#obey me chapter 18 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hellishjoel · 5 months

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chokehold

1.6k / pairing: tattoo artist daddy dom!joel miller x sub f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi

chapter summary: Joel teaches you how to face fuck.

chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, unspecified age gap, established relationship, reader is described to have hair and is able-bodied (but otherwise, unspecified), swearing, dirty talk, smut, lots of pet names (sweetheart, angel, little bunny, etc.), dacryphilia (kink = getting aroused by tears), dom/sub dynamics, innocence kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, face fucking/oral (m!receiving), size kink

A/N: very lightly edited, but I wanted to give a little love to joel and little bunny since the third chapter is taking me some extra time! divider is by @firefly-graphics! and always a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this over and endless encouragement <3

Joel’s eyes roll to the back of his head, slow and steady, because that’s just the pace you’re taking him.

Facefucking is still experimental to you. He’s your first partner, and you’re nervous to impress.

What you don’t know is that Joel would never judge your inexperience. All sexual pleasures involve trust, praise, and a little direction.

Joel stokes your hair affectionately, growing more possessive as he gently guides your mouth up and down his thick length.

You can feel the power shift as your knees dig into the floor, eyes hesitantly meeting his while you try to take more of his shaft. You want more, you’re willing to push your limits.

Joel seems to sense your loss of inhibitions, your twinkling eyes meeting his whiskey ones.

“Want me to use that pretty little mouth of yours?” Joel’s words vibrate through the room. He pulls his cock from your lips, smearing his tip from one corner of your mouth to the other as you catch a breath. His warm pre-cum slips onto your tongue, and all you crave is more.

Watching you desperately try to get him past your parted lips again is enough to force out a dark, low chuckle.

“Wanna hear y’say it, baby.”

Your impatient whine and eager hands on the back of his thighs make you beg, “Please, Joel,” in that wrecked voice that he loves so much.

Joel presses his hips forward once more, watching his tip slip past your puckered lips and back into the hot heat of your mouth. “Yeah, right where I belong, huh, baby? Right where that cock belongs.” Joel’s hand comes to cradle your face, tracing the bulge of his length against your cheek with a sinister smirk.

The further he pushes on, your tells start to show. He admires the way your eyelashes flutter, gagging and coughing around him but insistent not to let yourself off. A stray tear slips down your cheek. He collects it with his thumb and brings it past his lips, tasting what you give him.

“Even your tears taste pretty, sweetheart,” he mutters predatorily, watching as your eyes blow wide, shyly moaning against his length.

“When it gets to be too much, try to stay on. Swallow around me,” Joel gently nods his head. “Go on.”

You obey, swallowing around the thick trunk of his cock, throat feeling a little looser now. You’re oh so willing to take on the discomfort just to please him. Anything for Joel, because he’d do anything for you.

As his hips pick up a lazy pace, Joel encourages you to drop your hands from the safety blanket of his thighs. Like the good girl you are, you ease them to the base of your spine and lay one wrist over the other. He’s tied you up in that position more times than he can count, allowing Joel to take control and use you as he pleases. Such a good fucking girl.

Tears pool along the top of your cheeks, the sight of glassy eyes igniting a fire deep in his belly. The overflow of saliva trickles out along the corners of your mouth, pooling down to his length and soaking the coarse hair on his balls.

Joel watches as you shift anxiously on your knees, eyes pleading because somehow you want more.

“Oh, honey,” he drapes in a degrading tone, stroking your hair away from your wet face and letting you catch a breath as his hips halt. “Need more, don’t’cha, doll?” He drawls, cooing softly as you lay your head against his thigh. Your orbs lazily look to him and nod weakly, still measly sucking on his tip.

You bravely flick your tongue along his tip’s sensitive slit, toying at the idea of getting a rise out of Joel.

A hiss is released past his clenched teeth, his whiskey eyes turning wild. And then you do it again.

Joel’s hips jerk like that of a bucking bull. His hand in your hair turns to a fist, causing you to clench your eyes closed at the scorching prickle along your scalp. Joel scoffs as you fucking moan against him.

His grin turns wicked, twisted at the thought of you enjoying some rough love.

“Fuckin’ naughty, aren’t ya, little bunny? Yeah, bein’ a damn brat,” he chastises, watching as you frown around his tip and sucking it insistently. “Think m’gonna have t’finish deep down that pretty throat of yours, make ya choke on it,” he remarks as he repositions your head with a newfound need to punish.

Joel gathers your hair into two sets of pigtails, fisting them between his large palms. He watches you struggle to stay upright and drags you into position. “Keep that cock in your mouth, don’t let it go, sweetheart,” he gripes as you struggle to maintain him. It almost feels like a twisted game the way he nearly slips loose from your heat.

Your mouth was full, jaw aching for a break that was nowhere in sight. Your fingers intertwine to keep them locked at the very base of your spine, whining nonsense against his cock. Soaking wet and dripping onto the hardwood, your pussy clenches around the ghost of what is currently occupying your mouth.

You wanted to touch yourself so fucking bad. The self-discipline it took to keep your hands together makes your stomach churn. Your pearl twitches with enthusiasm, drenched in your own arousal.

The muscles in your thighs are tight, your chest heaving and causing your bare breasts to rise and fall at a quickened rate. The overflowing spit that drips down from his balls lands on your chest. Joel can’t seem to stop staring at the gleam.

Your nose brushes against his thick pubic hair as he buries your face against the base of his stomach, and you sputter up a cough. Lungs squeezing, throat tightening, you will yourself to swallow around him and stay right where you are. I’m yours, Joel. Please, take me, use me.

“Fuck,’ he growls upon yanking you off his cock, smirking widely as you gasp for lost breaths. “Love that goddamn throat,” Joel mutters before reaching past you and pulling your hands to the front of his thighs, which quickly form a home for you. It’s grounding, to feel him, to feel his blood pumping through his body, and etch mine on the inside of his upper thigh mindlessly.

“Got me so close, honey,” he starts, and you’re already eagerly nodding. Joel brings his thumb to your throat and slowly circles one spot against the column of your flesh. “Wanna feel myself right here, think you can do that, sweetheart?”

Your eyes soften at the depth he wishes to go, but you’d do anything for him. You nod shyly and drop your jaw, flattening your tongue just for him. Always for him.

Joel’s pace is gentle at first, working up a rhythm that has your throat molding perfectly around him. You gag each time he thrusts all the way, knowing when to swallow and when to breathe, Joel has taught you this new erotic art.

The saliva dripping down to the base of his cock greets your chin repeatedly. You hollow your cheeks around him, and he moans naughty filth.

“Such a pretty slut for this cock, make me feel so fuckin’ good- god damn,” Joel pauses with his length fully down your tight throat, grinding himself against your mouth as you clench your eyes close and gag. Joel places his thumb on that sacred spot against your neck, and he can feel his tip bulging against the column of your throat. You’re so fucking full of him, and it’s enough to make him spill.

The hold he has on your hair tightens, scalp prickling as you cry out along his length. Salt bitters your tongue, weakly swallowing back load after load of his warm, thick finish. You swallow around his length and moan lowly, all muffled and messy for him as he crashes harshly through his own concocted orgasm.

Your nails etch half-moon shapes into the back of his thighs, keeping him there, pushing for him to cross the finish line. And it was all for you.

Tears of happiness stream down your face as you let him finish painting your throat, releasing with a dramatic pop as you do your best to swallow every last dribble. You’re careful as you give his sensitive tip a few sweet kitten licks. His hands are at the ready in your hair as he hisses harshly, ready to control you if it’s too much overstimulation for your poor old Daddy.

Sponging kisses down his softening length, you lay your head against his thigh, and he cards his fingers through your hair. A soothing hum leaves your throat, fluttering your eyes closed as his thumb comes along to brush away the stray tears.

It’s easier to ignore the throbbing between your legs now that Joel has found peace. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you listen only slightly as he begins to coo gentle affirmations for you.

Joel holds your hands and helps you stand, your arms already tiredly linking around his neck as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispers, “always make Daddy so happy, you know that?” Your head bobbles loosely. His sweet remarks make your muscles even more pliant in his arms as he easily sweeps you off your feet and moves you to lie across the bed.

Joel takes all of you in. Sweat glistening along your temple, parted lips lacquered in spit, the extra effort it takes you to swallow, how perky your nipples are, and the slick that’s all but made a mess down your thighs.

“Shit, she’s so pretty f’me,” Joel whispers as you grin weakly.

“My turn now?” Your wrecked voice squeaks, to which Joel slowly nods, helping you pitch your legs up on the edge of the bed.

“Your turn now, little bunny.”

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imsilay · 1 year

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MANIA pt.2

obsessive love; very possessive and often jealous.

mdni NSFW! +18, cw: hurt/comfort (well maybe next chapter), size k!nk, forced masturbating? (slightly), possessive behavior, dominant behavior, fem!reader, piv, German praise, belly bulge.

word count: 1k

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Sponsored WC: 0/7,604

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tadpolesonalgae · 3 months

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 18

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: pls trust me that some things will be explained in chapter 19 🙇

word count: 7,003

-Part 17- -Part 19-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Sharp, amber eyes pierce down into the male, despite having less than an inch’s difference in height.

Lucien keeps his surprise under wraps as he greets his oldest brother, stood before the slightly dilapidated building he and his companions have taken up in, a few boards nailed over one of the upper windows that had broken during a particularly vicious storm. He recalls how Jurian had scavenged some of the plain silverware and they’d drawn spoons to see who would have to climb the roof and patch it up before the autumn chill hit. It’s a fond memory, in spite of his loss.

“Eris,” Lucien greets shortly, holding position in blocking the male from strutting straight into his home as he knows the male would, given the chance. Not the building itself, exactly, but the people hidden away inside it, and he’d rather not subject them to another visit unless absolutely necessary. Neither of them are particularly well-equipped against Eris’ kind of verbal espionage, how he hunts the information he seeks and so effortlessly riles them up. Vassa is particularly prone to bursting into a flaming temper whenever the male pays them an unpleasant visit.

“It’s rude to keep a guest waiting, Lucien,” Eris drawls from overside the threshold. Even after all this time he can’t help the instinctive part of him that cringes at the razor sharp tone used to cut into his name, carve it into something jagged and serrated. Perhaps when he was younger he might have returned with ‘it’s rude to show up without invitation’, but he learned long ago it’s best to avoid any kind of verbal conflict with the male. Ultimately it’s tiring and a waste of energy, so instead Lucien offers a mildly withering glare, and asks, “What are you here for?”

Eris’s features remain sharp but blank, unshifting and drawing a clear line in the sand. Another silent demand he’s more than accustomed to, and wishes he wasn’t. “You can’t just show up without prior notice and expect to be escorted in. There are humans inside and you’ll scare them off.”

“That’s fine by me,” Eris replies, his amber eyes silently simmering with inherent arrogance. “Step aside.”

“Don’t order me around,” Lucien replies evenly, not a note of sharpness to be found, but firm and unyielding. “You’re in their lands. Besides, they’ll be leaving shortly. You can wait a few minutes.”

“It’s time sensitive,” Eris replies smoothly, neither having broken the eye contact.

“You can wait a few minutes,” Lucien repeats.

Silence stretches, Eris’ brows narrowing ever so slightly in a frighteningly scathing glare that would have sent him sprinting to his room a few centuries ago. But he’s a grown male now, so he weathers the simmering look, keeping his feet firmly set on the ground, unfaltering in his stance.

Within the silence, both can pick out the shuffle of human footfalls, the conversation that floats throughout the house, only detectable to fae hearing and each brother picks out as they trail further. It’s not until a latch clicks and a bolt is slid into place on the other side of the slightly wrecked estate that either of them shifts, and to Lucien’s invisible astonishment it’s Eris who looks away first. Even if it is to glance at the approaching Vassa over his shoulder, he notes it.

“What’s he doing here?” Vassa questions, a derisive sneer in her tone as she pins the male darkening their doorstep with a look that could turn steak to coal in seconds. Lucien glances to Eris, wondering the same thing—wondering if he’ll answer now the humans have left and he’ll inevitably be allowed in. Sharp amber eyes slice to his own russet one, cutting and demanding, and Lucien bites back a sigh at his oldest brother’s incessant insistence on being obeyed. Even after all these years he’s just as controlling as he always was, though Lucien shouldn’t be surprised—Eris practically thrives in the cutthroat coliseum of the Autumn Court.

Lucien steps aside in the doorway and Eris enters, bringing with him the harsh bite of the cold that’s sharper than it should be in the human lands. The distinct crispness that passes him as Eris strides past the both of them, removing his surprisingly plain cloak in one swift movement and chucking it over one of the hangers without looking. “I have news,” Eris replies vaguely, before striding further into the heart of the house and disappearing out of sight.

Vassa shoots a fierce glare his direction, a slight scowl between her brows. “Did you know he was on his way?” She asks, already looking about ready to try smacking the male across the jaw. But Lucien shakes his head, already resigned to the evening being ruined, knowing her impatience isn’t directed at him. “I’m sober, aren’t I?” He replies wryly, a twist of a demeaning smile on his mouth to cool her flammable temper.

After a long moment of pause, she huffs a laugh, low and raspy, some of the tension relieved from her rigid posture, fiery coloured ringlets jostled slightly from the tremble in her full shoulders. “We’d better go after him,” she says, a little more amused than she was previously, though that amusement dims swiftly at the thought of having to deal with more of the male’s unnecessary and underhanded jabs. Lucien nods, sighing once more before steeling himself, knowing he will inevitably end up in the position of mediator as he always does when people lose their calm, following after her.

“And just when the cards were finally about to come out,” she mutters under her breath, and Lucien can practically see the scowl that has already worked itself back between her fiery brows, “I was looking forward to wiping the floor with Jurian.”

The comment has his nostrils flaring delicately as mirth curves his mouth, lips twitching faintly. Between the three of them, Vassa is almost constantly on a losing streak, while Jurian frequently takes them for all they’re worth. He supposes it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is—Jurian’s mortality is debatable at best, an unverifiable grey area at worst.

“Maybe we can fit in a few rounds after,” Lucien suggests as they make their way through the hallways, headed to the sitting room where the meetings most frequently take place. “The mood will probably be in need of some friendly competition.”

“Friendly?” Vassa repeats sardonically, pausing just outside the door to the living room. “Those games are nothing short of bloodthirsty. Treating them so lightheartedly is why you never win.”

Lucien refrains from reminding her that she has yet to go on a single winning streak against either of them.

————

You shift uneasily in your seat, pulling the silk of the scarf a little tighter, making sure no patchy flesh will slip out from beneath the fine covering. Especially not over a meal.

The comment springs to the forefront of your mind, rising like the sediment that’s stirred up upon a stone being dropped into the murky bottom of a lake. You know you’ll never be first choice. You’ll never have someone who’d choose you over everyone else, and if you’re honest with yourself it wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve survived this long without being someone’s first choice, so what’s changed?

What’s changed?

A cold feels skates delicately beneath your speckled flesh at the imposing question, impossibly vast and inconceivably nuanced. So much has changed in the past two years it would be unreasonable to try and tackle it now, without even a paper and pen to aid you in the coherency of your thoughts. But maybe it’s a place to start—some small ideas to help take those opening steps, like how freshly born deer totter around on their delicate hooves, on thin, gangly legs before learning to leap and bound.

So, you ask yourself again: What’s changed?

Had it bothered you before that you weren’t first choice? Had you known you weren’t anyone’s first choice—yes, somewhere, but you hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps that’s why the comment stung, that you were robbed of making the discovery yourself, red-painted nails having clawed over the stone, carving scratches into the previously smooth surface, permanently tarnished and disheveled.

No, thinking back, you’ve been first choice before. When you were eight, nine-ish, when you’d run down and about in the garden with Feyre who at that point couldn’t keep up with you yet. When you’d leap over tree stumps and balance on fallen trunks, sticking your arms out unevenly and watching with a strange sense of pride as Feyre doddered behind you, mimicking your stance and holding her own arms out as she made the trek over the mossy trunk.

Then you’d gotten older, and left Feyre to play in the gardens, in the forest, by herself. Then you’d become closer with Elain a bit before your teens, the two of you often joined at the hip at parties, Nesta bearing down on the few who tried to approach, warding off any unwanted company with her fearsome countenance. You think you’d been one another’s choices then, when your mother would dress you up in complimentary fabrics, selecting patterns that would work well with one another, with little regard for the young girls she was dressing up—her own daughters.

You like to think it had been you and Elain sticking together, in those last few years when your mother was around.

That’s what’s changed.

You’re surrounded by people who have found one another.

And now your loneliness is starker than ever, yet you hadn’t even really realised it. How Feyre has Rhys and Nyx, Nesta has found Cassian, and even Elain is finding her way with Lucien. They’re the closest you’ve ever been with other people, and the closest you’ll get to other people. But they’ve all found someone else now, and you’re the odd one out. Of course you’d be the one without a mating bond, or whatever the special connection is that they were all afforded.

You’re reminded of the confession you’d let slip in the midst of your fumbling mouth back in the library all that time ago. How you’d thought maybe…possibly there was a reason you’d felt a click with him. But you suppose you should have known better. You can’t even pretend that he was leading you on, in hindsight. It was obvious he was interested in Elain, and yet you’d thought… How stupid. And to tell him, too. To want something so sacred to them, and to wish it between yourself and him. All from wanting to be first.

It shouldn’t matter to not be first, and yet it’s starkly painful. You can’t help but want that place. Wanted it so desperately you’d fooled yourself into seeing interest when in reality there was, just none for you.

Your eyes traitorously stray from the small details on the rim of your porcelain plate—tiny ink drops of blue, red, and orange dotted about the edge—to the empty seat to your left, at one head of the table.

Why had you ever made the mistake of opening up to him? Hoping for a gentle touch when your body feels like it was hewn from the most unloveable stone. The most unforgiving rock, and the coldest ice. So cold it would peel skin from flesh, so harsh it would be impossible to touch, so utterly unbearable there would be no choice but to remain alone.

“Will you pass the potatoes?”

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts by the golden voice, meeting twinkling amber eyes as Mor watches you with a familiar expression. Warm and welcoming despite how you’d last seen one another.

Swallowing, you nod. “Yeah, sure,” you reply as normally as you can, hand clutching the orange silk of your scarf to keep the material from sliding up as you carefully grip the lip of the ceramic bowl, passing it to her open hand. “Thank you,” Mor smiles, and you blink before remembering to retract your hand. She seems as she was before…back to the female you’d known her as. Is this…does it mean she’s accepted your apology? She’d seemed convinced of what she had told you, so you can’t quite trick yourself into believing that. But maybe civility?

Right, you can understand it now. No matter how upset or hurt she might feel, she must not want to make it other people’s problem. Causing a scene over a dinner, one of the rare moments everyone’s together—most of you, anyway—isn’t worth it. No matter how your relationship might have soured, there’s no need to make the people around you miserable, too.

