Savage Devotion

💀✨ Obsessive. Possessive. Destructive. Smut that bites, worships, and never lets go. 🔞 NSFW | Dark Romance | Multi-Fandom | Requests Open 🩶 Savage Devotion Series 🖤 Jax Teller. Tamlin. Red Hood. More to come. | 🔥 [Request Rules] | 📬 [Askbox Always Open]

[savagedevotionverse]

Feral Devotion

The backyard was crawling with leather and smoke.

Grills hissed and spat. Bottles clinked like wind chimes made of glass and teeth. Sunlight burned down on steel and ink and blood-soaked brotherhood. One of those rare afternoons when SAMCRO pretended the world wasn’t a powder keg — beers cracked open, prospects sweating behind the grills, laughter rolling in low waves beneath patches and narrowed eyes.

Then he showed up.

Not a Son. Not even close.

Fucking Ezra Delaney. My ex.

Model-pretty. Soft-spoken. City-slicker. Blond hair gelled like he’d never sweated under a hood. Tailored jacket that sneered at leather. Clean boots, no dirt under the nails, no fight in his bones. Walking into the yard with that plastic smile like he was bulletproof.

I was across the yard with a beer, leaning against the picnic table, watching Jax talk with Bobby and Tig when I saw Ezra approach me.

I’d been laughing at something Happy said. A soft sound. Head tipped back. Tank top hugging every curve. Dark jeans. The belt Jax had stolen off me once in bed.

Ezra slid in beside me like he belonged there.

My spine stiffened. Smile dropped.

But he didn’t take the fucking hint.

He leaned in, murmuring something in that smarmy, polished tone. His hand came up — fingers moving toward my face, toward my hair like he had a right.

That was all it took.

Across the yard Jax’s head turned, sharp as a wolf scenting blood. His jaw ticked. Then — deliberate, slow — he passed his beer to Bobby and stepped away from the circle.

“Uh oh,” Bobby muttered. “Here comes the firestorm.”

I didn’t catch the words Jax threw first. I didn’t need to.

The whole yard felt it. The shift. The drop in air pressure before a thunderclap. Ezra’s smug little smile cracked. He tried to laugh it off, hand half rising like he might clap Jax on the shoulder—

Jax’s hand shot out, grabbed his collar, spun him, and dragged him toward the lot.

“Out. Now,” Jax snarled, voice so low it vibrated in my chest.

“Jax—” I started, heart slamming.

“Stay there, Roxy.” His voice cracked like a whip. “You move, I swear to Christ—”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

Every head in the yard turned. No one stepped in. Not to stop it. Just to watch.

Because Jackson Teller never snapped like this unless it was personal. And when it was personal—he didn’t fucking miss.

Ezra stumbled as Jax shoved him through the gate into the dirt lot. “This is—this is insane,” he stammered. “I was just being friendly—”

“You touched her.”

“I dated her—”

Jax hit him. A blur of leather and rage. Fist met jaw with a crack like a gunshot.

Ezra dropped.

Jax followed.

He didn’t stop.

Knuckles slammed into pretty-boy cheekbones, into a nose that shattered wetly, into ribs, gut, gravel. Dust exploded around them, boots scattering stones. Ezra coughed blood through his teeth while Jax broke him — no words, no mercy, fists pounding a rhythm only violence could calm.

And through it all—

No one stepped in.

Everyone had seen Ezra touch me.

Everyone had seen Jax’s eyes when he did.

And everyone understood.

When Ezra was a heap of blood and whimpering cartilage, Jax finally stood.

Chest heaving. Hands slick with blood. Blue eyes gone feral.

He turned to me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at him — feral, panting, mine.

He came at me fast.

Grabbed my wrist.

Didn’t say a word.

Dragged me inside the clubhouse, past the stunned faces, past the silence, past the laughter that had died completely. No one dared speak.

The chapel door slammed behind us.

He shoved me against the wall, breath knocking from my lungs. His mouth crashed into mine like a hurricane — teeth, tongue, blood. I tasted Ezra’s blood on him, iron and heat.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, voice shredded with violence and lust. “Mine. Mine. You hear me?”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“You let him touch you.”

“I didn’t—Jax,”

His hands framed my face, fingers digging hard. Eyes wild, unhinged devotion burning in them. “Doesn’t matter. He breathed on you. That’s too fucking much.”

He spun me. Bent me over the table.

The same table where he passed judgment. Where blood had been spilled. Where oaths had been carved into wood and legacy.

He bent me over it — yanked my jeans down in one violent motion. Denim burned against my thighs. The air on my skin was a slap.

“You wanna remind the world who owns you?” he rasped, cock hot and angry, pressing against my soaked pussy. “Let me show you.”

He didn’t wait.

He shoved inside — thick, pulsing, rage still vibrating off him as he split me open, driving deep with one brutal thrust.

“Agh—fuck!” My cry echoed through the chapel, raw and high.

