𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐫

He’s been chasing you for hours.

You’re fast. Desperate. Sprinting through the snow with every ounce of strength left in your fragile little body. But he’s faster. Stronger. A wolf bred for war, muscles coiled like steel beneath his skin, instincts honed to the sharpness of a blade. You never stood a chance.

Childe watches you trip. Watches you crawl. Watches the way your thighs tremble as you try—pathetically—to escape. His lips curl. You’re running on fumes now, every step dragging you closer to the inevitable.

You smell divine.

Heat-drunk and terrified, your body reeks of submission, of slick coating your trembling thighs, of a sweet, ripe omega desperate for a mate. Even through the frost, it thickens the air, clogs his lungs, makes his cock ache.

He growls.

It’s over in a blink.

A blur of movement—then you’re pinned, face-down in the snow, a crushing weight bearing down on your spine. His fangs graze the nape of your neck, sharp and cruel, teasing the vulnerable flesh beneath. You jerk, whimper, but he just laughs, pressing his chest flush against your back.

“There we go,” he breathes, voice thick with amusement and hunger alike. His fingers wrap around your throat, tilting your face towards his own. “Got you.”

A sob rattles through you.

His cock throbs.

“You know,” he muses, rolling his hips against your ass, “I was gonna play with you a little longer. But you smell so fucking good.” His tongue flicks against your ear. “Think I’ll just take what’s mine now.”

Panic surges. You thrash, a pathetic attempt at resistance, but his grip tightens, shoving your cheek into the snow. His claws tear through the fabric of your clothes, ripping them away like paper, exposing fevered, shivering skin to the frigid air.

You’re soaking.

It makes him groan, makes his cock twitch as he ruts against your slit, smearing your arousal across his length. “Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re dripping for me.”

A sob catches in your throat.

Then he’s inside you.

The stretch is unbearable—his cock forcing you open, splitting you wide around the thick, unrelenting length of him. Your body clenches, revolts, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just drives himself deeper, deeper, until he’s buried to the hilt.

You’re too tight. Too hot. Too perfect.

A guttural growl rips through his chest as he sets a brutal pace, rutting into you like a beast in heat. His grip bruises, his weight crushes, his cock slams into the deepest parts of you with every vicious thrust. Slick drips down your thighs, obscene and messy, mixing with the snow beneath you.

You convulse when his knot swells.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans, grinding deep. “Gonna breed this pretty little cunt until you’re dripping with my pups.”

And there’s nothing you can do to stop him.

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