Amber eyes gleam beneath the warm light, and you feel as though you can come to an agreement—one you’re ready to accept. You can both silently agree not to make it an issue for anyone else, a small kernel of warmth daring to flicker to life in your chest, the sense of connection that comes from mutual understanding despite a disagreement. For everyone else’s sake, the two of you can put everything aside. Even if it might only be temporary.

“I like your scarf,” Mor says lightly, scooping the jagged, crispy roast potatoes onto the side of her plate, setting the bowl down in a spare space, “it suits you.”

Again, you blink, caught off guard. You swallow thickly, managing a nod of your head, chest swelling as you eagerly take on the compliment, content to pretend even if it’s only for an hour or two. “Thank you,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, “I love your necklace.” Which is true, though in honesty it wouldn’t be difficult to find something compliment-worthy about her. She’s beautiful.

Mor hums, glancing to another bowl, before settling on the reasonably sized boat of sauce, creating a small pool at the edge of her plate. You’re a little too occupied with watching Mor to notice the wary glance sent her way by Amren, or the warning one delivered from the High Lord himself. The tiny flicker of hope that maybe things could be patched up blocking out the rest of the picture as you gaze longingly at the female diagonal from you.

“I suppose with the autumn chill in the air yours is a little more practical than some flimsy jewellery,” Mor replies lightly, plucking a cut of bread from the wooden board, drawing the butter closer to slather the fluffy and crusty slice. “Where did you find it? I should fetch one for myself.”

“I’m sure you have more than enough scarves, Mor,” Rhys interjects smoothly, the serrated blade of his knife slicing effortlessly through the sinew of meat, slowly dissected into politely bite-sized pieces. “Any more and you’ll struggle to shut your wardrobe properly.”

Mor smiles icily, meeting his gaze with a cold look on her beautiful face. “Just stocking up before we have our eastern visitors.”

Tension crackles across the table, so acute even you realise something strange is happening, watching nervously, and feeling somehow responsible for the perceived fallout. Eastern visitors…? People from the continent? Eastern…eastern…oh. Feyre had mentioned briefly the deal that had been struck between the High Lord and the Lord that reigns over his Court of Nightmares—Mor’s father. The permitted invasion of her safe haven. The slight fissure that had been opened raw between them—one you’d forgotten about, and had assumed had been fixed.

“How is—” You fumble when Mor’s sharp eyes cut into you, caught off guard by the fierceness held within them. “…How is he?” You manage to ask, unsure whether you should even be interfering or whether you’re just putting your foot in it. Your hands shake under the table, heart pounding but you keep from shifting in your seat.

“Who?” Mor asks blandly, ignoring the sharp glare Amren’s pinning her with. Disregarding the hard look on Rhys’ face, slight disappointment. Possibly wholly unaware of the grip Feyre has on her cutlery, head cast downward, brows pulled together. Your throat rolls, not wanting to say his name.

It would be wrong.

“Who else?” Nesta asks from across the table, her voice singing with the clean cut of steel as it slices through a silk ribbon, a whisper of anger hissing beneath her tone. Sharp amber eyes clash with cool silver, glinting like mercury and ice in spite of the oranges and yellows filling the room to give the allusion of warmth and familiarity. Tension simmers just below the surface, crackling like a metal weather vane struck by lightening, sizzling with barely restrained power.

“Azriel,” you say quietly, hurrying through his name in less than a breath, feeling it brand your tongue, tingling at the roof of your mouth. Dispersing some of the charge. “How is he?”

Amber and silver eyes remain locked for a little while longer, a pause stretching across the table and even to fae hearing there’s hardly a sound being made save for the strain of metal as knuckles strangle and warp the handles of fine cutlery.

At last Mor looks away, dragging her gaze back to your own, the fire dimmed and smothered.

“Well enough to be drinking again,” she answers, and that seems to be the end of the conversation.

————

It’s a little difficult to dry the plates off with the scarf tied at your front, hiding your arms, but you manage.

A cluster of small, iridescent bubbles float past your nose, wafting by, and Elain laughs as you step back suddenly in surprise, having been zoned out.

There’s no need to be washing up anymore, not with the aids of magic, and if you’re honest you aren’t entirely sure how the two of you had ended up coming to the same wordless agreement, but here you are. Elain’s at the sink, bubbles frothy and foamy as she scrubs at the crockery and cutlery before depositing them on the side for you to dry with a towel. You don’t think the soapiness would agree with your skin.

The quiet settles between you, comfortable and without strain, two people sharing a space, and the apprehension you’d had before the dinner begins to slowly mellow, ice thawing out over a chilly night.

Despite the slightly rough start, the night had progressed surprisingly smoothly, with you content to sit quietly while the others discussed various matters: Amren’s recreational studying of the Old Language; Nesta’s progression with swordplay, having begun wielding ataraxia during training; a discussion lead by Rhysand about wards that you’d partially tuned out, thinking of the crater you’d blasted through the House of Wind—at least it sounds like something that can be fixed. They aren’t permanently broken, just temporarily disabled.

“Feyre’s birthday is coming up,” Elain says, seemingly out of nowhere, and you glance at her questioningly, humming in acknowledgement. “What are you thinking of getting her?” You ask, curiously content to follow along this path and see where she takes it. Elain sighs faintly, “I was thinking of making some herbal teas, actually…not many, but a few different ones to see if any help with stress, or sleeping, or the like. Generic benefits.”

You nod your head slightly—it’s a thoughtful gift, bespoke and personal, too. She’s always good with presents.

“You?” Elain asks, glancing at you lightly, speaking only loud enough to top the gentle babbling of water and splashing of suds. You glance down at the stack of dried plates, reaching for the wet cutlery to start on. “I haven’t thought of anything yet,” you answer honestly, considering, “it’s still a couple of months away, so I guess I hadn’t started thinking about it yet.”

Elain’s quiet for a bit, and you get the sense she has something to say but is unsure how to bring it up. You wait patiently, preoccupying yourself with the cutlery, careful not to accidentally carve a chunk of flesh from the heel of your palm.

“I think…Feyre would like to do something with all of us,” she says quietly, a little absently. “Perhaps not on the actual day, but sometime nearby.”

“She would?” You ask, slightly surprised. Elain doesn’t meet your gaze this time, continuing to focus on washing up, giving her hands something to do, and you copy her after a moment, carrying on with the drying up. “She hasn’t said anything explicitly, but it’s the impression I’ve gotten,” Elain says faintly, then pauses again. “I think…I think it would be nice, too.”

There’s a tremor in her fingertips, but she pushes them below the warm water, out of sight as if reaching for a fork or spoon beneath the frothy surface.

“Particularly, after…” Her throat closes up, and you hesitantly reach out, gloves temporarily discarded while drying, bare fingers grazing the soft skin of her forearms, unable to feel the gentle tickle of tiny hairs anymore. “I’m sorry…” you murmur uselessly, watching helplessly as a droplet falls from her eye, splashing through into the dishwater below. But Elain shakes her head, hands raising from the water to continue moving, absently washing the last plate from the dinner.

“I’d like to see more of you, too,” Elain says, swallowing thickly as she scrubs at the gleaming porcelain, clearing her throat. “So would Nesta. I think we’ve all been a bit distant lately, with one another I mean, and with Feyre having Nyx, and Nesta off in Day… We should spend more time together, and see each other more often, and speak more, just in general. And then there’s also Starfall, and we can see each other then, and celebrate, and—”

“Elain, Starfall’s months away,” you say gently, fingers shifting so they’re lightly gripping her wrist, pausing her motions, pulling her eyes to lock with your own. Wider than they should be.

You look at one another, watching silently, and you can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips, erratic enough for even your own damaged hands to pick up on.

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” She whispers, eyes hot and wet.

You blink, grasping the heaviness of the question, then nod, unable to make your throat work, lower lip trembling a bit. “I’ll be there,” you manage to get out, feeling the familiar pressure behind your eyes.

She nods back, before finally handing over that last plate that has been clean for a while, but between the soapiness of the dishwater, and the trembling of both your hands, the plate slips, and smashes on the floor. The pale fragments split and shatter, spraying across the cold tiles, and both of you jump at the startling noise, before looking at each other again, and laughing. Gasping, ragged breaths that have both of you leaning for support, tears welling in eyes as each of you are split between crying from desperate, manic humour, and dreadful, fearsome sadness.

Neither of you can find it in yourselves to care about the shattered porcelain, the jagged fragments with blue, red, and orange ink drops dotted around the utterly broken rim of the plate.

“I…I need to find something…to clean that up,” you gasp through laughter, wiping away the tears. Elain just nods, still heaving ragged breath into her lungs, eyes squeezed shut, ringlets of hair jostling with each shudder of mirth as she grips the edge of the sink, expression torn between sobbing laughter and wrecking grief, and you don’t think you can stand to be in the same room for much longer, subject to the violent turbulence.

The light from the kitchen dims but your eyes adjust swiftly as you walk unevenly out into the dark hallway, rounding the corner to go look for a brush, or duster of some kind, even a cloth or a rag would do—

Both of you freeze as you round the corner to see one another, Mor’s figure losing its rigidity much more swiftly compared to your own that will remain locked up for the following few minutes.

You swallow thickly, eyes wide as you take her in: the dimmed gold of her lustrous hair; the bare expanse of her elegant neck; the tray held in her red-tipped hands, those long, slightly rounded nails gleaming a deep rouge. “Mor,” you greet, a touch quieter than usual, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Nor I, you,” she replies, watching you. A beat passes, and you swallow again, eyes flicking down to the tray in her hands. “Azriel’s?” You ask through the tightness in your throat, gently probing to see if she’s open to a conversation. You’ll leave, if she’s unresponsive—you know now what it’s like to be on either end of this strange dynamic. Mor nods her head once, still watching you silently, and you look elsewhere. Then nod your own head. “Nice seeing you,” you say quietly, then move to walk around her.

“Wait,” Mor whispers at the last second, holding the tray in one hand and gripping your wrist with the other. You recoil sharply when her fingers squeeze your arm, and her hold lightens significantly, but she doesn’t immediately let go, digits stuttering away a second later. “Sorry,” she murmurs, stepping back by half a pace. “It’s okay,” you reply hastily, looking away as you pull your hand back to your body, “you didn’t know.”

The words hang between you, and silence stretches in the relative darkness of the corridor.

When you manage to raise your gaze to glance at her, you nearly regret the choice—she’s making no effort to conceal the fierce defence in her sharp amber eyes. You’re about to turn to try and leave again though, when she speaks, and the tremor in her voice is pronounced enough to root you to the spot.

“Tell me why you went to Eris.”

————

The expression that was on the commander’s face had been enough to set the two of them on edge, Jurian offering Eris one of those slow but rare, slightly insane half-smiles he can make, that often has the spiralling effect distinctive to falling down through a nightmare on whoever’s unlucky enough to have it turned on them. It doesn’t come out often, but that it’s made an appearance this evening is a dark sign, and Lucien silently prays he will not be forced into a position where he will have to default to Eris’s defence in attempts to calm the potential ire that could catch in either of his human comrades.

The day has proven to be tricky enough on its own—none of them need this added abrasion.

Vassa strides across the room, taking up in the seat closest to the crackling hearth, the flame making her hair blaze brighter than natural, her already sharp eyes glinting in the firelight.

It seems he’s the only one actively trying to avoid the conflict that’s brewing in the air, the other two appearing ready and more than content to fight fire with fire. He knows there’s no use explaining the redundancy of wielding that tactic against the male across from the human queen, with fire burning in his very blood.

“You said you had news,” Vassa demands, charging straight to the point before Lucien’s even had a chance to seat himself on the other end of the sofa, opposite from Jurian. Between his chosen family and his blood-given one. But Eris won’t be rushed, and instead turns his attention to his youngest brother, the fire doing nothing to thaw the cool ice in his amber eyes. “How is your mate, Lucien?”

Lucien allows himself the space of a blink to recompose himself, vaguely trying to hide his suspicion. It’s never good when he can’t see the end Eris is pursuing, but he’s used to being left in the dark when it comes to the male’s schemes—he just can’t help the instinctive aggression that prickles up the back of his neck at Elain being brought into this.

“You aren’t one for idle chatter,” Lucien replies, calming the flame that had begun sizzling in his blood, “why don’t we skip ahead and get straight to the point, as this is such a time sensitive matter?” A sinister gleam appears in his oldest brother’s eyes, and he braces himself for whatever whip is about to lash into his skin. “Very well,” Eris says instead, leaning back into his chair, practically sprawling across it, dominating the space he takes up in his typically uncaring, arrogant fashion. But then the air shifts, his expression becoming serious. “How well-informed is your mate of Night Court affairs?”

“Enough with this evasive subterfuge. What news do you bring?” Vassa demands harshly, Jurian seemingly agreeing with her anticipation to have the male rid of as soon as possible, a disagreeable look simmering in his rough features. But Lucien levels his brother with an evaluating glance, mechanical eye whirring faintly against the dim heat of the fire. “We each have our distances,” Lucien replies evenly, yielding a vague answer. He’s getting the distinct feeling something large has happened, or is about to. Maybe even happening as they speak—slabs of rock knocking into one another, having already been pushed into motion.

Does this have anything to do with Elain’s visit being postponed? She had been supposed to arrive two days ago, but had had to change their meeting to a later date as she’d had a family matter to oversee. Lucien hadn’t tried to pry.

“But you’re aware that Nesta Archeron and the General took a vacation to the Day Court?” Eris questions, and again Lucien has the distinct sense he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. A very big, very crucial piece of the puzzle.

He nods, and braces himself.

Though even foresight wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for the news Eris had brought.

A warning that shook him to his fae bones.

————

You swallow thickly, frozen stiff as her truthful eyes bore into you.

You open your mouth, lips ajar, but your throat is much too tight to release any sort of sound.

Mor doesn’t shift, holding your gaze with a steadiness and conviction you can’t look away from, bound to her by an invisible tether that’s keeping you from hiding or running how you’d like to. “Surely you know…” she whispers, taking in a shallow breath, her lashes fluttering with an almost imperceptible shudder. “Surely you know what he did to me.”

You give a faint nod of your head.

Her amber eyes sharpen, and your stomach clenches beneath the look. “So explain yourself,” she utters lowly. “Don’t leave it up to me to pry the answers from you.”

A seed of fear plants itself in your throat, something cool and slimy rinsing gently down your spine and you’re worried sweat is dripping down your ribs, rolling in salty droplets down the soft inside of your arms where the skin hasn’t yet grown dehydrated and flaky. Fingers tighten absently on the silk of the orange scarf banding around your upper body, tugging at the folds to try and hide the tremor of adrenaline that’s filtered into your bloodstream.

You swallow thickly, but your throat won’t clear, and you realise that’s because there’s nothing there—no matter how much it feels the opposite.

“I didn’t…” you clear your throat again. Rip your gaze away. “I didn’t want to disappoint any of you,” you force yourself to answer, voice catching at the pitiful excuse.

Mor’s silent.

Silent for long enough you nervously look at her.

You flinch internally at the expression of horror on her features, shoulders bunching with shame as your brows curve, silently begging for a reply, and not this awful quiet that’s slowly gutting you.

“You chose…” she swallows past a lump in her throat, and her scent has shifted but you can’t understand what it means, the minute changes that occur within fae bodies. “You willingly went to him? He didn’t even have to try and persuade you?”

“Mor it wasn’t like that,” you try to clarify hurriedly. “I just—…I just thought it would be—”

“Easier?”

“No! I just thought it would— I don’t know… It would’t cause trouble! I just wanted to do it by myself so I wouldn’t have to bother any of you!”

“Wouldn’t cause trouble?” Mor repeats incredulously, a look of disbelief on her features, like she can’t grasp what you’re saying. “We were ready to help,” Mor bites back sharply, “all you had to do was ask for it. You could have spoken to Feyre, or any of your sisters about your magic. Any of us. You could have come to me, even—but you went to Eris.” Her voice is taut, rife with anger and hurt, but even in the dim light there’s a faint shine in her eyes, belying their wetness. “What made you think that we weren’t enough?”

“I didn’t want to bother you!” You say back, matching her volume.

“We’re your family! You’re supposed to bother us!”

You take a small step back, fighting the humiliating wobble of your lip before you shake your head, fingertips tingling. “No. You’re— You’re Feyre’s family.”

“Feyre’s your sister,” Mor emphasises, knuckles pushing up from beneath the smooth softness of her skin, pronounced from her bone-white grip on the tray that’s beginning to splinter. “Or is she no longer part of your family either? It seems the only person you even bother to speak to is Elain nowadays. Her and Azriel, anyway.”

“And what does that matter?” You bite back, hands itching. “What does it matter if I only speak to Elain? Would you prefer I start speaking to you, Mor?”

“Why not?” She nearly spits, energy being drawn out from the cave where she’d tried to smother it over dinner. “Why not?” You repeat, neither of you completely aware of how your voices are beginning to rise incrementally, ignoring or oblivious to the faint, sickly green light that definitely isn’t coming from the kitchen. “You’d like me to speak with you when this is the kind of conversation we’re having? You want me to be emotional, or vulnerable with you, or ask you for help when you shut me out the moment I do something wrong? When I fail?”

“I might have shut you out but you didn’t even open up. Didn’t even give us a chance in the first place, don’t pretend otherwise,” Mor spits back. “If you can’t understand the pain you caused me, fine. I can’t help it if you won’t allow yourself to think of us as family. But what about your actual family? What about them?”

“Don’t you dare try and talk to me about my own family Mor,” you grit out, nails digging into the flaky skin of your palms, heart pounding in your chest. “Haven’t you pried enough?”

“Did you even think to consider how it would make them feel?” Mor jabs, barrelling ahead. “Can you grasp how hurt Feyre was that you didn’t go to her? Three sisters, and you decided that none of them were good enough? Just because you aren’t their first choice doesn’t mean they can’t be—”

“Mor.”

Utter silence falls throughout the hallway at the barely restrained interruption.

Both of you freeze at the sound of the third voice, filled with hissing winds and rasping shadow. Managing to stay calm despite the tempest in her blue-grey eyes.

Before you, Mor blinks, and you’re unsure if you imagine the way colour drains from her features, still watching you. Further unsure if the faint green light was smothered of its own accord or the dark shadows that seem to be heavier now Feyre has appeared. Now the Cursebreaker has entered.

Mor turns on her heel, shifting to meet Feyre’s eyes, but quiet stretches between them, and you get the impression a conversation is being had, though not through daemati powers. A single lock of golden hair shifts over Mor’s shoulder, falling out of place, though you can no longer see her expression. And then she nods. Just once, hardly perceptible, even to fae eyes, and you watch with a still pounding heart as the tray vanishes from her hands a second later, heels clicking softly across the floorboards as she wordlessly takes her exit, leaving you and…Feyre, alone in the hallway.