“You’re mine,” he snarled at my back, hips slamming into me with raw, vicious rhythm. “No one touches what’s mine.”

I gasped, braced on my elbows, fingers digging into the oak as he fucked me hard enough to rattle the gavel holder.

“This pussy—” slap of hips, wet and loud, “—was made for me.”

“Yes,” I whimpered. “Jax, yes—only you—”

His fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back until my spine arched, pounding me harder. Every thrust brutal. Possessive. Hungry.

“They all know now,” he snarled against my ear. “They heard you. They fucking heard you.”

Outside, I knew they were there.

SAMCRO.

Listening.

Hearing the sounds of me getting fucked over the chapel table like a public sentence.

And not one of them stopped it.

“You think that little prick could ever fuck you like this?” Jax growled, hand sliding under me to rub my clit, rough and merciless. “You think anyone else could fuck the fight out of you like this?”

“N-no—”

“Say it.”

“Only you,” I sobbed. “Only you—fuck—please—”

“Come. Now.”

I shattered.

Climax ripped through me like lightning — white-hot, endless. My legs buckled, vision blacked, I screamed his name like a prayer and a curse at once.

And he kept going.

Kept thrusting. Faster. Sloppier.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he snarled, hips stuttering. “My cum’s gonna be dripping down your legs when we walk out. Let them see.”

“Jax—please—”

He came with a roar — deep, guttural, muscles locking as he spilled inside me, cock twitching, pressing impossibly deep as he emptied every drop.

We collapsed over the table, bodies slick with sweat and blood and heat.

Neither of us spoke. Not for a long time.

Then—

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Mine until the end.”

I turned my head, cheek pressed to the wood, and met his eyes.

“I always have been.”

Outside the door, someone coughed. Another shuffled.

The whole club had heard.

And neither of us gave a damn.

[savagedevotionverse]

The Wall Between Us

The chapel doors were open.

Technically.

We weren’t in the sanctified room itself, not around the sacred table under the Reaper’s glare, not with the gavel in Jax’s hand or blood oaths carved into the air. But it was close enough—the next room, the war room, the common ground where patched men talked low and heavy. Voices braided together: shipments, debts, Oakland breathing down their necks, whispers of the Irish.

I shouldn’t have been there. But when the hell had that ever stopped me?

I perched on the arm of a leather couch, legs crossed, heels dangling lazy, sipping from some brother’s half-dead coffee cup. The bitter taste clung to my tongue. My smile was all sharp edges as I watched the club talk shop.

Jax leaned against the bar, arms folded, kutte hanging open. White shirt clung damp at the collar, sweat bleeding through where his muscles flexed. His jaw was clenched, a storm bottled inside him, blue eyes half-hidden under that blond mop. Tension rolled off him like heat waves.

I barely caught half of what was said—until one voice cut clean.

Rico. Fucking prospect.

“So, if we’re talking outsiders…” he muttered, the smirk in his tone slick as oil. “Should Roxy even be here?”

Silence fell like a blade.

Every head swung Jax’s way. Then mine.

I sipped slow, eyes half-lidded. “Don’t mind me.”

“She knows more about our business than half of you,” Jax said, voice low, dangerous.

That should’ve ended it. I should’ve let it drop.

But my blood ran hotter than my sense.

“Awww,” I purred, dragging every vowel, lashes batting as my lips curved. “Look at that. My protector. Guess being inside me buys me some respect.”

Chuckles. Some strained. Some sharp enough to cut. A throat cleared. Air thick with unease.

Then—

CRACK.

The bottle Jax had been holding shattered against the bar.

And then he was moving. A streak of leather and fury before my brain even caught up.

I scrambled to stand—half to meet him, half to get away—but it was too late. His hand fisted in my shirt, yanking me forward so fast the cup flew from my hand. Breath punched out of my lungs.

He spun me, slammed me chest-first against the wall in the narrow hallway—long stretch, broken light, blind angle that led to the back rooms. My palms slapped drywall. My cheek scraped plaster.

He pressed in close, body heat searing through denim and leather, one hand planted by my head, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. His breath scalded my ear.

“You think that was funny?” he hissed, voice shredded.

My pulse pounded. Pussy pulsed harder. I darted my gaze back, catching just enough—open doorway, three brothers on the couch, one still sipping his beer. They couldn’t see us. But they knew.

My lips curled, my voice a knife. “You gonna scold me like a good little president?” I shifted back against him, rolling my hips into his.

His growl was pure animal.

“You wanna be used?” he snarled. “Fine.”

His hand dove between my thighs, yanking my skirt up, panties shoved aside so roughly the seam bit into my skin. Fingers slid through slick heat.

“Soaked,” he spat, voice half disbelief, half hunger. “You’re fucking soaked for this.”

My breath hitched, sharp as glass. “You started it.” The words came out jagged, trembling, more confession than defiance.

