred skin, and the lingering scent of alcohol.

Derek observes the aftermath with a twisted satisfaction, his shoe leaving a grim imprint on your abused flesh. Leaning down, he grips your face harshly, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces you to meet his gaze. "You look good when you're crying," he murmurs, a malicious smirk twisting his lips.

Before you can respond, he presses his foot down on the side of your face, turning your head sharply to the side. His other hand uncaps the bottle once more, and he begins dousing the other side of your face and neck with alcohol.

Muffled cries escape your lips, distorted and desperate, as Derek's shoe presses firmly against your cheek, pinning you to the hard floor. You struggle to breathe, each gasp a laborious effort as panic claws at your throat. Your sounds of distress are smothered under his force, reduced to whimpering that barely breaks the tense air of the room.

Leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear, Derek taunts, "What was that, bitch? Did you say something?" He pauses, feigning a moment of thoughtful consideration before his voice hardens. "Ah, you want me to burn your pretty little face, is that it?" With a cruel smirk, he straightens slightly, the pressure momentarily easing from your face before he shifts his stance.

"You really shouldn’t ask for things you don’t want," he murmurs darkly as he once again produces the sleek silver lighter. His fingers play over the metal, teasing the flame to life with a swift flick.

Holding your gaze with his, he lowers the flame deliberately towards the alcohol-soaked side of your face. The fire catches instantly and the heat sears your skin as it ignites. The initial warmth is swiftly overwhelmed by a sharp, engulfing pain that races across your flesh. As the flames lick upwards, the tips of your hair catch fire, adding a horrifying, crackling sizzle to the dreadful orchestra of your shrieking. Your cries intensify; a visceral reaction to the unbearable sensation of your skin and hair burning.

With deliberate cruelty, Derek shifts again, his shoe coming down hard on the burning side of your face. The sudden pressure extinguishes the flames and the harsh grind of his sole against your charred cheek sends a new wave of pain through your body. As he steps back, the smell of burnt hair and skin lingers nauseatingly in the air.

The room falls silent for a moment, save for your heavy, ragged breathing and the occasional clink of chains. Derek eyes the damage with a perverse sense of accomplishment. "Look at you now. Not so pretty anymore, are you?" he sneers.

He suddenly grabs your ankles and pushes them uncomfortably over your body so your toes touch the floor behind your head. The harsh and sudden movement forces you into a vulnerable and painfully distorted position. "Mmm, but your cute noises got me all excited," He purrs, fumbling with the zipper of his dress pants. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he peers down at you from between your thighs, his cock freed from the confines of his boxers.

"Now, beg for it," Derek demands, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for me to fuck you."

You swallow hard, your throat tight with fear and revulsion. You bite back a cry, clenching your eyes shut.

His hands, now gripping the backs of your thighs, push your knees even further towards your chest. The movement is so forceful that a sharp yelp escapes you despite your resolve.

"I said beg, slut" he repeats, his brows furrowing. "You were quick to beg for my cock out there in the desert; let's hear that desperation again, right here."

You turn your eyes away from his gaze, a small act of defiance against his demands. However, the cruel delight in his eyes intensifies as he reaches beside him, retrieving the sleek silver lighter once again. His fingers play over the metal deliberately as he watches your eyes widen with renewed fear. The small flame springs to life with a click, its glow reflecting ominously in his turquoise eyes.

"Or," he murmurs, the flame now hovering dangerously close to the sensitive skin between your legs. "I could burn you where it'll hurt most."

Panic claws at your chest, your heart hammering wildly as the heat from the flame prickles your inner thigh. The threat is clear and imminent, pushing you to the brink.

"Please, Derek," your voice trembles, the horror of the situation squeezing the air from your lungs. "Please fuck me... I'll do anything. Just don't burn me again... please."

The words tumble out of your mouth, broken and raw, the shame of hearing your own voice reduced to such desperation echoing within you. Derek's smirk widens in response, a twisted satisfaction lighting up his eyes.

The flame suddenly licks across the tender skin of your vulva, causing you to scream in pain. "Oops," he says nonchalantly, watching as the small burn mark forms.

"No, please, stop it!" you cry out shakily, tears welling in your eyes. "Please... anything but this,"

"Hah! I like really that pathetic look on your face," he sneers, the flame flickering dangerously close one last time before he snuffs it out.

With a cruel smirk, he deliberately spits on your clenched hole, the warm liquid landing with a sickening splatter. You recoil in disgust, waves of shame and humiliation crashing over you. "I knew you'd be begging for me to fuck you," Derek chuckles, leaning close as his hot breath brushes against your burned face.

He positions himself at your entrance, the smirk never leaving his face. he taunts, pushing forward without any gentleness. The discomfort is immediate, intensifying the mix of pain and humiliation already consuming you.

He curses under his breath as he slides into you, the ring of muscles gripping tight around him. His fingers squeeze into your hips, anchoring him as he moves with ruthless intent.

"That's it, cry," he whispers harshly in your ear, each word punctuated by another forceful movement. His laughter is low and dissonant, mixing with the sound of your choked sobs. He thrusts harder, his body pressing down on yours with a cruel weight.

"I love hearing you like this," Derek hisses, his breath hot against your neck. The pain from the burns and his brutal handling makes each moment excruciating. Your vision blurs with tears, the room spinning as you struggle to find any semblance of control over the situation.

Suddenly, Derek stops, pulling back slightly to look down at you with a twisted grin. "You know, I think you enjoy this. All this pain, the humiliation. It's what you deserve, isn't it?" His words cut deeper than any physical wound, his voice dripping with cruelty.

You gasp for breath, trying to form words, to deny his accusations, but the pain overwhelms you, stealing your voice.

Without warning, his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are cold, devoid of any humanity as he scrutinizes your tear-streaked face. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your pain."

You stare back at him, your eyes wide with fear. Derek’s face inches is from yours as he resumes his movements; slow and deliberate now, watching your reactions with sick satisfaction.

The room fades around you, your senses dulled by the overwhelming pain and fear. You feel disconnected, as if watching the horror unfold from outside your own body. Derek's voice, his harsh breaths, and the cold chains become distant sounds, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

As he continues, his grip on you tightens, his body pressing down with oppressive weight. "You’re mine, my property," he whispers, each word a venomous promise. "No one can hear you here. No one will save you."

You struggle to focus on anything but the pain, the burning sensation that seems to consume every inch of your being. Your thoughts spiral out of control and your body feels like it's being torn apart. Derek leans forward, bracing himself on one arm as he thrusts deeper, harder.

Finally, his movements grow erratic, his breaths coming faster as he nears his release. His lips nearly touch your ear as he delivers a final, chilling message. "Remember this pain," he murmurs. "It’s only the beginning."

With those words, Derek finishes inside, his body shuddering above you. You feel his warmth fill you as he slowly pulls out, sliding free with a wet, sucking sound.

He stands, fixing his clothing with quick, efficient movements, never looking back at you. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the room.

You lie there, aching and broken, the tears drying on your cheeks. The chains rattle faintly as you shift, the cold metal a harsh reminder of your captivity. In the silence, your mind whispers a vow, a flicker of defiance in the darkness: somehow, you will survive this. You must.