You shift anxiously on your feet, swallowing thickly.

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask quietly, looking away again, all the fight drained from you after the brief altercation. You’re entirely unaccustomed with those open arguments, haven’t had one since—well, since that last one with Feyre, that had the sound ward placed on your room.

Feyre watches you, the previous storm quietened, but her eyes aren’t sparkling as usual. Instead she looks drained. Drained, and tired, and a little wary. “Enough,” she answers.

You shift again, a little begrudging she saw fit to interrupt, like you needed her to intervene. “It was fine, you know…”

Feyre’s quiet, and you’re unsure if she’s angry. Angry at you for speaking to Mor that way. Angry at you for speaking so loudly when Nyx is probably asleep. Angry at you for not speaking to her first. Angry at you for the long, long list of reasons she should have by now.

“It did hurt,” she says quietly, and you raise your gaze to meet her own, “that you thought you couldn’t come to us. To me.”

Your lips purse, and you look away.

“I was upset with your choice. Disappointed a little. Confused,” she continues in that quiet whisper that could carry with ease across a cavernous hall. “But what Mor said wasn’t true. Not in the way she phrased it.”

“Feyre, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t need to—”

“Mor knows that’s not true either.”

Your lips purse again, that quiet stretching between you.

You want to disintegrate on the spot.

Fabric rustles slightly, and it’s the only clue you have to Feyre shifting. Then, “it’s late,” she says, moving away from the open wound of a topic. “We should talk more about this in the morning. When Madja comes round too.” She nods her head toward the corridor, but you look at her a little apologetically. “I was supposed to find Elain a brush,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “we broke a plate.”

“The kitchen will clear it up,” Feyre replies, leaving no room for you to skate back to your older sister.

So you end up walking with her back to your room.

It’s dark out, and you can’t help but look forward to settling into bed, even if it hurts sometimes to roll over beneath the covers. That it hurts sometimes to lie on your sides, when your arms press into the sheets, with your weight resting atop them. At least you’re beginning to get used to it, the pain much more tolerable now, despite it having not decreased.

You’ve both reached the top of the stairs, turning down the hallway that will lead to your bedroom, walking close enough together to make up for the fact your arms aren’t linked—Feyre guessing correctly it would probably hurt—when Feyre speaks. “Are Eris and Azriel the only other people who’ve felt your magic before?” She asks tentatively into the darkness of the house, seemingly having cooled off now you’re further from the spot of altercation.

“Yes, I think so,” you answer in an equally soft voice.

“Have either of them every commented on what it feels like?” She asks, and you’re aware how she’s keeping her gaze ahead. You move your eyes to look in the same direction, spotting your bedroom door on the right not far ahead. “Not that I can think of,” you reply, before adding, “though it’s never been…going, for as long as that.”

Feyre’s silent, and you glance at her through the shadows, wondering what she’s thinking. You can’t read her expression, so resume your looking ahead.

“When I was in autumn, though,” you begin hesitantly, hardly louder than a whisper, worrying who might overhear the unpleasant reference, “my magic almost…I don’t know…burst? It came through me very suddenly, and forcefully.” You recall the frighteningly large creature that had charged at you while in the woods, how your magic had melted the skin from its flesh. “We were both sick afterwards.”

“Azriel was sick a lot when he first woke up,” Feyre says faintly, and your stomach clenches with guilt.

You try to swallow past it, but it seems to remain lodged in your throat, unpleasantly settling in your stomach heavily enough you’re thankful when you reach your door, the evening nearly over with.

“Why did you ask, by the way?” You question before slipping away into your room, paused over the threshold.

Feyre glances at you, turned to leave but stopping. “Your magic…I could feel it in the hallway,” she answers, a wary note creeping into her voice.

She seems disinclined to give anything else, so you again shift awkwardly in the doorway, before gathering the gut to ask, “how did it feel?”

Something passes behind her blue-grey eyes, shuttering briefly as they close, before reopening. “Like I was dying again,” she answers quietly.

You stare at her silently, the threshold of your room between you, the silence heavier than it was before. You don’t even know what to say to that.

She doesn’t give you the time to think of a reply, however, as she releases a sigh. Her throat rolls as she meets your eyes. “Sleep well,” she says, and you catch as her attention dips to your hands, like she wants to take them, to hold them.

But she doesn’t, instead looking back at you again, throat rolling for the second time.

“I love you,” she says hoarsely, speaking those words that are so sparsely exchanged between the four of you.

You stiffen, emotion of a different kind tightening your throat, and you nod faintly.

“I love you, too. Sleep well.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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#azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #multi part fic #azriel x you #cbmthy #cbmthy chapter 18 #can’t bring myself to hate you

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girlgenius1111 · 7 months

Text

just let go: chapter 4

Misa finally get her turn with you. Jenni is kind enough to share. Alexia doesn't enjoy not being the center of attention.

18+

warnings: strap on use. double penetration. anal. praise & degradation. dom / sub dynamics. orgasm delay / control. breeding kink. [i think that's it?]

haven't yet thanked everyone for sending in their very DETAILED requests. i truly appreciate it, it makes m job so much easier. also thank you to @vixwritesagain for giving me good ideas and generally being an Orgy Inspiration™

-----

Alexia's hands bat away Misa's own as she attempted to secure the harness to the younger woman's waist. It was an enticing sight, significantly more enticing than it should have been; the blonde's long fingers expertly tightening the straps over the goalkeeper's powerful thighs. As soon as Ale was done, Jenni was directing everyone where she wanted them. This was her show and everyone knew it, although there were varying degrees of defiance in all of you.

"Misa, niña bonita, lay on the bed." The striker turned her attention in your direction. "You, amor, on top of her, ass in the air."

Jenni barely gave her girlfriend a glance as she gave the blonde her instructions.

"Ale, there," Jenni instructed, nodding to the side of the bed not currently occupied by you and Misa, a fair distance away from anyone else. It was clear that Jenni had no intention for Alexia to participate in the next thing she was planning. You bit back a smirk, watching the blonde fold her arms, pouting slightly. Alexia caught your look anyway, and turned her glare towards you. Hastily you leaned down, pressing your lips to Misa's, quickly getting lost in the kiss, and forgetting about the blonde woman sitting a few feet from you.

Jenni wasn't paying attention to her girlfriend either, as she positioned herself behind you, hands just finding your back before she was interrupted.

"Jenni."

The forward still paid no attention to her girlfriend, stroking softly at your back.

"Jenni," Alexia called again, more insistently, and definitely more whiny this time. You and Misa broke apart, watching as, slowly, Jenni turned her head to face her girlfriend.

"What do you want, needy girl?"

Alexia's face grew red, not enjoying the extra attention, as she glared at the striker. "If you are in her ass, and Misa is in her pussy, where am I supposed to be?"

"Not everything needs to include you, amor. You just sit there and watch, yes?"

Alexia made a disapproving noise, sitting up more as if to move closer to the three of you. A single raised eyebrow from Jenni had her frozen in her tracks.

"Everyone else has watched, bonita. Are you going to be good and take your turn? Or are you going to be a brat, and make me punish you in front of our guests?"

Alexia scowled but sat back down on the bed. She was within touching distance of you and Misa, something you were sure she would take advantage of, once Jenni's attention was properly occupied.

"Listo?" Jenni asked, her hands beginning to spread you apart.

You nodded eagerly, jolting when you felt a lubed finger pressing against you. It slid in easily, as Jenni had already had it in before, and you exhaled happily, resting your head on Misa's collarbone.

"Misa, inside." Jenni instructed, and this time, you moaned in surprise when the goalkeeper obeyed, sliding into you all at once, her lips finding your pulse point, and sucking gently. She began to move right away, calloused hands lifting your hips, before bringing them back down.

Jenni stopped her though, shushing you softly as she pressed another finger into you.

"No, let her feel you inside her. Let her get used to it, before we fuck her wide open."

You looked down at Misa pleadingly, but the brunette had a smirk etched across her face, one you were sure Jenni was matching. Misa's hands held your hips down on her cock, as the forward worked your other hole open. Her fingers were long, reaching deep inside of you. Misa's strap was a stretch to begin with, one you would have struggled to take if you weren't so wet. Jenni's fingers were a lot, too, but it only felt good. Until a third finger teased over your rim, and you shifted, whining deep in your throat.

"You can take three." Jenni encouraged.

Until this point, the keeper had been content to watch you as you took Jenni's fingers, but she was getting impatient. Her hips bucked unconsciously, and you arched your back more, a sharp breath escaping your mouth.

"Not yet, Misa. Just let her sit on your cock. It makes her so desperate, so needy." Jenni's mocking tone made you blush, her words only making it worse. It was a good kind of humiliation, the kind that made you crave more. "We need her wet if we're going to fuck her at the same time."

It was this reminder that made Misa relent, and she settled for tugging your face away from her neck and pulling you into a kiss. She could feel it every time Jenni pressed deeper into you, feel the little breaths and sighs you let out into her mouth. Your tongue tangled with the goalkeepers, her mouth moving rhythmically against yours as you tried to relax your muscles, allowing Jenni in further.

"How do you feel, bonita?" Jenni asked, the hand that was not stretching you open running up and down your back soothingly.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavily. "Full."

"Full? No, not full yet. Alexia, grab my strap."

The ease with which the blonde did as her girlfriend asked would have been highly suspicious, if only anyone was paying attention to her. All three of you were rather preoccupied, though, Misa holding you down on top of her strap, Jenni working 3 fingers inside of you.

Jenni was rather startled, then, when Alexia didn’t just hand her the strap. Instead, she took the initiative to yank Jenni back away from you, capturing her in a messy, wet kiss. The forward was a willful person, but there wasn’t anyone on this earth strong enough to deny Alexia when she was handling them so roughly. You whined when Jenni’s fingers left you, but she paid no mind, keeping her attention on the pliant blonde pressed against her.

The midfielder’s hands secured the harness and dildo around Jenni’s hips, not needing to see what she was doing to get it on exactly right. The brunette broke the kiss after a minute smiling wolfishly at her girlfriend as she took the lube out of the blonde’s outstretched hand, and began to work it over her cock.

“Back to your spot, mi amor,” She instructed. Alexia only frowned, shaking her head.

“No.” She murmured, leaning back in towards Jenni’s face.

“No?” Jenni asked dangerously, leaning away from Alexia as she raised an eyebrow at her girlfriend’s defiance.

Something on the other woman's face stopped her from reacting like she normally would, and Jenni didn’t protest when Alexia moved to kneel behind her, wrapping her strong arms around the forward’s lean figure. If Alexia was ignoring Jenni’s specific instructions, it was clear that the midfielder needed the contact badly, and though normally strict with her girl, Jenni was not one to deny her something that she needed.

Still, Jenni paid Alexia very little mind as she turned her attention back to you, though she did tilt her neck just slightly, allowing her girlfriend better access to leave soft kisses on the skin there.

Misa had taken full advantage of Jenni’s distraction, very carefully working herself in and out of you, stopping when the forward turned her attention back in your direction. You were pliant in Misa’s arms, content to rest your head in the crook of her neck. That is, until you felt the blunt head of Jenni’s strap pressing against your hole.

You’d never taken 2 before. You’d taken fingers and a strap, yes, but this was an entirely different beast to conquer, and Jenni knew that very well. You would have been nervous, if there was any room for it. Squished between Jenni and Misa, though, and feeling one of Alexia’s hands splayed across your back from behind her girlfriend, you weren’t anything but excited.

You were already stretched wide open on Misa, truly dripping all over her, and Jenni hadn’t switched to the strap until she was absolutely sure you could take it. The stretch would burn, but you could, and would, take it.

“You want me, bonita? Misa stuffing your cunt full is not enough? You need me to fill you up too?” Jenni cooed, pressing the head into you, just barely. Jenni wouldn’t ever risk your comfort, she would take it slow until you begged her to speed up. You could only groan deep in your throat at her words, and Misa exhaled sharply at the sound. It was taking everything in her not to grind up into you.

“I asked you a question, cariño,” Jenni murmured, pressed in an inch further, though her nails raked down your back warningly. You shivered at the touch, struggling to find your voice.

“Need you too, J, need you both,” you managed, the words a soft mumble against Misa’s neck.

Jenni’s teasing didn’t relent. “Where do you need me, huh?” She pressed in more, enough that you were beginning to really feel it, feel both women inside of you. Her hands gripped your hips now, and the slight movements she was directing had you clenching around Misa’s strap.

“In my ass, Jenni, please,” you whimpered. At this, Jenni pushed herself all the way in, to the base, groaning herself at the sight in front of her.

“Tan apretada,” the forward said through gritted teeth, her head falling back onto Alexia’s shoulder, even as her cock stayed buried deep in you.

“Fuck, jesus,” you cried, hands gripping onto Misa’s sides.

“Shh, you can take it,” the keeper reassured, very tentatively fucking up into you, smiling to herself when you let out a keening whine, one that was unmistakably expressing your pleasure.

Jenni and Misa kept very different rhythms inside of you, but it didn’t matter, you felt your orgasm building within you. Jenni’s was a slow rock, never pulling out too far before pushing back in. It wasn’t the action of the fucking that made it good, it was the stretch, the burn, the feeling of being so fucking full. Misa’s pace was steady, though, quickening every minute that you fell apart on top of her.

Everyone was very focused on their roles, the room quiet except for the wet slide of both cocks in and out of you, all three of you breathing hard enough for it to be audible. One person, though, was not very busy. Alexia’s chin was resting on Jenni’s shoulder, and she was watching, as her girlfriend had instructed. Alexia could tell you were getting close, unsurprisingly, by the way your legs were trembling on each side of Misa, and the soft, quiet whines that were just barely escaping your mouth.

“Cariño,” she sang softly, her voice a soft lull washing over you. You hummed in acknowledgement, and Alexia smirked at the sound. “Are you close bebita?”

“Mmm hmm,” you replied. You were, and the feeling was almost entirely overwhelming. If an orgasm was a wave, this felt like a tsunami was about to wash over you, and you already felt your body beginning to tremble and jerk uncontrollably.

“You going to come for us? Make a mess? Already dripping all over Misa’s pretty legs, I bet you feel so good, huh?” Alexia and Jenni had a way of speaking to you that made you fold completely. Even if you hadn’t already been close, Ale’s words would have pushed you there.

The alternating thrusts in each of your holes grew faster, harder, until a loud smack was sounding every half second as each girl pressed into you more aggressively. You were so close, the feeling threatening to swallow you whole, when Jenni moved her hand from your hip, threading her fingers through your hair and tugging hard.

“Jen- god, I’m gonna come,” you moaned. Misa’s lips attached themselves to your neck, unable to help herself as she took in the absolutely dazed look on your face, eyes half shut, tears leaking out of the corners.

“Come, amorcita, I want to see you come for me,” Jenni rasped, and she’d barely finished talking before you were screaming her name, words almost unintelligible as your body shuddered. You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything more than hold tightly as you tried to breathe through it. Jenni and Misa stilled deep inside of you as you tightened down on them, until they could barely move.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cried, nails digging into Misa under you as you grinded down softly on her, working yourself through potentially the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced. It was so much, too much, two cocks filling you completely.

“Jen, out,” you gasped, needing the stimulation to ease if you were going to be able to go again anytime soon.

Jenni listened instantly, delicately pulling out of you. Once she was no longer pressed against your ass, your legs gave out from under you, Misa’s cock slipping out as you collapsed completely down on top of her.

“So fucking good for us, tan bonita, tan perfecta,” Misa whispered, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. Her arms wrapped tightly around you, securely holding your trembling body to hers. The post orgasm bliss quickly took over, and you turned your slightly as your head cleared a bit, at the sound of a familiar whine from next to you.

Jenni had moved quickly, getting her girlfriend flat on her back and settling in between her legs before you’d really even noticed. Ale looked completely gone, head thrown back into the pillows as she breathed hard, fingers laced in Jenni’s hair. It was, perhaps, this sight that somehow made your aching cunt ache in a different way.

You needed more. You weren’t sure how, but you needed it, deep inside you. You needed Misa to fuck you like she normally did, not in the slightly held back way she’d just done. You needed Misa, your Misa, who made you come until you thought you might explode. Misa had never been one to deny you either, and you turned back towards her, resting your chin on her chest, waiting to speak until her brown eyes met yours, tearing away from the encapsulating sight next to you.

“M, I need you to fuck me,” you told her, watching as a familiar smirk tugged at her lips.

“You sure you are ready?” She asked, soft Misa poking out, for just a moment.

“I’m ready, please baby, I need you so bad,”

Misa had you under her on your stomach within a second, yanking your hips until your ass was high in the air, face pressed into the mattress below you.

“Just fucked you full, and you already need more? Fucking slut, just for us.” Misa said roughly. She knew what you liked, and knew what you could take, and you weren’t surprised at all when Misa lined herself up, thrusting into you all at once. It coaxed a long, drawn out moan from you, still so sensitive from before, the sensation still a perfect one.

Misa fucked exactly how she looked like she fucked. Hard, fast, hands grasping at handfuls of your ass, muscular thighs working herself inside of you at a truly athletic pace. Everything around you was forgotten, Alexia’s cries and the sound of Jenni’s tongue lapping against her girlfriend fading away until it was just you and Misa.

“C-close,” you warned. It didn’t even occur to you to be embarrassed at how fast they were making you finish, the pleasure forcing every coherent thought from your head.

“No,” Misa growled, speeding up. With every thrust she was grinding into you, the pressure perfect on her clit. She’d been worked up for a while, and the sight of you underneath her, hands gripping the bed sheets as if your life depended on it was getting her so very close. “No, you come with me. You come when I fill that pussy up,”

“Misa, I’m gonna,” you said, tensing every muscle in your body in an effort to hold off like she wanted.

“No. Not until you beg for it.”

You knew exactly what she was asking for.

“Fill me up, Misa, please baby, I need you to fill me up,” you were practically shouting, voice scratchy from the strain on your throat, but it was precisely what Misa wanted to hear.

“Come, fucking come for me, mi zorrita perfecta,”

With one last thrust into you, Misa grinded in hard, sending her over the edge at the same time as you. The keeper collapsed on top of you, her orgasm ending significantly before yours did. The force of it had you practically convulsing under her, having entirely lost the ability to form multi-word sentences, you repeated Misa’s name like it was the only word you knew, the only word you’d ever need to know. Your skin was sticky with sweat under Misa’s, but she didn’t care as she pulled out, rolling you gently onto your side, and settling herself directly on top of you.

“Mi buena niña, tan perfecta para mi,” she whispered, enjoying the soft whimpers still working their way out of your mouth. It took her a minute to remember that you both were not, in fact, alone in the room. She was past the point of embarrassment, though, the other two women seeing far more of her than she’d ever thought she’d allow. Carefully, as not to jostle your quivering body, Misa twisted her head to find Jenni resting her head on Alexia’s stomach, satisfied smiles adorning both of their faces. Alexia looked properly fucked out, and Misa wondered briefly how she’d missed what must have been a loud performance from the midfielder. You were done, very clearly so, eyes half shut under the comforting weight of your brunette, cheeks flushed, an incredibly content and relaxed expression on your face. Alexia, too, looked content to never move again, her hands resting possessively on Jenni’s back.