He ripped his hand back, wet fingers gleaming, and then I heard it—the belt buckle clanging, zipper tearing down. A sound louder than the voices just yards away. Louder than my heart in my ears.

Hands to the wall. Feet spread. Body trembling.

Then—his cock slammed into me in one brutal, merciless thrust, burying to the hilt.

“Ahhhh—f-fuck!” My hand flew to my mouth to muffle the scream. My body seized, stretched, clenching hard around him.

He didn’t give me a breath. Hips snapped forward again, slamming me into the wall with each thrust, drywall rattling, obscene slap of flesh echoing down the hallway. His hand shoved up my shirt, gripping my breast rough, thumb pinching my nipple until I bucked against him.

“This how you want the club to see you?” His voice was jagged, gravel deep. “Bent over the wall, dripping around my cock like a little whore?”

Tears stung my eyes as I bit down on my knuckles, muffling the moan that tore from my chest. Shame and heat tangled, burning me alive. My cunt clenched harder, wetter, sucking him in with every punishing thrust.

“I should drag you into the chapel,” he gritted, hips bruising me. “Fuck you over the table where they vote life and death.”

My laugh was a gasp, a sob. “Do it.”

He barked a mean chuckle, breath hot on my neck. “Not done with this wall yet.”

The rhythm grew savage. His cock carved me open, every thrust a battering ram. The drywall thudded with each hit. Voices in the other room faltered. One brother cleared his throat. Another shifted in his seat. The silence thickened.

“They know,” Jax whispered, teeth scraping my ear. “They know what I’m doing to you. You hear it? You feel it?”

Then his hand slid down, fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight vicious circles. My whole body arched, muscles seizing, nails clawing at the wall.

“Ahhhhnnn—ohhh god—” My orgasm ripped through me, brutal and humiliating, cunt spasming around him so hard his hips stuttered.

“Fuckkk—” he groaned, but didn’t stop. His forearm braced across my back, holding me down, cock drilling harder, faster, chasing his edge.

“You push me too far,” he snarled, sweat dripping from his chin onto my skin. “Always pushing.”

“And you—love it—” I gasped, throat raw.

His body jerked, cock driving deep, and then he broke—groaning low, guttural, as hot cum spilled inside me, each pulse filling me so deep my eyes rolled back.

For a heartbeat the world was still. My legs jelly. My panties ruined. My cunt stretched and wrecked.

Then his lips brushed my ear again. Voice a razor.

“Go back out there like this. Let ‘em smell me on you.”

I turned my head just enough to catch his eyes. Feral. Spent. Beautiful. Mine.

“You’re a sick fuck,” I whispered, wrecked.

His grin cut like glass. “Takes one.”

When he pulled out, it was with a wet, obscene sound, cum dripping hot down my thighs. He tugged my skirt back into place like nothing had happened, zipped up, and strode off like a king.

I stood there ten seconds longer, breathing ragged, skin fevered. Then my heels clicked against the floor as I stepped back into the common room.

Every head turned.

No one spoke.

But the silence—it was deafening. It was everything.

[savagedevotionverse]

Tender Wounds

Sons of Anarchy x Peaky Blinders POV: Roxy Setting: Jax's bedroom, late evening after club conflict

The low, uneven rumble of Jax’s Harley pulling into the driveway sent a bolt of dread through my chest. That engine didn’t usually sound like that. I moved to the window, setting down the whiskey I'd been nursing.

His white shirt was stained red.

I was already at the front door, pulling it open just as he reached for the handle. He stood there, swaying slightly, his body braced in the doorway like he might collapse.

Blood. Dirt. Someone else’s blood splashed across his jaw.

“Jesus, Jax,” I breathed, stepping into his injured side to support his weight. “What the fuck happened?”

“Mayans tried to move product through our patch,” he muttered, voice tight as I helped him inside. “We corrected the misunderstanding.”

The scent of gunpowder clung to his kutte, warm leather and cordite. It smelled like Birmingham. Like home. But this wasn’t family business. This was him, wounded, flesh torn beneath my hands—and something in me flared raw and protective.

“Sit down,” I ordered, guiding him to the edge of the bed. “Let me look at it.”

“It’s nothing, darlin’. Just a graze.”

That was bullshit, and we both knew it. I unfastened his cut and worked at the buttons of his blood-soaked shirt, peeling it back slowly. He winced.

“If Tommy saw me now…” I murmured, eyeing the torn flesh along his ribs. “Patchin’ up an American biker.”

“What would he say?”

I met his gaze. “That I’ve gone soft.” I dabbed around the wound gently, watching blood bead again.

“He’d be wrong.”

Instead of answering, I stood and moved to the bathroom, returning with antiseptic, bandages, and a warm bowl of water. Jax watched me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

“This is going to sting,” I warned, kneeling beside him.

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But you don’t have to—not with me.”

Something cracked in his expression at those words. A flash of something vulnerable, deep behind the blue.

“When’s the last time someone took care of you without asking?” I asked, dabbing gently at the wound.

He didn’t answer for a long time. “Can’t remember.”

My chest tightened. Jackson Teller, violent prince of SAMCRO, who carried his pain like armor—and looked, in that moment, far too young for the blood on his hands.

“Well, get used to it,” I murmured, spreading antibiotic over the wound in careful, practiced strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand lifted, thumb grazing my cheekbone.

“Roxy…”

I leaned into the touch, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before returning to the task. I wrapped the bandage around his torso slowly, deliberately, more reverent than clinical.

“There,” I said when I finished. But I didn’t move. My hands stayed on his chest, feeling the heavy, steady beat of his heart beneath my palms.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and those two words felt heavier than any “I love you.”

I kissed him. Just above his heart. A taste of salt. Blood. Him.

His breath caught, his hand tangled in my hair.

“Careful, love,” I murmured against his skin. “You’re injured.”

“Not that injured,” he growled.

That growl curled heat low in my stomach. The wounded prince was gone. In his place: the wolf.

I let my lips trail down his collarbone, careful of the bandages. Slow kisses, slow breath. I wasn’t trying to stoke fire. Not yet. This was worship. Healing. A reminder he was still his.

“Roxy…” he breathed, when I kissed the hollow of his throat.

“Shh,” I whispered. “Just feel.”

But I felt the shift. The way his fingers tightened in my hair. The way his cock pressed hard against the fly of his jeans. The growl that came from deeper this time—feral and starving.

“Enough.”

His voice was low and final, and before I could reply, he flipped me onto my back. One sharp motion. Controlled violence. His body blanketed mine, his weight settling between my legs.

He winced—just a flicker—but the need in his eyes obliterated everything else.

“There’s the Jax I know,” I said, smirking up at him.

He didn’t smile. He crushed his mouth to mine—no pretense, no restraint. It was a claiming, not a kiss. His hand shoved under my shirt, the other pinning my wrists above my head.

“You think you can tease me with soft little touches,” he growled against my neck, “and I’ll just lie there?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” I whispered, gasping as he tore my shirt open, buttons flying across the room.

His laugh was low, wicked. “Jesus, woman. You’ll be the death of me.”

“Not if I can help it.”

But the words dissolved into a moan as his mouth found my throat, teeth grazing the pulse point that made my hips buck.

“This what you wanted?” he demanded, biting harder. “You want me to lose control?”

“Yes,” I gasped, arching into him. “Show me.”

All the tenderness was gone. He stripped the rest of my clothes away with rough hands, palms scraping over bare skin. When his fingers found me slick and soaked, his groan vibrated through my chest.

“Already ready,” he muttered. “You love when I break.”

“I love you,” I said.

He stilled. Just for a second.

Then he released my wrists, shoved his jeans down, and lined himself up with a hand that trembled—not from fear, but from restraint barely held.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and broken. “I might not be gentle.”

“I don’t want gentle, Jackson,” I whispered. “I want you.”

That was all he needed.

He slammed into me in one hard, brutal thrust. I cried out—pain and pleasure colliding so fast I couldn’t tell the difference. He filled me completely, stretching me open, making me feel every goddamn inch.

“Mine,” he growled against my ear as he started to move. “You’re fucking mine, Roxy.”

“Yours,” I breathed, clawing at his back, pulling him deeper. “All yours.”

Each thrust drove the breath from my lungs, our bodies moving in a rhythm carved out of desperation and fire. His mouth found mine again, wet and messy, all teeth and tongue. The bed creaked beneath us. The room smelled like sweat and sex and blood and whiskey.

“I’m close,” I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Come with me,” he groaned. “Come now.”

He bit my shoulder—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to mark me.

That did it.

I shattered—legs locking around him, head thrown back, the orgasm tearing through me like lightning. He followed, grinding deep as he came, hot and thick inside me, his groan almost a sob.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed there, forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged.

“You okay?” I asked after a moment, still breathless.

“Worth it,” he said with a tired grin, rolling us gently so I lay draped over his uninjured side.

I kissed his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath my lips.

“You scared me, Jax.”

His hand stroked my spine. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… don’t make me patch you up like that again.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll try. But I can’t promise shit.”

“I know.”

And that was enough. For now.

As he drifted toward sleep, I stayed curled against him, one hand on his chest, one leg thrown over his. Protecting. Claiming. Guarding the man who guarded everyone else.

Tomorrow would bring blood and fire and questions we couldn’t yet answer.

But tonight, he was safe in my arms.

And that was everything.

[savagedevotionverse]

Distracting the High Lord

The scent of parchment, ink and woodsmoke wrapped around me as I paused in the doorway. Tamlin sat at his massive oak desk, shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled high, golden forearms tense as he flipped through border reports. A low growl rumbled in his chest with each page. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows and kissed his skin. The bond pulsed faintly between us, like a heartbeat under my own, humming at the edge of my mind.