Jenni, however, was looking at Misa with a glint in her eye, one that Misa had only seen once; right before Jenni was about to fuck you open. There was still a thick tension in the room, one that you and Alexia clearly were no longer feeling, but one that rippled between the forward and the goalkeeper all the same. Jenni wasn’t done with Misa, not even close.

-----

🙃 one more to go.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x jenni hermoso x misa rodríguez x reader #alexia putellas x jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #jenni hermoso x reader #misa rodriguez x reader

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boxofbonesfic · 7 months

Text

Title: Tonality [5]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous Chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: OMG I’M SO SORRY. this chapter was so hard to write and it kept getting away from me, because i really wanted to pivot hard into some of the main plot points. i really hope you enjoy it, please drop me a comment and let me know even if you didn’t.

“Come.” Your mother’s voice is firm. Her mourning veil just barely outlines the shape of her face, as her lips move beneath the fabric. It billows behind her as she walks down the darkened line of empty pews toward the front of the little chapel, a flickering candle held steady in her gloved hand.

Your father is to be buried tomorrow.

You know his grave is already dug—a fresh square cut out of the dark earth next to his father’s. The thought of him alone in the dirt is enough to make your throat tighten, though no tears come. You have cried them all already; a veritable ocean. Even so, your dry eyes ache for lack of them.

“W-wait, mother, I—” You do not want to see it, the vacant thing your father’s soul has left behind. At the end, you could barely recognize him in the fragile body decaying in his sick bed. You catch at her sleeve with numb fingers, lowering your head in shame. “I do not want to see—” Her icy fingers wrap around yours, long and thin, her jagged nails digging into your skin.

“We must each place a stitch upon the shroud.” You wince as she presses the long needle into your stiff hands. “It is our duty.” Only when you accept it does she release you, and for a moment, you see her lips quirk cruelly beneath the veil. You tremble as your mother steps aside, your breath catching as you see the shape of the body on the altar.

Just behind her is your father, his shroud dotted with the shapes of dead flowers and bare trees. It does little to quell the horror you feel to behold him, though, his thin outline visible through the shroud, limbs folded and delicate like a baby bird. You remember what he looked like two nights prior, his rheumy eyes dull and deep set into his skull, skin thin and sallow. He looks small now, too, beneath his shroud, and you find it hard to believe this withered corpse had once been a great mountain of a man. A good man, a strong man, now reduced to the barest scraps of skin and bone.

“Stitch.” Her command fills every inch of space, in the chapel and in your head. And though you want nothing more than to close your eyes and be gone from this place, your body will not obey. You raise the needle.

“Please, mother—”

“Stitch.” Her voice is like iron nails in your skull. Blood drips from your nose, and you taste the warm copper of it on your lips. You pinch a corner of thin fabric between your fingers, and push in the needle, pulling it through until the knot at the end of the thread catches. You lower your hand to the shroud as you sew another stitch, and as you do so, your fingers brush your father’s sunken cheek, and you retch.

You cannot stop—

She will not let you.

You look down at your father’s body with tears in your wide eyes, and as you do, a scream builds in your throat. You pinch his lips together between your forefinger and thumb. Delicately; like you would the hem of your gown for a curtsey— and sew another stitch through the meat of them. He is beginning to rot, now, you can smell it over the cloying scent of incense.

“Mother stop!” Your scream is swallowed by the heavy darkness of the empty chapel. Your mother sighs, her breath curling against your ear.

“How else can we make sure the dead don’t speak?” She threads her fingers through yours as she pulls your hand toward his sunken eyelids. You pinch the stiff flesh between your fingers, holding it taut for the needle.

“Now close his eyes.”

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed as you cover your mouth with one hand, fingers searching for the thick black funeral thread—but of course, you find none. The dream clings to the edges of your vision like spider silk, the taste of decaying things still heavy on the panicked air you draw in. A ra sob wrenches its way out of your throat as you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyes.

Perhaps I am mad, after all.

Ain’t supposed t’see the dead ones. Maybe Madge’s old superstitions had borne fruit in your own mind. You recall the symbol she made with one hand, finger on thumb, finger on thumb, before spitting down into the dirt as you left your father’s burial. She’d shaken her head then, some the silver-gray locs piled on top of her head coming loose. Ain’t supposed t’see them. They stay when you see, them, Lady.

They stay.

“No!” You throw the blankets off of yourself, lurching out of bed and stumbling towards the wash-bowl on the dresser. The thought of that day fills you with the same cold dread you have come to know too well. You’ve little choice in your dreams; the specter of his burial hanging over you like overripe fruit. But here, in waking, in the chill autumn daylight, you have the power to turn your thoughts to other things.

At least, you try to.

The water is shockingly cold, but you are grateful for it, staring down into the porcelain bowl. A knock at the door startles you, and you jump.

“W-who is it?”

“Kassandra, Majesty. Might I come in?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “You may.” You pat worriedly at your swollen eyelids, and you frown at your reflection as the door swings open. Your mother has an effortless sort of beauty, one that needs neither rouge nor powders to enhance—a trait you certainly do not share. Your disturbing, sleepless night is written plainly on your face.

Kassandra sets the tray down in the sitting area, before turning to you with a worried expression.

“Her Majesty hopes you are well,” she says, nervously tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with dainty fingers. “As you were not at break-fast this morning.”

“I was… I did not sleep well.” You shake your head. “I trust my mother made her displeasure quite clear.” She stifles a laugh. “She’s good at that.”

“She did.” Kassandra gestures to the tray, porridge and an assortment continental fruit cut into bite size pieces. “You should eat, Lady. While it’s hot.” You pick uninterestedly at the porridge until it is mostly gone, along with the tart green grapes and sweet winter melon. At the very least you do feel better for it, or at least, more present—more grounded in this world, not the dream one.

You clear up the remains of your breakfast, piling the dishes neatly back onto the tray. In the armoire, you note that more Rivian style gowns have been hung, your light Redanian dresses folded neatly and shunted off to the shelves on the side. Your mother’s thin excuse makes you wrinkle your nose in distaste as you finger one of the heavy sleeves. “Much too light for these Rivian winters, Dear,” she’d said, patting the neatly folded dresses.

“You won’t need them.”

The truth remains unspoken, but you know it still—she does not want you to need them. You pull a heavy crimson dress from its place and begin to undo the lacing. Kassandra clucks her tongue at you.

“Highness, please. Allow me at least one task.” You roll your eyes in response.

“I believe you are capable of more than dressing me—and that I am more than capable of dressing myself,” you reply. You change into a fresh shift before shrugging into the dress. You twist around to reach for the lacings, but Kassandra shoos your hands away to do them herself.

“You’re doing them wrong.” She chides you gently. “Up for lift, down for compression, my Lady.” Kassandra nods at you in the mirror and then positions your body so that if you crane your neck just a little, you can see her hands as she easily threads the thick ribbon through the eyelets. “Opposing sides. Like this.”

You purse your lips. “We don’t wear these dreadful things in Redania,” you mutter, your breath hitching as the corset tightens. She laughs before stepping away, brushing loose lint from the folds of the heavy fabric.

“Even so, our fashion does suit you.” You can tell she wants to say something else, the way her mouth opens and then closes, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’ve another correction?” You ask, gesturing at yourself with a chuckle, but she shakes her head. She glances at the door, as though reassuring herself that it was still shut.

“No, no, I—I do not mean to be insolent, Highness,” Kassandra begins, “but I do not think I have ever heard you say you have rested well within these walls.” Your smile turns brittle and tired.

“No. I have not. And your concern is not insolence. I am grateful for it.”

“Healer Janna—her draughts have not availed you?” You hesitate, wondering if you should describe the shape of your demon, give it form and substance outside of your mind. You shake your head, steepling your fingers together to stop them from trembling.

“It seems the dreams that plague me require more than nightroot and dried frogspawn to satisfy them.” I see my father. I see him dead a thousand ways.

“Healer Janna’s draughts for sleep and pain are as close to magic as they’ll allow in the White Keep, you know that.” Bastard’s magic. You do. You think of Father Rame’s disgusted expression. He does not seem the type to suffer a witch to live. “But I have… there is another. A woman—they call her The Dock Hag.” Her voice is a low whisper, as if she fears the good Father ears will ring with her heresy, even here.

“And she can… she can rid me of these dreams?” The prospect is a tantalizing one. “You know her? You have visited this woman?”

“I—yes. I met her. Once.” Her smile is sad. “When I was small, and the older Ladies had need of her.” Kassandra’s words are aged, heavy with the weight of years that both do and do not belong to her in equal measure. “And then again, for the memories.”

“She…” You cannot bring yourself to say it. Kassandra nods, the smile going brittle and crumbling from her face.

“Not many Lords will claim their bastards, Highness, if you will forgive my candor.”

In your mind’s eye you see a small Kassandra, attending her own mother, most likely, or perhaps even an older sister or cousin who… had need of this woman. The witch who had taken their babies—

And then burnt their dreams out.

“What did it cost?”

“Nothing special. Gold.” You let out a relieved sigh at her words. That, at least, is an easy enough problem to solve. Kassandra cuts her eyes at you. “Are you going to go? To see her?”

Perhaps Madge was a superstitious old northern goat—But maybe she was right too: the living are not meant to mingle with the dead. Perhaps it is some guilt that drives your father’s image to the forefront of your mind, some secret thing that the specter of his death clings to—you cannot know.

But the witch might.

—

The east stair is narrow, cut roughly out of the stone as if it were an afterthought. The iron railing is pitted and mottled from the salt in the air, and it rattles dangerously as you grip it. The stairs themselves are uneven, still slick from the inconsistent rain that had stopped only hours before. Every step feels as though you are lurching forward, being pulled down the long winding stair to the paving below.

There are more ways to enter and exit this keep than the main gate, Majesty.

The east stair wound around the back of the White Keep like a snake, the steps hidden in the stone like a secret. As you take another cautious step down, your foot slips and you gasp, the railing shaking as you cling to it. You steady yourself, locking your trembling knees tightly as you recite Kassandra’s instructions.

You will take the east stair down from the parapets over the chapel. Through the gap in the wall is the city. Go straight to the docks, ask for the Hag.” She had not wanted to stay behind, though you had convinced her with a stern look and an order to send away any who came knocking at your door till you returned. You would need her to provide a believable excuse in the event that anyone came looking—and an empty room would be cause for alarm, especially with you… “ill.”

Below you, the city glitters with light even as the dark begins to deepen. Beyond it, the sun sinks into the sea, lingering on the horizon before disappearing completely. Like Kassandra had said, near the foot of the stairs—twenty feet back, and behind a column, but near enough—is the gap in the wall. It is overgrown thick with dying ivy, the orange leaves already turning spotty brown at the edges.

Crushed leaves litter the hood and shoulders of your cloak as you start to squeeze inside, the stone catching at your clothes. You push your way through the narrow passage, panic coiling in your gut at the feel of the unyielding pressure at your chest and back. Your fingers meet open air at the next push, and you practically drag yourself out into the streetlight, fingers digging into the stone.

The misty street that greets you is practically empty, and what few people there are do not seem to have noticed that you have joined them from nowhere on the wet cobbled street. Hurriedly, you brush dirt and discarded leaves from your cloak before you adjust your hood, angling it down over your eyes. You keep your head down, your hands clenched into trembling, nervous fists. Every heavy step you take away from the keep sets the warning bells in your skull to ringing, as gooseflesh rises on your arms.

It isn’t too late to go back. It isn’t. Not too late to turn around, slip back between the ivy covered crack in the east wall and seek your mother’s counsel once more—and go to sleep, knowing that you will see beyond the veil again.

The thought spurs you onward.

The streets are even more unfamiliar in the growing dark, and as you watch the lanterns flare to life to chase it away, you swallow nervously. There is so much to see, here—too much. As you approach the city centre the market is still bustling with activity, the shops open and windows bright.

You spare yourself a few moments to watch the people. A woman buys bread, her son playing in her skirts, a man pulls shut the door of the tavern across the way, a blacksmith’s hammer falls rhythmically like a drum, the chapel’s bell rings for evening prayer—there is so much here, the sheer amount of everything almost dizzies you. A woman bumps your shoulder as she passes by, and it stirs you out of your reverie. By the time she turns to apologize, you are already gone, hurrying off through the square.

The air turns salt with brine the closer you get, and you lick your dry lips, tasting it. The night had been thick with sounds in the city center, but the further you travel from it, the more quiet the streets become. It is eerie, the stark difference between these silent, empty streets and the lively square only moments ago.

The last time you had been to the docks was when you’d stepped off of the ship, in the scant few days before your mother’s wedding. Now, the narrow streets look different, unrecognizable from the snatches you remember through the carriage windows. You look in one direction, and then another, frowning.

“You’re lost, Sweet.” There is no question in the old woman’s voice. You see her then, standing beneath the street lantern in a pool of pale light.

“I—I am looking for—”

“Me, Sweet. You’re looking for me.” The shadows fall away from her face without her moving, like the light has only just decided to accept her. The Witch’s white hair is wild about her face. And her face… she is a severe beauty, like wind whipped ocean waves. The years define her jaw, sloping in gentle strokes down around her eyes, and her ears slope upward into gentle points. She is older than your mother, though you know this not by sight but because you simply… know it. An uncanny feeling that has grown in the back of your mind that she is like you, but… un-like you, too.

She is an elf.

It is not just the ears, but the air about her, an ethereal quality that surrounds her as thickly as the shawl about her shoulders. It is in the delicate set of her jaw, perhaps, or the distinct lack of canine teeth in her amused grin. You take a halting step forward, and then stop, wary.

“You are the W—you can help me?” The Witch wraps her shawl tighter about her shoulders, and fixes you with a hawkish look.

“Don’t know that yet.” She purses her lips. “Shall we do this in the street? Or will you oblige me my own roof?” You nod hurriedly, and follow her as she turns quickly on her heel down the street. You are close enough to the docks to hear the water as she approaches a small house, pushing open the door. You follow her inside, halting briefly at the doorway. There is dried heather inside, hanging in a braided bushel on the arch. She watches you step inside, her dark eyes narrowed.

“Shut the door behind you,” she snaps, flicking the edge of her shawl over her shoulder. “Never met a Princess raised in a bloody barn.” You brush aside the bushels of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling as you make your way inside.

The Witch rounds the other side of the table, where you see the evidence of her unfinished work. A grindstone, laying on its side, with half-ground herbs lying in the bowl.

“How did you know?” You ask as she picks it back up, the sound of stone on stone filling the room as she resumes. “That I was looking… for you.”

“I always know,” she replies, somewhat exasperated. “Like a rabbit knows a fox.” Her sharp eyes find yours once more. “What ails you, sweet Princess?” There is mockery in her tone, though you dare not take umbrage at its presence. “A suitor you wish to beguile? A fair maiden you wish to remove from his eye?” Her gaze drops down, and then darts back up again.

“Or perhaps an unseen consequence?”

Your throat tightens.

“No, I—my dreams.” You say. “I dream the most terrible things, and I—I want you to take them away.”

The stone stops.

“Come here, child. Into the light.” The Witch holds out her hand, beckoning you forward. “And take down that stupid hood, you’re not hiding from anyone here.” She clucks her tongue at you as you approach, fingering the edge of your hood reluctantly. She already knows who you are—though you are not quite sure how she knows. With one hand, she reaches for your face. You do not flinch away from her—you do not fear her, though perhaps if you were smarter, you suppose you would. Her touch is gentle as she tilts your chin up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The fire crackles in the hearth, louder for the silence.

“And what do you dream?”

“I see…” You swallow. “I see dead things.” She peers into your eyes, her pupils wide. “I see my father.” You tremble as she steps away, your mouth suddenly dry. “These dreams, these-these nightmares, you can stop them, can you not? You can—”

“I’ll not hear more about what I can and cannot do from the maid in the high castle,” she snaps. “And they are not dreams, though you walk through them in yours.” With her other hand, she reaches beneath her collar, producing a thin leather cord. There are all manner of things tied to it—feathers, beads, and small, clean animal skills that shine dimly in the firelight. There is a long black needle there, too, hanging by its’ eye.

“There is a spirit tethered to you.” She turns your hand over, stroking her fingers over the lines in your palm. She snaps her fingers, motioning for you to give her your other hand. “By great sorrow—” The Witch squints, bringing your hands closer to her face. “Or rage.” She drops your left hand, holding onto your right. “I can no more remove it than I could your shadow.”

“Tethered?” You repeat. “These are—they are dreams, they are not real—” You sputter in protest, but the Witch merely looks at you, orange firelight dancing in her dark eyes.

“If they are only dreams, why do you fear them so?” You cannot answer. “They are messages. You should be grateful for them, there are few feats quite as great as bridging the divide between us and those who have gone before, Little Queen. Your father cannot watch over you forever.”

“I am a Princess.” The Witch smiles.

“Is that right?” She grasps your hand, gripping your index finger hard and watching as the tip reddens. You flinch as she pinches the needle between two thin fingers. “Come now, Sweet. Mustn’t be afeared of a little pain.” She jabs it into the meat of your finger, and you yelp, tugging uselessly at your hand, but her grip is iron.

“Ouch!” With a twist of her hand she swipes the fat drop of blood from your fingertip and flicks it into the fireplace. It does not fizzle out, but instead lands on the topmost log, bubbling until it turns black. It smells like ozone—not copper. You do not know why, but you tremble a the sight of it. You have come here to have something taken away, but as you watch your blood crack and burn, you feel as if perhaps something is being given instead.

“What does this mean?” You turn to her. The Witch rubs your blood between her fingers, sniffing the residue for a moment before wiping them clean on a rag. She does not answer you right away, staring thoughtfully at the thin line of black smoke curling from the fireplace.

“Please, I—”

“It means, Princess, that we are kin, you and I.” She tilts your chin back as you stare at her, wide eyed. She runs the tips of her fingers over the narrow curve of your left ear—not pointed, not like hers, but… You push her away before you can stop yourself, clutching at your chest with your other hand as if to calm your racing heart.

“This cannot be true, it—it cannot!”

“Less than half,” she continues as if your sputtered refusal had never been spoken at all. “Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still.” The Witch looks you up and down, and this time, there is pity in her gaze. “I cannot take your dreams.” Cold spreads through your trembling limbs. “You must release them yourself.”

“Release them? How?” She cups your face, and the movement of her thumb over the swell of your cheek is almost affectionate, though the words she speaks next send a cold chill down your spine.