He hadn’t noticed me yet.

I stepped inside, closing the door softly. The click made him glance up. Those wild green eyes softened just a fraction, then narrowed.

“Elena,” he said — a warning and a welcome.

I didn’t answer. I crossed the room and slid into his lap, straddling him, brushing my lips against his jaw. His growl deepened, but his hands still found my hips automatically.

“I need to finish these,” he murmured, though the bond pulsed hotter now under my skin. “You’ve already delayed me too much.”

I smiled, whispered at his ear, “Then don’t stop. Pretend I’m not here.”

His eyes went dark. “Impossible. You’re the only thing I see.”

I slid from his lap, knelt on the thick rug under the desk and crawled between his knees. My fingers grazed his thigh, a deliberate brush. “You told me to be patient,” I murmured. “I’m being quiet.”

His breath hitched. “Elena…”

I undid his laces before he could finish. His cock sprang free, already hard, already glistening at the tip. The bond pulsed with his arousal, a throb low in my belly. His hand slid into my hair the moment I freed him.

“You’re dangerous,” he rasped.

I licked him once, slow, from base to tip, then wrapped my lips around him and moaned softly. He tried to keep reading, tried to focus, but his thighs flexed under my palms, papers crumpling under his fists.

“Fuck…” he groaned, head tipping back. “That mouth…”

I hollowed my cheeks, took him deeper, let my saliva run down my chin. He shifted forward once, hips flexing, and I swallowed him as far as I could, eyes watering.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, voice a growl.

I looked up. His expression was wrecked. He was trying so hard to keep his composure and failing.

“I’m going to come,” he gritted. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I didn’t. I moaned around him, stroked the base with my hand, and when he spilled into my mouth with a guttural curse, I swallowed every drop.

He slumped forward, palms braced on the desk, breathing hard. “Elena,” he said hoarsely. “You’ve just guaranteed I won’t get anything else done today.”

I wiped my mouth and emerged from beneath the desk, eyes shining. “Then punish me for it.”

His eyes flared. The beast moved.

He stood so fast the chair scraped back and tipped. He caught me by the waist, lifted me onto the desk in one motion, sending papers and an inkwell scattering. My laugh broke into a gasp when he shoved my dress up and tore my underthings away.

“You want to distract your High Lord?” he snarled at my ear. “Fine. Let me show you what it earns.”

He flipped me over, palms flat against the warm wood. “Hands flat. Don’t move unless I say so.”

I obeyed, trembling. He was already hardening again behind me. One hand gripped my hip; the other guided his cock between my thighs and into me with a single, claiming thrust.

I cried out — stars behind my eyes — and he groaned, deep and brutal. “You feel that?” he rasped, pounding into me. “That’s what happens when you tempt a High Lord when he’s trying to be good.”

Each thrust drove a cry from my lips. My slick spread over the desk, mixing with spilled ink. He slapped my ass hard when I slowed. “Too slow,” he growled. “You don’t tease and then act shy.”

“Tamlin…” I gasped. “If you keep—ahhh—”

He bent over me, chest to my back, mouth at my ear. “I love it when you’re such a good girl for your mate. That sweet little body made to be taken like this.”

His hand slid to my clit, rubbing tight circles as he thrust. “Take it,” he snarled. “Take all of it.”

I shattered, shaking against the desk, sobbing his name. He came with me, hips jerking, flooding me again. The bond lit under my skin, snapping like a whip.

He didn’t stop. He turned me, lifted me into his arms, kissed me hard. Then he carried me across the study, pressed me to the bookcase and slid back inside, slow now but no less intense.

“Ride me,” he whispered, eyes dark. “Take what you need.”

I wrapped my legs around him and obeyed, grinding against him, moaning into his mouth as the shelves rattled. “Elena,” he groaned. “You feel like the gods carved you just for me.”

When I came again, he followed, forehead pressed to mine, still deep inside. “Say it,” he whispered. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I gasped. “Always. Only you.”

His kiss was soft, but his hands still held me like he would never let go.

[savagedevotionverse]

The Feast of the Lost Boys

The court was gathered. A great ring of furs and smoke and flickering firelight, sprawled across the glade like something out of an old, violent fairy tale. Shadows writhed on the stone walls of the ruined cathedral that the Lost Boys had claimed as their throne. They came in droves—boys grown into monsters, outlaws, assassins, exiles. Every one of them loyal to Peter Pan, to his brothers.

And to her.

She stood on the raised stone altar, bare, trembling, already slick between her thighs. Her wrists were tied with red ribbon, looped through the ruined arch above her, arms lifted overhead. The silk bound gently, but it was the men who held her still.

A ceremonial offering. A feast.

Peter stepped into the circle first, the Never King in his crimson coat and nothing else. His cock already hard, long and thick, jutting from his hips as he stalked toward her.