“No fear, Little Princess. No fear.” For a moment, you swear her eyes go gold, and Geralt’s voice echoes again in the space between you. Before the Witch can say more, you quickly dig the gold out of your pocket, tossing the coins down onto the table as you flee. You do not register her cries to stop, to wait as you barrel through the door, throwing it shut behind you.

It is raining again, hard sheets of cold water pouring down from the dark, angry sky. You can hear the sea raging against the docks, water crashing in thunderous waves up against the harbor’s weathered stone. Your head is spinning, full to bursting. You are elf-kin—perhaps? Maybe?

Your mother had never seen fit to mention that minor detail—and for that matter, neither had your father. You tug your hood up roughly over your head and turn your face down, away from the cold rain pelting against your skin. Had he even known?

Would he have even wanted to?

Perhaps I can just ask him myself.

The thought makes you shiver, wrapping your cloak tighter around your shoulders. I can no more remove it than I could your shadow. You do not know which is worse—having left your father behind alone in the dirt, or the restless specter of him living in your dreams. Your finger aches from the point of the dock witch’s iron needle, and you clutch your hand to your chest as you make your way back towards the White Keep. Above you, a white hot arc of lightning splits the sky, throwing up stark shadows against the row of dark houses.

It is by that grace alone that you see the man.

You stop short, your heart leaping into your throat. He stands in the shadows beneath the sagging eaves, his stony face surprised as your eyes meet. He steps forward with a heavy sigh, a gloved hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

“Highness.” Your throat tightens, and you take a cautious step back as he comes into the meagre light offered by the street lantern above you. “Please don’t make this difficult.” His cloak is drawn over his chest, but you can see the shape of the armor underneath, jet black.

Nilfgaardian.

You turn—and run straight into a hard, armored chest.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Duke Emhyr’s long fingers dig hard into your shoulders, hard enough to bruise. His black hair is slick with rain. He was waiting here… waiting for me. “I shall have to inform Lady Kassandra of your whereabouts,” he sneers. “She seems to think you are asleep in your bed.” You lift your heel and grind it hard into the top of his foot, and the Duke curses, his grip loosening. You pull away, but he manages to catch the edge of your cloak, pulling hard until you fall backwards.

The impact knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping and dizzy, staring up at the dark sky.

“We did not get to finish our little chat, in the garden.” He says, squatting down over you as you struggle up to your knees on the wet street. “I think we should do that now, Princess.”

Your heart pounds heavily against your ribcage as you stagger to your feet.

“No.”

“It is not a request.” He motions to the guard behind you, and he grabs you as you struggle, wrenching your arms behind you.

“Filthy witch,” he hisses, and you flinch. “You and your whore mother.”

“Gavin, your manners.” He tuts mockingly. “I would be honored, Majesty, if you would accompany me for tea.” You stare at him in silence, the rain soaking through your cloak. “If you would, Ser Gavin.” He forces you forward, and you stumble.

“It is late for tea, Lord Emhyr,” you snap, dragging your feet against the paving stones. “Perhaps a discussion with Her Majesty herself—” Ser Gavin grunts with irritation at your resistance and shoves you, hard. You stumble as the Duke makes an angry noise deep in his throat.

“I’ve little stomach for lies.”

A cold shiver winds its way up your back. You hear the threat though the words remain unspoken. The streets are deserted, and you cannot tell if it is the weather or the hour. Behind you, clears his throat.

“Here, my Lord.”

The faded, splintering sign hanging above the door reads Madam’s Tea House, though by the riotous noise coming from inside, you suspect they serve a few things little stronger than tea. Ser Gavin places a rough hand on the back of your head, forcing it down as he steers you through the doorway. Your stomach drops as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

The air stinks of ale, sweaty skin and something more pungent and sour that you cannot identify. There are people everywhere, draped across tables, lounging on pillows and pinned against walls in various states of undress. Your throat goes dry, at the sight of the bare-breasted women sprawled over the tables, their dresses rucked up around their waists. A woman with white painted cheeks and cherry red lips steps quickly out of the way as you are shuffled through, her eyes lowered and lips pressed into a thin line. You understand their choice of venue now—

No one will even remember you were here— and no one will remember when you are not.

As if sensing your rising panic, Ser Gavin’s hand tightens on the scruff of your neck, and with the other hand, he grasps your shoulder. On the raised dais in the center of the dim room, a woman twists lithely, scarves gripped in each of her dainty hands. Gold rings dangle from her bared nipples, matching the one in her nose. Your eyes meet and for a single moment, for a single step, she falters.

The crowd at her feet turns on her in an instant, jeering and spitting. The same men who had watched her dance with silent awe now mock her openly, insults dripping from their lips along with stray drops of ale.

“Let’s get a new girl up here. One who can remember her bloody steps!” There is no end to the praises of men when one is perfect—nor an end to their venom when you are not. The truth of it is as plain as the room Duke Emhyr and Ser Gavin force you into. There is a bed with a bare, stained mattress upon its dilapidated frame, and a wooden chair stands between it and the weak fire in the hearth.

“Sit.” Emhyr instructs you with a bored gesture, and when you do not comply, Ser Gavin squeezes your shoulder hard until you gasp from the pain of it. You lower yourself reluctantly to the chair as the Duke watches, and you get the feeling that he enjoys it, watching you be forced to heel. If not my mother, then me. Through the silence, you can hear the muted noise of the brothel outside. As uncomfortable as it is for you, you hope it is doubly so for them.

The Duke stares at you, his eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t see it, not at first,” he says. The disgust drips from every syllable, like he is speaking of something unsavory. “The way you favor them.”

Your heart pounds even as you feign ignorance, schooling your features into shocked offense at his words. He cannot know that this is the second time you have heard them this evening, that you are already itching to get to a mirror to confirm these revelations for yourself, because you do not even know if they are true. The memory of black blood curdling in the hearth is enough to set the uncertainty in your lead filled stomach rolling.

“I know not of what you speak, my Lord.” The words feel fragile, like they are made of glass. “There—there is still time to let this be nothing but an unpleasant misunderstanding—”

The duke stands in front of the hearth, his hand resting on the mantle. The curve of his back speaks to his weariness, and you wonder if he has been looking for you all night.

“You and your whore mother have upset the order of things quite a bit, here. Whatever other things you may be, you are not unintelligent enough not to have seen so.” He turns, the fire reddening his cheeks and setting the whit es of his beady eyes ablaze. “Two seasons of talk and courtships undone in a month—and for a woman who is too old to bear a new heir.”

“His Majesty has an heir,” you remind him. “Or have you forgotten? If you disagree with your king’s decision, you are more than welcome to challenge it before the court a second time, though Their Majesties might not be so prone to leniency given the circumstance.” His jaw tics at the reminder of his position—and yours—but the sly upturn at the corners of his mouth do not disappear.

“So the Witch does inspire loyalty in you.” He squats in front of you. “Do you know what we do to witches, in the North?” He asks, fingering the dagger at his belt. “Father Wolf is the devourer of all things. Even savages.”

“Ever since I stepped from boat to shore I have heard that word, and I cannot help but wonder,” the words pour through the gaps in your gritted teeth, and you hope he chokes on the broken glass of them—“if you have ever uttered them looking in a mirror.”

He raises his hand, as if to backhand you across your face, and you duck down hunching your shoulders to prepare for the blow. It does not land, however, and when you look cautiously up at the duke, he is staring behind you, locked above your head. There is a fourth presence in the room now, one you feel pricking at the back of your neck.

“No, no, continue.” The drawl that fills the empty room is both shocking and achingly familiar. “I would see the treason with my own eyes.” Geralt stands in the doorway, filling it to the brim with the width of his shoulders. Water drips from his sodden silver hair, though he makes no move to push it back from his face. His hand rests openly upon the sword hanging at his hip.

“That way it passes fewer lips on its way to the king.”

Duke Emhyr’s eyes go wide, and then angry.

“I protect the crown, and you call it treason,” slowly,—almost regretfully —the duke lowers his hand. “Can you not see? Can you not see how they twist—” Geralt turns his gaze to you, and somehow his golden eyes seem darker. Harder.

He came for me.

Ser Gavin fingers the pommel of his sword nervously, playing at the thought of unsheathing it, but too craven to commit. Still, he stands between you and the prince, and does not move. The duke’s rambling of treason and bewitchery continues behind you, rising to a fever pitch as you approach the door. Briefly as you turn, you see him, his face red and lips flecked with frothy spittle as he flings a long, accusing finger towards you.

“They will poison this empire, it’s people! You cannot allow them to sit the throne, it is treason to do it knowingly, you must act!” The fire burns bright in his wide eyes, and you see reflected in them the same vicious zealotry that burned in Father Rame’s. “That which is rooted in rotten soil cannot grow! I will not stand idle while we are destroyed from within.”

In the spaces between his words you can see the calculation. He’s chosen death, you realize. You taste it in the air before he speaks, the power of his decision already shaping the world around it, like chaos—but not the kind they shunned. It tastes like the air inside the chapel; the still, thick air, perfumed so that the smell of his body would not leak further than a few feet beyond his corpse.

“You know the truth of what I speak, Majesty, you must see that His Highness is not himself! He pants after the elf-bitch, like a man possessed! It is unnatural, you must—you must see it!”

Geralt’s mouth creases with anger. “I see your distrust in your King has bred treasonous discontent. I see your desire to rise above your station would have you slavering after my father’s throne like the dog you are.” He steps into the room then, and you watch as the Duke’s hand closes about the grip of the dagger strapped to his waist. “Your dedication to this fiction will cost you.”

You had not been able to see Geralt’s other hand, positioned behind him, his arm taut as though he were dragging something heavy. He steps aside, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see why—

A dead Nilfgaardian soldier lies behind him, dark liquid pooling thickly underneath his armor. The duke sees it too, his body tensing.

“If you will not serve your people, if your father will not protect them, what choice have you left me?” The duke murmurs, the words underscored by the quiet ring of steel as he unsheathes his blade. You jump up, knocking the chair over in your haste to get away from him. You trip over your skirts, stumbling forward as Ser Gavin grabs for you, his hand knotting in your cloak.

“You will let her go.” Geralt delivers the instructions as truth—no ultimatums.

“Oh, aye,” Emhyr, nods, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “On that we agree.” You expect him to lunge for the prince, to hear the sharp clash of steel on steel, but you do not. Instead, his face fills your vision. “You may go wherever you wish, now, Lady.”

You taste death on his words and in the air, and when he steps away, his hands are empty. There is a strange coldness in your belly, and slowly, your hand drifts up to investigate. The leather grip of the dagger is warm, but the steel is cold, so cold you can feel it all the way inside. It’s strange, the way it doesn’t hurt, the way the blood does not feel hot on your trembling hands but cold—

The death Emhyr had chosen was neither his own, nor Geralt’s—but yours.

Dimly, you are aware of Geralt, of your body tucked tightly against his, the sound of steel on steel, the feel of cold rain on your face. Weakly, you lift a hand to your belly, your fingers slipping on the handle. Geralts hand closes over yours.

“You must leave it, Doe, you must. I know it hurts.” It doesn’t. You want to tell him, but you cannot find the will to move your lips. You feel your grip slacken on his cloak, your fingers releasing themselves without your permission as your vision tunnels. Geralt tells you not to close your eyes, and the words echo far off in the encroaching dark.

I have to, you think that perhaps the words escape your slack lips in a low mumble, but you cannot be sure.

Just for a little while.

to be continued…

next chapter

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devildomwriter · 1 year

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“Goodbye, Lilith…Be seeing you, okay…?”

— Belphegor says goodbye to his last physical connection to Lilith (Chapter 18)

#obey me quote of the day #obey me Belphegor #this one hurts my heart because he’s trying to be so casual like she isn’t really dead #obey me belphegor quotes #obey me chapter 18 #obey me angst #obey me belphegor and lilith #obey me lilith and belphegor #obey me volume one

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 20 days

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The Soldier Of Death (4)- Fighting The Enemy

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.3k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Chapter Warning: Graphic Depiction of Violence and murder, dark thoughts

—

Crimson stained your hands, the warm liquid slowly dripping down your forearms as you leaned over the body, fragments of skull blending with flesh and brain being held in your trembling hands.

Eyes pleaded you for their life as you stood over their body, words spilling desperately out of their lips as they stared up at you, begging for you to take mercy. Their pleas were cut short, blood splattering on the floor behind them, the life gradually draining out of their eyes.

A gut wrenching cry was torn out of their throat when your hand forced its way past skin and bones, fingers roughly gripping onto their intestines, squeezing with vigour for another primal sound to be ripped out of them before pulling hard, their body falling limp to the ground. A small squelch follows when you drop the organ next to their corpse, not even giving the scene a second glance.

Your hand hits the side of your head as you twitch it to the side, shaking the thoughts out of your mind, trying to focus on your mission.

Your mind was slowly fracturing into pieces, various memories flooding your thoughts as you walked through the eerie hallway, boots echoing in the abandoned space. You weren't sure what had happened, the only thing that you knew for certain was that you were to obey. You didn't have a choice. It was engraved in you. Listen to them. Kill for them. That was all you had to do.

No we don't.

We are better than them.

We aren't a toy for them to play with.

Your jaw clenched at the irritating voice sounding around in your head again, merging with the violent flashbacks, further adding to your unpleasant mood. You were a weapon. Weapons didn't need to think. They just kill. Yet, the incessant part of you was adamant we were stronger, more powerful than them, we could do anything if you just gave over control.

Yes, see, you're getting it now. Give me control.

"So what? You can murder everyone," you mutter out loud, the mask muffling your words as you argue with your alter ego, knowing that, despite the things you have done based on the flashbacks, the things they have done... They were darker, more sinister, they enjoyed it. You didn't. You never would. You did what you had to do to survive.

It's what they deserve.

You want to scream at the voice, begging it to shut up. Yes they deserve to die for what they had done to you but you weren't going to be the ones to kill them.

Every time you come back, you somehow try to be more virtuous.

It groans, a scoff leaving you. You were trying to make up for the things you had done, be a little more merciful, there was nothing wrong with that.

You can't. We can't be good anymore. There's no point in trying to redeem us. We're already a monster, there's no changing that.

At its words, you remain silent, doing your best to ignore them as you wander through the hallways, your eyes focussing on small indents on the wall.

A violent scream was torn out of you, your hands doing everything in their power to stop the guards dragging you back to your cell, your veins burning with agony as the serum entered your bloodstream. Your fingers dug into the concrete, leaving indents as you pried away at the stone, desperately trying to stop them from taking you back.

You shook your head once more, the painful memory soon fading away, leaving you confused. You suddenly seemed to recognise the building you were in, your fingers slotting against the marks, the handprints slightly smaller, your mind too broken to place the significance of the memory.

Pushing down the screams echoing in your mind and shaking off the further memories that invaded your thoughts, you worked your way around the building, searching for the room you were instructed to find. All you knew was that there was a flash drive in there that Hydra needed to keep out of the Avengers' hands, the team apparently gaining intel on this base.

You weren't expecting them to locate it yet nor for them to be in the base, but your general warned you to stay on guard, the order more difficult than expected due to the instability of your mind.

You were nearly at the room but a gnawing feeling made you pause in your tracks, head tilting curiously at the room you were stopped outside of, your hand moving without thought to open the door, revealing the dark and empty concrete cell. You swallowed nervously at the sight of dry blood staining the walls, the floor and even parts of the ceiling, another flashback painfully invading your minds, causing you to lose focus.

***

"I don't have a good feeling about this Steve," Natasha mutters while the two of them enter the base, Wanda entering through a different exit, the team confident in her magic ability and training to handle herself.

"Neither," he sighs out in agreement, their bodies almost silently walking through the abandoned building, Natasha taking the corridors to the left while Steve went right, splitting off to cover more ground.

Nerves etched away at Natasha, the spy confused at the sudden emotion she was feeling. She never got nervous, so why was she on edge? Her gun was firmly gripped in her hand, creeping through the hallways with it raised, ready to fire if needed.

Emerald green searched through various corridors, her eyes glossing over with crestfallen look at the marks all over the wall, indicating a clear struggle all the way down the hall until it reached the isolated steel door at the end. Natasha was already walking towards the room when a quiet, pained noise caught her attention, her finger ready on the trigger as she rounded the corner, pausing at the sight before her.

Your ominous figure stood facing an empty room, hands twitching by your side, unaware of the spy near you, or the Captain who rounded the corner on the other side of the hallway, pausing when Natasha signalled for him to do so.

"Don't make me kill them," you almost whimper out, lost in a spiral of memories, your mind replaying the broken memory. "They're just children."

"I won't repeat it again Soldat," his voice low and commanding at your ear, malice lacing his next words, "Don't leave the room until every single one of them is dead."

Steve raises his shield ready to throw at your words, confusion written across his and the redhead's face.

I told you. We're a monster.

Snapping at the voice inside your head, your fist collides with the wall, trying to express your anger, confusion and hurt, when the sound of metal gliding through the air reaches your ear, body turning to the side, hand catching the vibranium disk.

Steve's face pales a little at how unaffected you were by his throw, most people being knocked back a little, his expression swiftly switching to shock when it's thrown back forcefully at him. He has to take a couple steps back when he catches it to stay balanced, your body making it's way over to him, eyes slowly becoming lifeless as you flicker between having and losing control.

He uses his shield to protect him when your fist collides with the metal, a loud noise reverberating around the room, a gunshot being added to the mix when a bullet slices through your leg, jaw clenching at the pain. You grit your teeth, swinging your other arm to hit the side of the blonde man, a groan escaping him at your strength while he goes to parry your other punch, you injured leg swiping at his knee, knocking him back to the ground.

While the man climbs to his feet, a pair of thighs wrap around your head, trying to force your body to the ground, unable to beat your strength. Wrapping your arms around the back of her body, her elbow being brought down on whatever part of you she could reach, you push her body into the nearest wall, her back painfully banging against it.

The sound of boots approaching quickly causes you to pull away from the wall, slamming the body down against the floor, a small cry escaping her before you lower your body, merely evading the punch from the man and tackling his body to the ground, shield clattering next to him.

Your legs straddle his stomach, grip tight to prevent his movements while your hands goes to his throat, merciless with your grip as his face starts to turn red. Your thumbs dig in harshly against his airways, his hands prying at your own, fingers digging in painfully with the amount of strength he was using making your grip falter, hands reaching to the red and blue metal disk.

Fear glosses over in his eyes as you raise the shield into the air, attempting to bring it down on his throat when his hands clutch at the bottom of it, desperately trying to stop you. Your eyes are dark, no ounce of humanity left in them as you press down harder, the edge of the shield pressing lightly against his throat as he fights for his life,

To catch him off guard, you lift the shield, his fingers slipping off it and enabling you to abruptly bring it back down.

His hands only just block his neck in time, a muffle groan leaving you at the pain radiating throughout your body, electricity coursing through your body from the small device attached onto your neck. The device causes a sense of Deja vu to flicker across your mind, ignoring it as you stagger to your feet, turning to the redhead who raises her gun at you.