“She belongs to the court tonight,” he said, loud enough to echo into the trees. “But we go first.”

Cheers. Laughter. A few crude calls from the perimeter—hungry, feral.

Peter grinned and stepped up to her, hand curling around her throat, not tight. Just possessive.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Our pretty thing. Wet already.”

Bash was next. Shirtless, laughing, dragging his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “She loves it. The attention. The way they all watch.”

Cass came silent as smoke, lifting her chin to kiss her, slow, lingering. “We'll make it hurt. We'll make it feel good. We'll make sure they remember.”

Vane climbed onto the stone beside her, yanking her leg up over his shoulder. “Let them see how wide she spreads.”

And then they began.

Peter fucked her first—deep and slow—his hips driving into her with possessive, controlled fury. One hand gripped her waist, the other tugged her hair back so her throat arched for the crowd. Her mouth was open, gasping, panting, moaning loud enough for every man to hear.

“Nnnnnhh—ahh! Fuck—Peter—”

“Louder,” he growled. “Let them know how good it is to be mine.”

She cried out as he angled his thrusts, hitting that spot inside her that made her knees shake.

Bash climbed behind her, his cock rubbing between her cheeks, already glistening with precome.

“She’s fucking dripping,” he said, laughing, grabbing her hips. “I’m gonna stuff her ass while Peter’s still inside her—make her scream for it.”

They moved together, practiced. Brutal. Peter pounding into her cunt, Bash pressing into her ass until the stretch made her wail.

“Fuuuhhhk—nggh—guhhhn!”

“That’s it,” Bash hissed in her ear, voice gone ragged. “Stretch for us. Take both.”

Cass held her arms, watching her face as her mouth twisted in pleasure, in pain, in holy ruin. Vane fed his cock between her lips, fucking her mouth slow, deep, like he was branding her from the inside out.

It was obscene. Glorious.

The court watched. Some of them touched themselves, fists moving slow over their cocks, grins feral.

Others waited.

Peter came first, biting her shoulder, grinding deep as he spilled into her. “That’s it, sweetheart. Marked you.”

Bash followed, slamming deep into her ass and groaning, holding her still. “Fuck, I’ll never get tired of this hole.”

Vane pulled from her mouth and painted her tongue, groaning as she swallowed every drop.

Cass knelt. His turn was different.

He laid her back on the altar, kissed her between her thighs before sliding into her still-stuffed cunt, slow, reverent. She gasped, overwhelmed. Full of come, slick, sore.

And he was gentle.

“Feel them inside you?” he whispered. “Me, too. All of us. You were made for this.”

She came undone on his cock, walls fluttering around the mess they’d left inside her.

After that, the ribbon was cut. She lay sprawled across the altar, marked in sweat and seed and bite marks. Hair tangled. Mouth open.

Peter stood before the crowd.

“She’s ready.”

And they came.

One by one.

The men of the court climbed the steps, knelt between her legs, between her lips, over her body.

She sucked them off while another fucked her. Moaned around a cock while another used her soaked pussy. Each time one of them came, another took his place. They filled her again and again. Her thighs gleamed with slick. Her belly, her chest, her face.

She was used. Worshipped. Fucked senseless.

But never unloved.

Because between each brutal thrust, each man whispered her name like a prayer.

And through it all, the four kings watched.

Possessive. Proud.

And far from finished.

[savagedevotionverse]

🖤 Savage Devotion Request Rules

“These aren't love stories. These are obsession arcs.”

Welcome to my den of unhinged men, feral fantasy, filthy vigilantes, and no-sanity-left slow burns. Want to request a scene? Here's what you need to know:

✅ What I LOVE to Write:

💥 NSFW / Smut-Heavy Scenes — Rough, possessive, obsessive, primal — Power play, dominance, and filthy dialogue — Public risk, teasing, interrupted sex — Marking, overstimulation, "mine" energy — Enemies with tension? Lovers with heat? Yes.

💥 Soft Aftercare + Emotional Punches — After the wreckage comes the reverence — Gentle kisses on bruised skin — “You’re safe now” energy — Pillow talk that ruins you in a good way

💥 Fan-Favorite Characters — Tamlin x Elena (ACOTAR-inspired OC) — Jax Teller x Roxy (Sons of Anarchy x Peaky Blinders crossover) — Red Hood / Jason Todd — Nightwing / Dick Grayson — MHA Pros & Villains (Request with details!)

⚠️ What I Don’t Write:

🚫 Underage / Age gaps where one party is under 18 🚫 Non-con / Dub-con (without clear framing) 🚫 Scat / Piss / Vore / Feet-focused kinks 🚫 Pregnancy / Breeding (at this time)

🖋️ How to Request:

✨ Drop your idea in my ask box (anon is fine!) ✨ Tell me the pairing + vibe you're going for ✨ Want a specific kink or setting? Include that! ✨ If it's 🔥, I just might write it

💡 Example Ask:

“Can we get Tamlin fucking Elena in front of a mirror after a court meeting? Obsession vibes. Magic still glowing from the bond.”