Blood oozes out of your leg from where she last shot you, Steve regaining his breath as he slowly pushes his body off the ground, your gaze locked on the woman in front of you, familiarity causing your head to tilt while you stare at her, waiting for her next move.

You can see her hesitation, her finger hovering over the trigger as the barrel is aimed at your face. You take a step forward, daring her to take the shot when she swiftly lowers it, another bullet lodging itself into your body, pain radiating from your side.

You fall to your knees at the pain, her gaze flickering to the man behind you, his hands grabbing the shield once again. You close your eyes, focusing on the sound of his movements to imagine his stance, visualising his body behind you and waiting for the gap to present itself. When he goes to swing the metal at you, you press your hand down into the ground, using it to spring your body off the concrete as you spin around, kicking your leg out to strike into his side.

A loud snap can be heard as the force of your kick splinters his ribs, his body falling to the concrete while he takes in sharp breaths, anguish evident on his face as he holds his side.

You're certain that if he was human the impact would have killed him, instead it merely immobilises him, your attention returning the woman you think you know.

When she keeps her gaze on you, the firearm still aimed at you, you can feel annoyance and anger enter your mind as she hovers her finger over the trigger, not wanting any more bullets to be lodged inside you. Your fingers deftly wrap around the handle of the blade in your pocket, swiftly pulling it and spinning it between your fingers as you wait for her to make the first move.

Confusion sneaks onto your face when she merely��smirks at you, her gaze flickering behind you for a brief second. Without even thinking, you turn and launch the knife at the other figure, the metal blade being encased in red tendrils of magic before it clatters to the ground, the brunette's eyes glowing red.

There's a glint of recognition in her eyes when she sees you, her magic abruptly travelling towards you and wrapping around you, the tendrils seeping into the side of your head and into your mind.

You're powerless against her magic, an animalistic noise being torn out of you as more gruesome flashbacks swarm your mind, hands desperately clutching at your head to make it stop.

Natasha watches with a pained look, your cries of anguish stirring something inside her while Wanda lets out a small cry at the things she was seeing in your mind.

You fall to your knees roughly, fingers digging into the side of your head as you try to make it stop, you need to make it stop.

Ending the pain for the both of you, Wanda navigates her way through your fractured mind and eventually manages to get your body to fall unconscious, your body limp of the ground as the witch wipes the tears off of her cheeks, staring at the redhead opposite her who has curiosity written across her face.

"I don't know how long I can hold her," she says to the assassin, her magic still flowing around your head as she tries to keep you still.

"Can you hold her until we get back to the tower?" Natasha asks, making her way over to Steve who is still in agony on the ground. She slowly helps him to his feet, careful not to hurt him anymore while turning her gaze back to the witch.

"I think so," she says a little nervously, focusing on her magic.

"Good, let's get her on the jet, Fury's going to want to know what's happened." Everyone agrees with Natasha's plan, the magic encasing your entire body as you're lifted into the air, the redhead aiding the injured super soldier towards the jet.

What could possibly go wrong?

#natasha fanfic #natasha romanoff fanart #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romonova #hydra #black widow x reader #cw: gore #violence #tw torture #the avengers #super soldier reader

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moonchild9350 · 2 months

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Sign the Dotted Line (Chapter Four)

Summary: Minho is at your apartment as it seems like he wants to put the past behind both of you. However, are you both truly out of rocky waters?

Pairing: idol Minho x fab reader

Genre: angst, smut-18+ MDNI

Word Count: 5.0k

Warnings: oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v penetration, creampie, spanking, dirty talk, mention of breeding, subspace, just mean Minho

Notes: We have reached the climax of the story so to say and um I apologize in advance for what's about to come. This chapter is definitely a rollercoaster of emotions. Let me know what you think-my inbox is open!

Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated.

New chapters posted on Saturdays at 1pm CST!

Series Summary: You are living an ordinary life until one day you come across a notice from your favorite band Stray Kids, that the company is looking for a girlfriend for one of it's members Lee Minho. Thinking you have nothing else to lose, you apply. This one action causes your life to change forever.

Series Masterlist

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or report this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

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Minho smiled at you, his bunny teeth peaking out from behind his lips. He was proud of you, as you obeyed his commands. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, watching as you leaned your head into his touch. He pressed a kiss to your lips before nipping at your bottom lip. He has you right where he wants you.

“Wanna show me to your room?” Minho asked.

You nodded your head and shuffled off his lap. Minho got up after you and followed you to your bedroom. You watched as he looked around your room, his eyes taking in the surroundings before landing on the bed. You were no virgin and yet here you were nervous. Minho made you feel like a school girl again, a feeling you definitely hadn’t felt in a long time.

Minho walked over to you and reached for the hem of your shirt, his eyes searching yours for permission. You gave a small nod of your head. He began to lift the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. His eyes roamed up your body, a smirk on his face.

“You’re beautiful baby. And you’re all mine,” Minho said as he pushed you onto the bed. You laid there, watching him as he stared down at you.

“Whose are you baby?” He asked.

“Yo..yours,” you stuttered, clenching your thighs together at his possessiveness. You’re not sure what is happening as you’re not usually this obedient, especially in bed, but something about Minho just makes you want to fall to your knees and worship the ground he walks on. You want him, no you need him, and you’ll do anything he tells you to make it happen.

Minho watched you, lust in his eyes, his cock hard, and his brain going haywire. He’s never felt this way about a person, the overwhelming need to claim you as his own.

“Damn straight you are,” he said as he stripped himself of his shirt and sweats.

He stood before you in only his boxers. He watched as you propped yourself up on your elbows, taking him in, licking your lips as your eyes lingered on his bulge. He smirked at you, walking closer to the edge of the bed.

“Want to show me what a good girl you are?” He asked, lifting your chin with his fingers so you could look him in the eyes.

You nodded your head, “yes Minho, want to show you.”

He hummed at your response, you were learning fast on how to respond to him.

“Take out my cock and suck it baby.”

You swallowed before reaching your hand into his boxers, gripping the hard appendage. He felt heavy in your hand. You swiped your finger over the slit, spreading the pre-cum around the tip. You looked up into Minho’s eyes, fluttering your lashes as you gazed into his brown orbs . You watched as he bit his lip, as you pushed his boxers down, Minho stepping out of them and kicking them to the side.

You grabbed his cock, stroking the shaft a few times before placing a kiss on the head. Minho shivered, letting out a shaky breath.

“Spit on it baby, go on,” Minho said.

Spitting on the head, you pumped your hand a few more times before wrapping your lips around the tip. You suckled the tip, pressing your tongue into the slit, tasting the precum leaking from tip. You moaned at the salty taste, the vibration causing his cock to twitch in your mouth. You released his cock from your mouth with a pop before running your tongue from the base back up to the head. Minho let out a groan, as he grabbed your head and pushed you forward so you could take more of him. You felt the tip of his cock kiss the back of your throat, causing you to gag, as tears formed in your eyes.

Minho picked up the pace, guiding your head, as he fucked your face. He let us head fall back as his let out a grunt. Your mouth felt amazing, nice and warm around his cock. He looked down at you, watching the tears fall down your face which each thrust of his hips, your pretty pink lips wrapped around his length. He loved watching you eyes flutter close and then open to look at him with such need. God you were beautiful on your knees taking everything he gave you. He loved the mess, watching as spit dribbled from your mouth and down your chest.

“Fuck baby, your mouth,” Minho groaned out, increasing his pace as he slammed his hips into your face.

The sounds coming from your mouth was beyond his wildest dreams as you took him. He could have said he loved you in that moment. Thank goodness he didn’t though, thinking with his brain instead of his cock. He quickened his pace, slamming you into pelvis, watching you take his dick to the hilt like a good girl. He felt close, the feel of your wet, warm mouth around him too much to take.

“Gonna cum baby,” he groaned.

You moaned around his length, letting him know you heard him. You stilled and just let him use your mouth. Tears continued to fall from your eyes as you tried your best to look Minho in the eyes.

You wanted to watch him fall apart, this beautiful man in front of you. He looked lost in pleasure, as he fucked your mouth, his moans getting louder and louder. He snapped his hips a few more times before stilling, rope after rope of his hot cum hitting the back of your throat.

Minho let out a shaky breath as he pulled his softening dick from your mouth. He tilted your head up, looking down at your ruined face. What a sight he was greeted with, as you had dried tears on your cheeks, with fresh tears welling in the corners of your eyes. your lips were wet with spit, some of it dribbling down your chin.

He smiled at you and then said, “open up, let me see my cum on your tongue baby.”

You opened your mouth, letting Minho see his release. He stroked your cheek at your obedience, as you leaned into his touch.

“Now swallow every drop,” Minho commanded, watching as your closed your mouth and swallowed. You opened wide afterwards to show him you did what he asked, a smile on his face as he watched.

“Lay back baby, spread your legs for me.”

You did as he said, laying on your back and spreading your legs, your pussy on display drenched with your slick. Minho’s eyes were trained at your core, as he kneeled down and pulled you closer to him. He spread your folds before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, as you mewled out at the sensation. Minho pulled your clit into his mouth, rolling the bud around his tongue before giving you kitten licks. His mouth felt amazing, as he made out with your pussy, spit and arousal dripping down your folds and onto your sheets below. You started to lift your hips up and down, riding his face as he brought his tongue to your entrance, pushing the muscle into your wet walls.

You were getting close. You were getting close? Before you knew it, you exploded on his tongue, the feeling of your release spreading throughout your body. You wrapped your legs around his face and grabbed Minho’s head, as you ground your pussy against his face, riding out your high. As you came down, you loosened your hold, letting out deep breaths. You have never came that fast from a man eating you out. You were shocked that you did, as you felt on cloud nine.

Minho lifted his head and stood up as he wiped his lips. You watched as he manhandled you onto your hands and knees and pushed your face into the sheets. God he loved your ass, he thought as he fondled the flesh, giving it a slap as he watched the flesh jiggle. He stroked his cock a few times, running it through your folds, coating it in your slick.

“Ready for me baby?” He asked.

You whined out at his question as you were more than ready. You felt another slap on your ass, causing you to whimper at the sting.

“Answer me, brat,” Minho sneered. He listened to your whines and whimpers, the sounds music to his ears. “Do you want my dick baby? Yes or no, it’s not that hard.”

You let out a loud whine before whimpering out, “yes Minho! I want your dick. Please give me you dick, please please,” the last words getting softer as your whimpered.

You felt tears fall from your eyes once more. Never have you felt so small, so little in a man’s hands. The thing about it was you enjoyed it, you craved it, wanted Minho to put you in your place. You were his after all, at his mercy. You could hear him behind you, breathing in and out, the occasional squelch as he stroked his cock. You waited and waited until you felt his tip breach your entrance. He slammed into you, the stretch being a little much, as Minho was bigger than you’ve ever had, but the pain as he evaded your little hole felt more than good. You let out a loud moan as he bottomed out to the hilt. He didn’t let you adjust, and instead he pulled out and slammed back in, your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

Minho began to fuck you in earnest, as he slammed his hips into you. He felt himself slipping as he got lost in the feel of your walls wrapped around his cock. You were perfect, your walls sucking him in with each thrust. He gripped your hips harder, pounding into you, harder and harder, your cries getting louder and louder. He’s sure the neighbors will know his name by the end of the night, not that he cares.

“You’re so tight. This pussy feels too good. Fuck” Minho breathed out, focusing on your walls stretching around his cock. He wasn’t going to last long and judging by the way you were clenching around him and babbling, you won’t either.

“Gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up, breed this pussy. It’s mine, all mine. Right?”

Minho sped up the thrusts of his hips, desperate to reach his high and unload into you. He was going to give it all to you, he wanted it to take. That way you would have his babies, no one would dare question who you belonged to then.

You were a babbling mess, feeling like you were floating as Minho abused your pussy. You tried to focus on what Minho was saying, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, as you felt the pressure in your belly build and build. Minho was fucking you so good, your body being thrusted upwards with each thrust. You closed your eyes to succumb to the pleasure when you felt a sharp sting on your ass. You yelped, surprised by the sudden act.

“What the fuck did I say? You answer me when I ask you a question, or are you so dumb you can't answer me,” Minho said, his hips never slowing down. His hand landed on your ass again and again, until the flesh was red.

You cried out with each smack. You quickly thought back to what Minho asked you, not sure if you’d remember as your brain felt all fuzzy. After a minute, it clicked.

“Yes! Yes! I’m yours Minho. Breed me, give me your cum.”

Minho smiled, satisfied with your answer. His hand came down once more on your ass. He listened as you let out a wail, your pussy spasming around his dick as you came, a steady stream of your arousal gushing out of your pussy and onto him, the sheets, your thighs. Watching you fall apart beneath him triggered his release as he snapped his hips into yours once more before stiliing, his cum spurting out and painting your walls white.

You both stayed in that position for a little before Minho slowly pulled out. You whimpered at the loss, as you felt his cum drip down your thighs. You let out little cries, as you attempted to come down, your mind a jumbled mess. Minho was quick to notice and took you into his arms, cradling you to his chest.

“You did so good for me baby,” he cooed, brushing your hair and tears from your face. “Come back to me now.”

It took a moment, your breathing coming back to normal, little hiccups wrecking through your body. After a while you looked up into his eyes, noticing concern laced throughout his face. You braced yourself as he raised his hand, only to bring it to your face to wipe more of your tears away.

“Are you ok?” He asked gently.

“I’m ok,” you whispered.

He smiled at you before laying you back down on the bed. “I’ll be back ok?” Minho said. You watched as he walked to your bathroom. You heard water running and then Minho was walking back into your room. He had a warm washcloth with him. He carefully wiped you down, wiping all of the fluids off your body. He tossed the towel in your hamper before picking you up and laying you down under the covers. He followed suit and wrapped his arms around you.

“Was I too rough with you?” Minho whispered, as his hands drifted through your hair.

You shook your head no. He searched your face, making sure you were truly ok. Seeing that you were, he pulled you closer. “Let’s get some sleep ok?”

You nodded your head, closing your eyes as you listened to the rhythm of his heart. You would be sore in the morning, that you knew, but you honestly didn’t mind. You and Minho had finally made progress in your relationship. You’ll be honest in thinking it was nothing like you expected, but you weren’t complaining. You loved the possessive side of him. You hoped things will last, finally feeling completely happy since you got to Korea.

The next morning, you felt something tickling your neck. You tried to brush it off but the feeling remained. Opening your eyes, you found Minho fast asleep next to you, his breath fanning out onto your neck being the culprit of waking you up from your slumber.

You took a moment to look at Minho and study his features. He looked peaceful while sleeping, his eyes fluttering as he slept. His hair fanned across his face, the locks making him look gentle and sweet. You were so lost in your reverie that you hadn’t noticed Minho had woken up.

“What are you looking at?” He said, a smirk on his face.

You blushed as he said this, embarrassed that you got caught. You averted your eyes and tried to move away, but Minho just pulled you closer to his chest.

“Don’t leave. You can look as much as you want. I’m your boyfriend right?”

You shivered at the term as you snuggled closer. You felt at home in his arms, never wanting to leave. However, all good things must come to an end as Minho’s alarm went off. He sighed and reached for his phone turning the alarm off.

“I have to go, gotta get ready for schedule today. Will you be coming to the building?”

“Not until later. I have work first.”

Minho hummed at your response as he gave you a peck on your head and got up. You watched as he padded his way to the bathroom, his lean muscles flexing with each step he took. Your boyfriend was damn good looking. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

You got up as well, stretching as you got out of bed. After getting dressed, you made your way to the kitchen to get started on making coffee. As you were measuring out the grounds, you felt Minho’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close to his body. He buried his head in your hair, holding you close.

“I’ll see you later ok?” He said, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

You nodded your head and turned slightly to look him in the eyes. His brown eyes stared back at you until he leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips. You sighed at the kiss, feeling his lips upturn in a smirk at the sound. Giving you a squeeze, he dropped his arms and walked to the door, pulling his shoes on before leaving.

You stood there in the kitchen, in a daze as the last night replayed in your head. You could barely believe it, and if it wasn’t for the ache between your legs, you would say you were dreaming. Shaking your head, you went back to your task, as you had to get ready for work so as not be late. You couldn’t wait for this afternoon, so you could see Minho again.

Your day went by quickly, as it was a busy day. It was a hot day so people kept coming in to cool off and of course order drinks. You were exhausted come the end of your shift, your back and shoulders aching. It didn’t help that your boss made you stay overtime to help with the afternoon rush.

Once six o’clock rolled around, you clocked out and said your goodbyes, happy to be leaving. You were off for the next 3 days, so you’d be able to rest. You made up a box of goodies, as a surprise for the boys. You had picked out a bunch of assorted pastries that you knew they would love.

You made your way towards the building, practically skipping, excited to see Minho. You were constantly reminded of your night together all day as the soreness between your legs had yet to disappear. It had been a long time since you were happy to meet with the boys. Of course you always were excited to see the others, but usually Minho’s mood dampened your enthusiasm.

Once your arrived, you took the elevator up to the practice rooms and made your way down the halls until you got to the room Stray Kids was in. Opening the door, you were met with the scene of the boys in a pile, poor Jeongin at the bottom. He was squealing and trying to push his hyungs off him, but to no avail. You gigged at the scene, the love they had for each other was inspiring and cute. At the sound of your giggle, all eight heads looked your way.

“Y/n!” Jisung yelled, disentangling himself from the others and running to pull you into a hug.

You laughed at Jisung’s enthusiasm, as you gave him a one handed hug. “Nice to see you Ji,” you said, trying not to drop the box of pastries. Jisung let you go and looked down at your hands.

“Is that for us?” Jisung asked as he looked at you with hope in his eyes. You nodded your head and set the box of pastries down on the nearby table.

“I thought you guys would need a treat after working so hard today.”

All of them rushed to the box, opening it up to see what was there. You watched as they fought over who would get what, a smile on your face. After everyone picked out their treat, they all sat down to eat, silence falling over the practice room as they stuffed their faces.

“Thanks y/n,” Chan said as he nibbled on his croissant.

You nodded your head and went to sit next to Minho who was sitting on the couch. He looked startled, his eyes growing wide as you scooted closer to him. Minho gave you a look, one you hadn’t seen in awhile, as he watched you get as close as you could to him. He scooted away from you, squeezing himself next to Hyunjin who grumbled at being disturbed from eating his pastry. You were confused as to why he moved away and not understanding why he looked at you that way.

The boys sitting on the floor saw the interaction, confusion on their faces as well. They thought you two had been getting along much better recently. Minho was over the moon this morning. They knew something happened between you two as Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin revealed he never came home last night after taking a walk. Guess they were wrong.

You sat there slightly hurt, not sure why Minho tried to get away from you. Surely you were over this little feud that has been going on since you arrived. His attitude seemed to change over the last week or so, his emotions being more docile. The man was railing you within an inch of your life last night after all. Where was sweet Minho or hell even possessive Minho? You twiddled your thumbs, listening to the boys chatter, your eyes dashing to Minho every now and then. He interacted normally with the others, no hint of malice in his tone.

Everytime you said something, answering one of the boys questions or just talking with them, Minho would glare at you, pure annoyance on his face. Eventually, you just stopped talking altogether, as you felt hurt at his reactions towards you.

Soon they had to get back to practice, everyone standing up, brushing crumbs off their pants. Many of the boys left the room for bathroom breaks before getting started. Felix and Hyunjin remained, seated on the couches talking to each other, while Minho walked over to his bag near the stereo .

Should you approach him now? Practice was just starting back. You definitely didn’t want to interrupt practice, souring the room with your concerns. However, you didn’t want to ignore what has happened. You decided to wait, watching as the others made their way back in, ready to get back to practice.

Practice went on without a hitch. You watched as they messed around, having a great time. You specifically watched Minho and how he interacted with the others. He was laughing and chatting, his mood a complete 180 from before. You laughed and interacted with the others, but your mind was preoccupied, your brain just wouldn't turn off.

Chan came up to you, plopping down on the couch next to you. You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a breath. You felt exhausted, as they day caught up to you. You nuzzled your head further into Chan's shoulder, feeling comfortable, the tension in your body slowly ebbing away.

“What’s wrong y/n?” Chan asked, concern on his face.

“It’s nothing,” you said as you closed your eyes. “Just tired.”

Chan hummed. “I feel ya. We’re about done anyway. You can go home if you want.”

You shook your head, “no I need to talk to Minho.”

Chan looked at you and sighed. He knew this wasn’t going to end well, or maybe it would. Time would only tell.

Minho stood in the corner, chatting with Seungmin. He looked your way, shock crossing his face as he saw you lean your head on Chan’s shoulder. You seemed pretty comfortable, even briefly closing your eyes. He felt heat rise in his body, the feeling traveling up his legs, chest, and face, his ears turning red. He was furious. Why was he furious? He shouldn’t be. It’s Chan. Your his girlfriend. He claimed you last night. So why the fuck were you seeking comfort with another man, even if it was another one of the members. He turned his attention back to Seungmin finishing their discussion about a particular move they learned today at practice. He could think about this later.

Practice was over, everyone gathering their bags. Most of the boys left except for Hyunjin, Felix, and Jisung, as they hung around to talk and probably wait for Minho. Minho himself was packing up his bag, his back turned to you. You thought it’s now or never as you got up from the couch. You walked over to Minho, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Um Minho?” You shyly asked, not sure how he would react.

Minho turned to you, his eyes narrowed. He stayed silent as he just stared at you. You guess he wasn’t going to say anything so you went ahead and spoke first.

“Is something wrong? You um…you haven’t spoken to me all day and you’ve been uhh kinda ignoring me,” you said, rocking on your heels as you spoke.

Minho looked at you a moment , studying your face. He could see the turmoil behind your eyes. You were probably confused. Hell he was confused.

Of course, instead of taking it in stride and just answering you truthfully, he blurted out, “why would I need to speak to you?”

There was malice in his tone, which he never used with you. You were taken aback at his question and reaction, your eyes widening. What did he mean why did he need to speak to you, let alone just treat you like a human being? You were his girlfriend. You could feel your heart race faster, as the anger welled up in you and felt like a weight crushing your chest.

Taking a breath, you said, “I thought we were pass this? We were fine the last few days, not too mention last night. Did that mean anything to you?

At the mention of last night, Minho’s faced turned red. He knew you would mention that. He was kicking himself for being vulnerable with you then, not keeping up with the nonchalant facade.

He straightened up and looked you right in the eyes as he contemplated what to say next. Minho loved your eyes, especially when they were on him and only him, but now they were filled with hurt, confusion, and pain.

Getting caught up in his emotions he before said, “Listen closely y/n, leave me alone. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t even look at me, unless it’s for an event. I think it’s for the best.”

You took a step back, nearly tripping over your feet. You could feel tears welling in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, wanting to appear strong in front of Minho. Felix, Hyunjin, and Jisung heard Minho’s outburst and looked over, shock on their faces.

What the fuck was Minho’s problem? You were getting real tired of his back and forth emotions, one day treating you like you were his everything and the next like you didn’t even exist. It was confusing as hell and what he just said hurt you. Did he think he could just use you or play with your emotions like this?

No, you weren’t going to let him win. You wiped the tears from your eyes and squaring your shoulders, you looked Minho in his eyes, not wanting to show fear.

“Fuck you Minho,” you said. “I’m not sure what I did to you, but I’m tired of this. One day you’re nice and sweet and other days you’re like this, a totally different person, a toxic person to be honest. Frankly, I’m getting tired of it. I don’t appreciate being used. I’m sick of your shit.”

You were seeing red, your emotions running high. You felt dizzy, not realizing you were holding your breath, the anger boiling within you. You clenched your fists, holding them at your side. You needed to get out of here before you did or said something you would regret.

The other boys were retuning, cautiously making their way into the room after the others didn’t make it to the car. They looked between the two of you, the tension palpable in the room. No one dared say a word, or breath for that matter.

Minho looked at you for a moment. He was shocked at your outburst. You had your claws out and you were ready to strike. Why did that turn him on? He liked watching you fight, try to reason with him. He liked watching you squirm. He knew he was about to fuck up your relationship as usual.

“Like I said before y/n, leave me alone. You’re only here because the company wanted you here, don’t think there’s something between us, because there’s not. Last not meant nothing. If you don’t like me then leave.”

Shit, he didn’t mean to say that. The words just kept coming, fueled by his jealousy and annoyance from the day. There’s no way you’ll just accept what he said, he couldn’t blame you. You had a look of pure hatred on your face, one in which made him shiver slightly.

You couldn’t believe his words. He wanted you to leave. Wow, what an asshole. You knew things were too good to be true. Maybe you should go, find someway to get out of this toxic situation. You haven’t been truly happy for a while, the happiness from last night was definitely short lived.

Gathering the last of your courage, your fists clenching and unclenching at your side, you said, “you don’t need me? Fine you get your wish. I’m sure your manager can help me get out of this contract cause I’m done.”

You turned on your heels and marched toward the door, past the boys shocked faces. You tried not to look at them, knowing that if you did you would burst into tears and you did not want to show that type of weakness in front of Minho…not anymore at least.

Minho couldn’t stop himself as he called after you, “good! Hope it works out so I don’t have to see your face anymore!”

The boys looked at Minho. They couldn’t believe what they were witnessing. Were things really that bad? Surely Minho didn’t mean what he said. But it seemed he did as Minho did not try to run after you. He just stood there and watched, his chest rising and falling in anger, his face red from the argument.

They watched as you reached the door and paused with your hand on the door knob. You didn’t turn around but lifted your left hand, flicking off Minho before saying your last words.

“Fuck you Minho.”

They watched as you opened the door and walked out, the door slamming behind you. They all looked at each other, horrified looks on their faces before they all collectively looked at Minho. This was not good and they doubt Minho could fix it.

Your relationship may have been damaged beyond repair.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @thesilvernight0wl @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @artemisdoe @emily21morgan @athforskz @jazziwritesthings @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @jisunglyricist @tsunderelino @hyuneyeon @sillyhal @queenmea604

#stray kids smut #lee know smut #skz smut #minho smut #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #skz x reader #lee know imagines #stray kids angst #lee know angst #minho x reader #minho angst #stray kids #lee know #lee minho fanfic #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Follow You Anywhere 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: double chapter friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You put on the outfit Sy picked out. The lilac skirt and the matching razor back tank top are a bit mismatched in style but the colour is almost exact. You add a silver necklace to add a bit more to the top and even out top and bottom.

You take out a pair of white keds and slip them on. As you do, Sy stand on the door mat with Aika prancing excitedly around him. He deepens his voice and tells her to sit. She obeys, still trembling with elation as he hooks her leash into place.

As you stand, you find his attention on you. His eyes scale up and down your body as you brush your hand up and down one arm. He tilts his head and his cheek dimples as he exhales through his nose.

“Well, let’s go,” he commands and Aika jumps to her feet as you nearly leap in place.

He opens the door, your keys already in his pocket, and he waits for you to go ahead of him. He turns to face the door as he shuts it. He has the leash around two fingers as he slides the keys in the lock and turns.

As he turns towards the hall, he stops and looks at you. You waver, uncertainly, cautious of a single misstep. He offers the leash.

“Why don’t you take her, sweetie?” He says, “two of you needa get used to each other.”

You take the leash as Aika waits patiently. At least she’s trained well. You only ever had cats so you’re not entirely sure about dogs. They’re cute, sure, but a lot stronger.

You continue down the hall and to the stairs. Sy walks calmly beside you. You’re happy at least that the rage no longer roils off of him, though a tension remains. You sense it in the subtle twiddle of his thick fingers and the way he keeps popping and cracking his joints.

Outside, the sun glints blindingly above, casting a shine much too bright for your mood. Aika stops and the leash tugs in your hand. You turn back as she pees in the grass and step closer to slacken the leash. Oops. You make a face.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re doing good,” Sy encourages, “she can be a bit wild when she wants to. Probably more like you than you think.”

His suggestion makes you want to frown but you won’t let him see your discomfort. You continue down the sidewalk, keeping pace with the sniffing dog as Sy lazily swaggers behind you. She stops again then crosses to the other patch of grass. You follow her.

If it wasn’t for your company, you might enjoy the day. There’s bumblebee’s digging into stores of pollen, buzzing around vibrant petals, and birds cheeping from the interior of bushes, and wispy clouds across the sky. You might have taken a picture or two, even though your phone lens rarely catches the true beauty of the world.

You continue around the corner and suddenly Aika darts forward. She pulls you nearly off your feet and you stomp clumsily after her, trying not to topple. You see what she sees only as she gets within snapping distance of the fluffy cat. The feline hisses before dashing away and you pull back the barking dog.

“Aika,” Sy says firmly and quiets the canine, “good girl.”

The silt in his voice makes even you freeze. You peek back at him and hold out the loop of the leash. You recoil as you notice the phone in his hand. Your phone. The little pearly wrist band hangs from the corner of the blush pink case. He has the lens aimed right at you.

“Say hi,” he waves from his side of the phone, “got my girls out for a nice walk in the sun.”

“What are you--” you quiet, realising what must be going on.

“Your fans want to see you, sweetie,” he chimes. “Isn’t she cute? My lady. Waited for me so long.”

He turns the camera around, holding it at arm’s length as he comes to stand beside you and faces the sunlight. You gulp as his hand goes to your hip and he pulls you close, leaning in to press his jaw to your head, angling the phone up to capture both of you. You try to smile.

“Finally going public,” he sounds almost giddy, “military sh—stuff. Couldn't disclose it til I got home but here we are.”

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple. He purrs and slowly releases you. He stands straight and backs up, once more aiming the camera at you. You feel like you might shatter into pieces.

“We’re gonna grab some coffee. There’s a cafe around here. You’ll remember it. She did a live back in March. Got the vanilla chai, didn’t you, sweetie? I been waiting this long to get back and try it with her,” he commentates, oblivious to the people who glance in his direction. He keeps his arm extended. “Go on, Aika’s getting antsy.”

You look down at the dog and she looks up at you. You spin and continue down the pavement. You should scream and shout and tell the world that this man is crazy. Yet it doesn’t matter. There’s probably a single viewer, if any. You realise now, he was probably your only fan. The others you’ll chalk up to bots or other weirdos.

A trickle of ice flows through your chest. He knows where the cafe is. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching, not just on the phone? You don’t know why you keep asking. It doesn’t change a thing.

You approach the short iron fence that marks off the patio of the cafe. You slow and Sy stands at your side, showing the tables and patrons to the camera. He rubs between your shoulder blades.

“So how ya wanna do it? You wanna wait with Aika or you wanna run in?” He asks.

You gulp. There is not better option. It’s all just the same.

“I’ll get the coffee,” you offer and untangle the leash from around your wrist. “What do you want?”

“Hm, good question,” he says, “why don’t ya surprise me. You know I got a sweet tooth.”

“Right.”

He takes the leash and you turn, stiffly marching through the gate and up to the door. You enter and as you’re shut in, you clutch the sides of your neck and blow out through your lips. No, you don’t know he has a sweet tooth. You don’t know him. As much as he scares you to death, he’s starting to make you really angry. It’s just how he talks as if you actually know who he is! He’s a stranger. A creep!

You stand in line and only remember to step up for your turn as someone taps your shoulder. You mumble an apology and step up. You hadn’t even checked the menu. You look at the specials board and try to wet your dry tongue.

“Um, white mocha,” you order in a croak, “and a uh, a lavender latte. Thanks.”

The barista offers to add on items from the bakery. You decline and pay, already spending enough on the overpriced coffee. You shuffle along to await your order and mull your options. None. You have none.

When your number is called, you grab your drinks and quickly spin around. You follow another customer to the door and he holds it open for you. He smiles as you step through and you thank him.

“Not at all,” he steps out after you. “You got your hands full.”

“It’s really nice of you,” you say as you walk just ahead of him, turning your head to glance over your shoulder.

“Pretty girl like you. How could I not,” he says as you reach the gate, “have a good day, miss.”

“Uh,” you’re surprised by the compliment, “you too, sir.”

You give an awkward purse of your lips as you stand in the open gate. You look around and find Sy watching you. You go to him and hold up the drinks.

“Um, I got the white mocha... not sure if you like that.”

“Ooh, white mocha, sounds delicious, just like you,” he purrs, “and what did you get?”

He takes the cup, Aika’s leash around two thick fingers. You stand dumbly, staring at the phone he keeps pointed in your face.

“The lavender latte,” you answer flatly.

“Well, the lady and I are gonna have our coffee date,” he says to the camera as he flips it around, “walk the pup and all that. Hope you all have a good day. Right, sweetie?”

He once more puts you on the stream. Your lip trembles, “sure, yeah. Have a good day everyone.”

You hold a shaky smile and he taps the screen several times with his thumb. He slides the phone into his short’s pocket and tastes his mocha. He waves you down the sidewalk and Aika takes the lead. He’s quiet as he slurps from the plastic lid.

“That boy,” he speaks at last, “said you were pretty.”

You blanch and turn the cup in your hand. The heat seeps through the sleeve and adds to the sheen across your skin, “er, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Who was he?” Sy asks harshly.

You flinch and peek up at him. He’s not happy. His entire demeanour has shifted.

“I don’t know. A stranger. He just held the door,” you shrug, “guess he was being nice.”

“Being nice? Shouldn’t be talking to strangers,” he reproaches.

You nearly choke. Yeah, you shouldn’t. He taught you that well.

“You are a pretty girl,” he says, “so I’m just lookin’ out for you. Some men...”

You keep your eyes ahead as you fight to hold your composure. You drink from the cup, tasting the floral foam, and swallow. You force the breath from your chest and steady your nerves.

“Sorry, I... won’t do it again.”

He hums and reaches to grab your hand. His large one swallows yours. You don’t pull away, even as you desperately want to . He walks along with you, swing his arm slightly.

“Isn’t this nice, sweetie?” He purrs, “you and me and Aika. Like a little family.”

You grit your teeth and your aching cheeks fall. You can’t smile any long. You try to hide your face as you hover your mouth over the cup, “yeah,” you wisp out, “it’s nice.”

💜

When you get back to the apartment, you’re exhausted yet adrenaline has you wide awake. Sy lets Aika off her leash and feeds her as you toss your empty coffee cup. You linger around the bin nervously, uncertain what to do next. You’re trapped again within these walls that once spoke of your freedom.

Sy groans and stretches his neck. He runs his hands over his shaved head and combs his fingers through his thick beard. You step away from garbage before he notices you hiding.

“Hot out, I’m beat,” he yawns, “what about you, sweetie?”

“Yeah, uh, kinda,” you hug yourself and sway, “but um, not too bad.”

“Ugh, one thing I was happy about was gettin’ outta the heat,” he pulls on his shirt and lifts it over his head. The fabric is darkened around the chest and arms with his sweat. More of it glistens in his body hair as he strips away the tee.

You chew your lip and go to turn the fan on, turning it to oscillate. You sense him in the edge of your vision. He hangs the shirt across the back of a dining room chair then comes back to the living room. You stay close to the wall.

“Er, Sy,” your heart jumps as your doubt clogs your throat.

“Mhmm,” he flops onto the couch and leans back. He’s shameless and shirtless. His muscles flex along his arms and chest. He’s huge.

“Do you think I can have my phone? I wanted to check my messages,” you push your palms together and twist your hands.

“Don’t got none,” he says, “forget about that. Let’s disconnect. You and me, sweetie, let’s enjoy a quiet night in.”

You want your phone but you know better than to push him. You’ve seen what happens when you do. You peer over at the dent in the wall.

“Sure,” you go to him and sit on the couch, keeping a foot between you. “Do you wanna watch something?”

You reach for the remote and he stops you. He snatches your hand back and wraps his arm around you, pulling you to lean into the couch with him. He crowds you as his scent suffocates you. It smells like sweat and generic deodorant.

“We don’t need TV, sweetie, let’s just enjoy each other,” he reaches across you and rubs your upper arm.

“Um,” you nearly choke, “it’s almost dinner time--”

“It’s early,” his voice is rocky, “sweetie, it’s alright. Just relax. It’s finally just us.”

“Sy, I... I should get some work done,” you sniff.

“You should take it easy. You work too hard,” his hand brushes along your shoulder and to your neck. He drags his knuckles up your throat, “you’re gorgeous, you know that? This colour,” he slips his hand back down and touches the top of the tank, “looks so good on you.”

“Thanks, I, er,” you squeeze your thigh and gulp. You can’t help the tremor that rolls through you, “Sy, please,” you reach up and grab his hand, “I should--”

“It’s okay to be nervous. I am too, sweetie,” he rasps as he leans in, “but I can’t wait any longer.”

He frees his hand from yours and cradles your face. He dips his head and you press your hand to his chest, helpless to stop him as he smothers your mouth with his. You let out a muffled gasp as he crushes his lips to yours, his tongue poking around eagerly. His hand crawls around the back of your head as he traps you against the couch.

Your fingers curl against the muscle of his chest and he groans. He pulls you against him, falling back with you until he’s flat on the cushions. He brings you over him, and arm hooked around you as his other hand stays on your head. His tongue invades your mouth as you struggle to breathe past his hunger. Your brain screams at you to bite him, to smack, to do anything, but you’re paralysed with futility.