“What about Red Hood going feral after someone touches his girl in a club? Possessive Jason is everything.”

[savagedevotionverse]

Savage Devotion: Masterlist

Genre: NSFW · Multi-Fandom · Dark Romance · Possessive Men · 18+ Tags: Smut, Power Dynamics, Obsession, Rough Sex, Soft Aftercare, Public Risk, Unhinged Loyalty

💬 Series Description:

No heroes. No mercy. Just devotion that cuts, claws, and fucks.

In Savage Devotion, you’ll meet the kind of men who don’t share. Feral fae with gold eyes. Leather-clad bikers who’d burn a town down for you. Vigilantes who touch you like a weapon and worship you like a prayer.

These aren’t love stories. These are obsession arcs. And once you’ve been claimed... there’s no walking away.

💥 High fantasy filth. 💥 Criminal heat. 💥 Vigilante hands you shouldn’t trust, but do anyway.

You’re not just wanted. You’re theirs.

🗡️ Prythian (Tamlin x Elena)

Claimed (First Time)

Where You Belong (Sacred Glade Morning After)

Spring Court Spies Catch Her Aftermath

Someone Dares Touch Her — Tamlin Snaps

🛠️ Sons of Anarchy (Jax x Roxy)

Tender Wounds (Soft & Intimate Aftermath)

Game of Control (Power Play, Dom/Sub Energy)

Chapel Table Argument Sex

Public Risk in the Clubhouse

Jealousy Brawl / Chapel Possession Scene

Jax Gives Roxy Her Own Patch

🦇 Gotham (Nightwing / Red Hood / Batfam)

Coming Soon

🎯 My Hero Academia (TBA)

Coming Soon

💌 Want to Request a Scene?

Check the [Request Rules] page to see what I’m open to writing — and send in your fantasies 👀

🖤 [Blog Title Here] 🔞 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 📌 Tag this post: #savage devotion masterlist

[savagedevotionverse]

Four Shadows, One Flame

The room smelled of smoke and clove, warm leather, old secrets. Shadows pooled in the corners like predators waiting for the signal to pounce. She stood at the threshold barefoot, clothed in nothing but Peter’s red coat, the hem grazing the tops of her thighs, the collar loose enough to slide off her shoulder. Her breath hitched — anticipation heavy, gut-deep.

“You kept us waiting,” Vane growled, his voice rasped, deep and cold as a cave wind, coiled in restraint.

“She wanted to play hard to get,” Bash muttered behind him, licking his lower lip slowly, like he was already tasting her.

Cass just watched her. Silent. Calculating. Like he was already dissecting how she’d moan, how she’d fall apart.

Peter moved first. Of course he did.

The Never King approached her with that rakish grin, the one that never quite reached his eyes, hand outstretched, tilting her chin up with two fingers. “What’s the rule, darling?” he asked, low.

Her lips parted. “I belong to you.”

“To all of us,” Vane corrected, circling behind her like a wolf catching the scent of blood. His hand slid down her spine, rough calluses igniting goosebumps along her bare skin.

Peter’s eyes gleamed. “Get on the bed.”

She climbed up, the mattress plush beneath her knees, the coat slipping off her back as she crawled to the center. Four pairs of eyes pinned her there, hungry. All of them watching like this was a sacrament.

“You’re going to take all of us tonight,” Cass said, voice like smoke. “No hiding.”

Her thighs clenched, a tremor running through her belly.

Bash grinned. “She likes that.”

“She’s dripping,” Peter said, stepping out of his boots, stripping off his shirt. He was lean and lithe, scars ribboned across his chest like medals. “Get on your back, sweetheart.”

She obeyed, hair fanned across the dark sheets, her legs spreading just a little — invitation and surrender.

Peter knelt between her thighs first, dragging his fingers through the wet slick of her folds with a slow, mocking thoroughness. She gasped, hips twitching upward, only for his palm to flatten her back down.

“Greedy,” he murmured, and leaned in to lick her. Long and deliberate.

“Ahh—hhhn…” Her hips bucked again and this time Bash pinned them down from above, hands bruising her thighs open.

Peter lapped at her like he meant to consume her whole, tongue curling just beneath her clit, then flicking across it in rapid little pulses. “Fuck, you taste like you missed us,” he groaned, muffled against her cunt. “Did you?”

She nodded frantically, one hand gripping the sheets, the other caught by Cass who crouched at her side, guiding her wrist up to his lips. He bit the inside of her palm.

Then Vane’s cock brushed her cheek.

“You’ll suck me while Peter makes you cum,” he said, voice low, mean, already hard, already leaking. “Don’t spill a drop.”

She turned her head, lips parting. He fed her inch by inch until she gagged, and only then did he draw back slightly — just enough to let her breathe, then push again, rhythm strict and relentless.

“Mmhhgk—hhn—nngh!” She moaned around his length as Peter worked her clit mercilessly, one finger sliding inside, crooking upward until she convulsed, thighs trembling violently.

“Good girl,” Peter growled, “now give Vane that throat.”

Cass was kissing her knuckles, murmuring something too low to hear — filthy promises, maybe. Or threats.

“Switch,” Bash said, and suddenly Peter was sliding up her body, dragging the head of his cock through her soaked folds before pressing in.

She gasped around Vane’s cock, moaned as her walls stretched wide.

“Fuuuuck,” Peter hissed. “So goddamn tight, still.”

“She missed us,” Cass murmured, brushing her hair back, kissing the hollow behind her ear. “She always does.”

Peter rolled his hips deep and slow, grinding into her until her breath hitched, his cock angled perfectly against that soft, spongy spot that made her whimper. And still Vane used her mouth, watching her eyes for every flutter, every tear that spilled down her cheek.

Then Bash took his turn. Hands gripping her waist, he pressed his thick cock into her ass with maddening care, pausing when she gasped sharply.

“You want this?” he asked, mouth against her neck, breath hot.

She nodded. “Y-yes—please, yes—”

Then both of them moved, Peter and Bash together, one in her cunt, the other in her ass, pushing deeper until they bottomed out, the stretch immense.

“Uuuhhhhnn—!” she cried, arching between them, fingers clawing at Cass’s shoulder.

“You can take it,” Cass whispered, kissing her eyelids. “You were made for this. For us.”

Their rhythm built slowly, unforgiving. Bodies pressed against her from every side — Peter thrusting into her soaked cunt, Bash pounding into her ass, Vane dragging his cock from her mouth only to slap it against her lips, precome smeared across her cheek.

“Mmnnhh… fuck—fuckfuck—” she whimpered, helpless, wrecked.

Cass reached down and circled her clit with two fingers. “Cum like this. While they fill you up. Let it happen.”

She did. Eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream as her whole body seized, legs trembling uncontrollably, cunt clenching hard around Peter’s cock.

Peter groaned and slammed into her, deeper, harder. “I’m gonna fucking fill you—fuck—take it—take all of it—”

He came with a guttural curse, hips stuttering, hot spurts flooding her womb.

Bash was next, grinding deeper into her ass until he came with a ragged breath, teeth sinking into her shoulder. “Tight little slut,” he whispered, “god, I missed this.”

Vane gripped her hair and pushed back into her mouth, rough now, brutal. “Don’t waste a drop,” he growled as he came down her throat.

She swallowed greedily, tongue flicking for more.

When they pulled back, she collapsed onto the sheets, flushed, panting, thighs still twitching from aftershocks.

Cass knelt beside her, stroking her cheek. “You’re not done,” he said gently, almost sweet.

Her eyes widened.

He kissed her mouth softly, then trailed lower, licking her cunt clean, tasting Peter’s spend, her slick, her sweat — and all over again, she cried out.

[savagedevotionverse]

Series Intro Blurb

Welcome to Savage Devotion — a multiverse of dangerous men and the women who bring them to their knees.

From fae lords who mark your soul to outlaw kings who’d spill blood for a touch, from vigilantes who fuck like they fight to broken heroes who only know how to love rough—

Every story is laced with power, obsession, and the kind of heat that ruins.

❝ Touch her and die. ❞ ❝ You're mine now. Always. ❞ ❝ If they see the bruises, good. ❞

These aren’t love stories. These are wars disguised as worship.

📌 Tagging: #SavageDevotionVerse 📚 Pairings: Tamlin x Elena • Jax Teller x Roxy • Red Hood x OC • Nightwing x OC • (More Coming) 💬 Warnings: NSFW, possessive men, rough intimacy, public risk, filthy mouths, obsessive dynamics, claiming, marks, bruises, love as warfare.

You’ve been warned.

[savagedevotionverse]

🔥 Savage Devotion — Series Blurb

Genre: NSFW · Multi-Fandom · Dark Romance · Possessive Men · 18+ Tags: Smut, Power Dynamics, Obsession, Rough Sex, Soft Aftercare, Public Risk, Unhinged Loyalty

No heroes. No mercy. Just devotion that cuts, claws, and fucks.

In Savage Devotion, you’ll meet the kind of men who don’t share. Feral fae with gold eyes. Leather-clad bikers who’d burn a town down for you. Vigilantes who touch you like a weapon and worship you like a prayer.

These aren’t love stories. These are obsession arcs. And once you’ve been claimed... there’s no walking away.

Each standalone installment dives deep into the most possessive corners of fan-favorite worlds — from the blood-soaked courts of Prythian to the bruised-knuckle alleys of Charming, Gotham, and beyond.

💥 High fantasy filth. 💥 Criminal heat. 💥 Vigilante hands you shouldn’t trust, but do anyway.

You’re not just wanted. You’re theirs.