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #sandcastle #follow you anywhere

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doitforbangchan · 3 months

Text

ABANB alternate chtp 18 smut scene

Soooo I had written two versions of the Minho smut from Chapter 18. This is the original one I wrote but decided to redo it and went with the softer version for the chapter. 😌

I thought y'all should see what it could have been with mean Minho or as i call him Mean-ho. This was not proofread or edited, it was just a rough draft so it may seem lacking 🫣

chapter 18

Warnings: Afab/fem reader, smut, unprotected p in v, sub!reader, Dom!Minho, crying (a TON), Dacryphilia, edging, choking (with hand and a belt), spanking, subspace, biting, blood in mouth, cursing, kissing, light masochism, asphyxiation, begging, mean Minho

WC: 3.5k

You rounded the corner to go to Chan's room to hide away, but before you could open the door a hand grabbed you and wrapped harshly around your neck, and a sturdy chest at your back. Your movements were halted completely as you screamed in fright, your hands coming up to grab the offending hand.

“So you can listen to me.”

It was Minho. You were so in your own head you didn’t even sense him nearby.

“Minho.. What are y-”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear any of your fucking snark right now. You’re gonna shut your mouth for once and listen.” His aura was so.. Domineering. Authoritative. It made you instinctively want to obey him. Though you would never tell him that. “Be a good little omega and go to my room. Sit on the bed facing the wall, on your knees. Do you understand?”

You nodded, not speaking as ordered. His low voice in your ear was making you dizzy.

“Good. Now go.”

He dropped his hand from your neck and stepped back from you. He watched as you quickly scurried away and down the hall to his room. Minho dragged his hand down his face and sighed. This is not how he imagined today would go. But sometimes it can’t be helped, you need an attitude check. And he was going to give it to you.

You went into Minhos room, doing as he commanded and climbing onto his bed sitting on your knees and facing away from the door. Once again it was silent, you could hear nothing but your own breathing. Your nerves were shot. You didn’t know what was to come and it was making you incredibly anxious.

You knew you shouldn’t have been so rude to him, especially after he stood up for you and got you out of that frightening situation- but you couldn’t help it. Minho was the only person you were testy with, and clearly neither of you understood why.

Minho stood there at the threshold of his room, observing you as you sat upon his bed and tremored. He moved silently, borderline cat-like, as he crept into the room and stood behind you. You didn't know he had even entered the room yet if not for the sudden clinking of his belt as he slid it through his belt loops and off his pants. You spun your head around quickly, being alerted to his presence by the sound.

“I didn’t say you could look at me, omega. Turn back around.” He ordered, and you wanted to defy him; to tell him to fuck off but instead you settled for a weak glare then stiffly complied.

This time he let you hear his footsteps and movements as he crept closer to you and onto the bed. You felt him crawl up until he was directly behind you, his breath on your neck. You were shaking by the time you felt his lips on your shoulder.

“Mm, such a pretty sight- these marks on your body. The boys did a fine job covering you in their love.” His lips danced across your skin as you sat perfectly still, even going as far as to hold your breath so you wouldn’t move a muscle. “I have no idea why you’d wanna cover them up.” His tongue ran along the darkest hickey that was left on your neck- one from Jeongin the other day. You whimpered at the feeling, tilting your head back even further to grant him access. “Really hurt our feelings.” The last bit came out as a near growl and suddenly he had his belt wrapped around your neck.

You gasped and grabbed the offending belt, panic beginning to rise. “Minho!”

“Shut up!” He looped the belt so it turned into a makeshift leash, not enough to choke you just enough to hold you. His hand that wasn’t holding the belt went to the back of your head, shoving it down swiftly into his bed. “Don’t speak until I say you can speak! You’re not in charge right now, little girl. Learn. Your. Fucking. Place.”

Your hands balled up as you fisted the bedding with your face buried into his pillow and the pure scent of him filling your lungs; seeing as air certainly wasn’t. You were already crying, your tears wetting the pillows. There were so many different emotions running through you; fear, submission, anger.. But the main one was arousal. You could feel your panties dampening against your folds, and it made you embarrassed that Minho could probably smell it.

The man was still leaning over you, having released your head but still holding his leash. His free hand ran along the back of your thighs and up to your covered ass. His touches weren’t harsh but the smack he delivered was. You yelped but quickly bit your tongue to avoid any more sounds escaping. He took note of your obedience. Minho grabbed the top hem of your shorts and tugged hard , drawing them down your ass along with your panties and leaving your bottom half bare for him. He held back a moan when he saw the wet strings of your arousal clinging onto the gusset of your underwear.

Thankfully your face was buried still or he would have surely been able to see how ashamed you felt, knowing he was now able to see you in a way he never has before. You hadn’t felt nearly as emotional when the rest of the pack got to see you intimately though you hadn’t the relationship with them that you’ve had with him- the back and forth, the callus attitudes, the tension.

You just knew he was behind you sporting the smuggest grin (he was) and it made you furious. Furious at him for the power he held over you and furious at yourself for allowing it to happen. Not just allowing it, but enjoying it.

He yanked your shorts all the way off of you and threw them on the floor. The smell of your slick was quickly filling the room, seeping into Minho's lungs and making him feel borderline inebriated. He bit his lip as he palmed your ass, squeezing the thickness of your cheek and letting out an appreciative hum. He was an ass man, afterall. Your fists curled tighter when you heard his sound, almost letting out a whimper in return.

After another squeeze to your opposite cheek his lithe fingers ran up your spine to the laces of your top where he began to untie it. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the fabric untying- save for his small huff when the laces gave him some trouble. Eventually he was able to undo it completely. At this point you started to lose your patience, and you let out a huff of annoyance.

You jolted when he suddenly gave a sharp tug on the makeshift leash, making you choke and gasp. His fingers dug into the meat roughly and you could feel the indents of his nails and knew you would have bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

“Don’t you fucking huff at me. Sit up.” He smacked your ass making it sting and pulled on the belt again.

Apparently you didn’t move quick enough for the beta, as he gave a condescending scoff - choosing to give your ass another hard smack. Once again you remained silent. Your top fell off completely when you put yourself on your hands and knees.

“Mmm look at you, bare naked on my bed, held by my belt, waiting for my command. Finally you're listening to me.”

His hand cupped your pussy from behind then ran two digits through your slick. You shuddered when Minho gathered some of the wetness from your folds, then he pulled that hand up to the front of his face as he observed the way the arousal glistened. You couldn’t see it when he stuck those two fingers in his mouth and ran his tongue along them to clean them up, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head because of how fucking good you tasted.

“So fucking wet and I haven’t done anything to you yet. Seems to me you're enjoying yourself a little too much. Maybe you aren’t as innocent as everyone believes you to be, hmm?” Minho shuffled until he was on the right side of you, leaning down to see your heated face. “I know otherwise though. I could tell you’re not as sweet as you pretend to be, you’ve shown me how defiant you can be.” He tugged the belt, reminding you he held the reins. His tone was beyond condescending as he spoke. “I know what you want, but how about you tell me what you want? Go ahead. Tell me.”

“Minho..” Your voice was soft, beautifully submissive. “Want you..”

“You want me, huh? You sure about that, baby?” He was looking down at you with a borderline evil smirk. You didn’t pick up on the implied malicious compliance, too needy and quickly falling into subspace to even register it, so you nodded your head eagerly.”Say please.”

“Please Minho.” You wet your lips with your tongue, now your lips and eyes are shining.

He tossed his head back and forth as if contemplating your request. “Ok. Here I am.”

Minho yanked on the belt, pulling your face towards him and straight into his clothed crotch. You couldn’t suppress a surprised yelp when your face made contact, the fabric of his jeans feeling slightly scratchy on your skin. He held your lead close to him, not letting you gain any space away from him. Min hissed quietly at the stimulation, his hard cock begging for attention from within its confines. He rutted his hips a little, grinding against your face.

“Min!” Your plea came out muffled and one of your hands went to his thigh to brace yourself.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He ground against you harder, your mouth was still slightly open and your saliva was wetting the front of his pants. “I’m giving you what you wanted. My cock is right here, omega.”

The intention was not lost on either of you nor was the nuance of the situation. You were laid out doggy style and completely naked while he was kneeling over you completely clothed, making you rub and nuzzle against his covered crotch. It was a clear power play to embarrass you and make you submissive. And it was working.

Your lips nipped at the material, mouth watering at even being so close to him. But it wasn’t what you really wanted from him. So you gave him what you thought he wanted. “Minho, please. M’ sorry, I’ll listen to you. M’ sorry.”

He raised a brow at you, “ Oooo now you wanna be nice? Now you wanna be good f’ me? Hmm I think it’s too late for that Baby. But,” he began to pet the back of your head, giving you some comfort. “Maybe if you ask me again, make it real sweet and cute like I know you can be, maybe I’ll go easy on you. Maybe.”

Your lip jutted out and your eyes began to leak more crystalline tears, the big glassy orbs resembling an injured doe.

“Minho, please touch me. Please give me your cock. Wanna make you feel good- be good for you Minho. I need it. Need you.” You placed wet kisses to his length, nuzzling the offending fabric right after. “Will do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want huh?” He gave some slack to the belt he held, petting your head tenderly then bringing his hand to your cheek, tilting your face up to look at him. His thumb wiped at the incoming tear, smearing the liquid into your skin. “ I wanna play with my pretty omega.”

Minho forced your face back into his crotch, this time even rougher than before. The friction was starting to rub your skin raw, making you wince with every grind. His hand left your cheek and went back to your head, this time he grasped your hair tightly in his fist. Over and over again he shoved you into him. He was clearly getting off on this power play; his throaty whines gave it away. You felt like you were suffocating and couldn't breath against the denim. Your hands on his thighs attempted to push him away even for a second but he didn’t allow you too. “Gonna make me cum you rub me so fucking good. Maybe I should just take my dick out and cum all over you. Or I have a better idea; how about I use that belt to tie you to my bed post, then hump your face until I cover you with my cum. But you’d probably like that huh? Dirty omega probably wants to lay here covered in me until it dries on you. Fuck that would be a perfect sight.”

Minho was rambling as if he was stuck in a fantasy and didn’t even register that you were struggling.

Panic began to set in when you couldn’t get away, and you started to squirm and cry. Pleas of his name were muffled along with your crying. Your small fists beat against him frantically and that seemed to pull the beta from his trance.

He grinded on your face once harshly then pulled you back. You sputtered as you gasped for air, drool and tears falling down your face and sticking to his pants.

“N-no.. no more..” You wailed, throat croaky from crying. Your body was quivering and you looked like a mess. “Ple-ase Min… No more, m’ sorry.”

“Aww omega,” Minho cooed and took the hand out of your hair and back down to your face. He was pleased with your submission, finding it easier to break you than he had anticipated. Your skin there was tender from his punishment and the heat of his hand did little to soothe it physically, but emotionally it was everything. You needed his care and mercy so much that even his patronizing tone flew right over your head. “Begged and pleaded for me and you can’t even take it huh? Just had to cry about it like the little baby you are. Do you know how pretty you look when you cry, hmm? Drives me so fucking crazy. Makes me wanna see how glassy those eyes can really get.”

You mewled when his thumb ran softly over your cheek, collecting the wetness. Then he moved it down to your lips. He groaned when you obediently opened your mouth and accepted the digit. Your tongue flicked over the tip and tasted the saltiness of your own tears.

“I think I wanna see what you look like when you cry on my cock now.” His thumb came out of your mouth and he wiped the spit on your lips. Then both hands traveled down to your neck and to the leather of the belt. “Would you like that, omega? You want me to fuck you?” He slowly undid the belt and slid it from your neck and threw it to the floor.

“Y-yes, Minho.” You were glad to have the leash off your neck, one of your hands went up to rub the skin but his own hand smacked it away then ran over your neck himself.

“You’ve been so good for me this far, omega. Are you gonna keep it up and listen like you're meant to?” There was a bite to his words but you were beyond needy for any of his kind attention that it didn’t matter.

You nodded quickly, starting to blubber again. “Mhm, I’ll be so good, wanna be good for you, promise Min, please please.”

“Shhh, baby it’s alright. Min will give you what you need now, ok?” He slowly pushed down his pants and underwear until they fell to the floor. His hard length sprung free and slapped against his covered stomach. He lowered you down onto your back and climbed on top of you. Minho's arms went to either side of your body and caged you against the bed.

You looked absolutely debauched. Your face was wet and your hair was a mess, and you were sniffling and whimpering under him just begging for attention. It became too much for the man to handle. With no more words spoken, he pressed a devastating kiss to your pouty lips. Your whole world shattered and all at once was rebuilt with that one kiss. It was a moment the two of you had been both dreaming about and dreading. And it was totally worth the wait.

Your hands were at your sides and they twitched with a need to touch him- to wrap your arms around him and hold him to you. But you knew better than to do so without being told. You would do anything to stay in his good graces right now.

Minho could feel you squirm and it made him smirk and hum. He knew he held the control and he was becoming drunk on it. Now he knew how Chan felt..

The beta used his tip to smack against your clit, giving a jolt of needed stimulation to the little bundle of nerves. Yet you didn’t move. “Good girl.” He praised and you let more tears fall. Minho went to line his member up with your center, but he paused before he pushed in. “You can touch me now, omega, go ahead and hold on to me. You'll need it.”

Immediately your arms shot up and around him, getting as close as you possibly could to him. You purred in satisfaction when you held him, nuzzling deeply into his neck and wetting his skin with your tears.

He chuckled in your ear, then shoved his length into you with one hard thrust. Your eyes slammed shut and your back arched at the intrusion, making your bare nipples rub against the fabric of his shirt. Your mouth fell open and a throaty whine left you involuntarily. Minho may not have been an alpha but he sure was hung like one.

“Jesus fucking christ, you are so fucking tight omega. Your sweet omega pussy is squeezing the life outta me, clenching me so good.” He didn’t give you time to adjust and began to thrust into you, his hips making a smacking sound.

Minho leaned more of his weight onto you as he used one arm to support his body. The other hand went to your neck and found a place there. He would squeeze your windpipe when he gave you particularly hard thrusts. You thought it would scare you but in reality it felt divine. The dark hair that resided at the base of his cock was stimulating your clit with every single one of his grinds.

You were quickly becoming worked up, your orgasm just on the cusp. Your nails were embedding themselves into his shoulders, drawing blood but you thought he didn’t seem to notice or if he did then he didn’t give a shit. In truth; he loved the pain you were giving him. The masochist in him was reeling.

He moaned and cursed when you clenched around him, “Fuck baby, you’re about to cum aren’t you?”

“Uh huh” you nodded into him. He slowed his movements- his pounding turning into a rolling as he withdrew his chest from yours. “No no no no please don’t go please.” You begged and attempted to pull him back to you, now full on sobbing. “Please Minho please.”

He tsked down at you with a shake of his head. “Pathetic little baby wants to cum? You think you deserve it?”

“Please! Been good!” He was steady despite your tugging on his shoulders, so you resorted to trying to thrust yourself up onto him. “Need t’ cum. Wan’ it Min. Won’t ever be mean to you again I promise!”

The beta smirked, feeling the satisfaction of victory. “I’m gonna hold you to that, omega.” Then he restarted his deep pounding.

You threw your head back as you moaned, giving him a chance to increase the pressure on your neck. The slick was pouring out of you and covering both of your thighs and his bed. The wet squelches were a filthy addition to the already overwhelming scene and it was making you both extra fuzzy.

All too soon you felt the build up within you once more, and this time he didn’t let up when you begged to cum. “Gonna cum! Please can I? Please!”

“Yes omega, you can cum. You’ve earned it.” He said it then without a moment's hesitation he clamped his teeth into your neck, giving you a deep claiming bite.

You felt like you exploded into a thousand tiny stars. Your body convulsed as you came, your moans turning to screams from all of the sensations. Minho was growling as he sucked and dug his teeth in further and further, he seemed like a man possessed.

His own orgasm came crashing down on him and you felt the fierce heat of his cum shoot inside of you. His eyes rolled back into his head and his rutting turned almost violent. He wanted his cum as deep into you as possible- wanted so deep it would stay there forever.

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#stray kids #abanb #stray kids x reader #skz smut #skz #stray kids smut #lee know #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #lee minho #dom lee know #dom minho #straykids abo #skz abo

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covetyou · 11 months

Text

just a taste

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: cuck!Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: daddy kink, cuckolding, creampie, cum eating, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, male masturbation, one single pussy slap, rimming if you squint, pet names (baby, sweetheart), dd/lg vibes, established relationship, mention of original male character. word count: 2.5k summary: Joel helps you clean up a mess.

A/N: This has taken me so long to write beyond the dialogue because it's all been so distracting that I've had to stop myself and go have breaks, but then I come back and write more horny shit for parts I didn't even intend to write. cuck!Joel is something else.

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You're still floating on cloud nine when the bed dips beside you. A kiss is placed to your cheek, the corner of your mouth. You lick your lips - you can still taste him on your tongue.

"Wake up, baby. Daddy's home."

You sigh and stretch, arching your body into a bow as you pull yourself from your doze, the crumpled sheet falling to your waist as you turn to greet Joel. His hair is mussed from running his fingers through it all day, and his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at you.

"Hey, baby," he whispers, tugging the sheet further off your body. "Just look at my pretty girl."

"Hi Daddy. I missed you," you breathe, softly kissing him, that lingering taste still on your tongue.

A rough hand smooths your hair back from your face before cascading down your shoulder, over the softness of your breast and down between your legs to cup your damp pussy through your panties.

He traces soft kisses over your shoulder, your collarbone. "You have a good day?" The ghost of his words flutters over your skin, pebbling your nipples before he takes one into his mouth, sucking lightly as you melt into his touch.

You smile and nod lazily at him. You had the best day. "Mhm."

He releases from you with a pop. "You did?" He pushes softly against your mound, cupping you more firmly before rubbing his fingers from side to side across the crotch of your panties.

You wiggle your hips away from him, whining in discomfort.

"What is it? What's wrong," he says, faux concern pulling at his brows.

"My panties are all messy, Daddy," you pout, biting your bottom lip as you look at him through your lashes.

"And why's that, sweetheart?"

He keeps rubbing, his hand moving back and forth now across the damp fabric, smearing any mess into your skin with each movement and forcing you to stifle a moan.

"I don't know."

"Hm, I think we both know why your panties are messy, baby."

He raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for your confession. You bite it back and try to look away, his dark eyes boring holes into your skull, seeing right through you. He taps a finger to your cheek with his other hand, his usual sign for you to look at him. You obey. Of course you do, you always do.

"Did you have a friend over to play today?"

"No," you pout again.

slap

His broad hand claps dully against your clothed pussy, all noise and no sting. Still, it makes you gasp as the buzz shoots through your cunt straight to your sleep addled brain.

"Don't lie to me baby."

"Andrew came over to play."

"And did you play down here?" He tickles his fingers lightly over your entrance through your panties, making you squirm.

"No." This time you can't keep back the smile that pulls across your face as you say it. This was your, and you suspected his, favorite game.

He rolls his eyes at you, dragging his tongue across his teeth. He knew when you were lying and, most of all, he knew when you wanted him to know you were lying.

"Let's have a look then shall we."

He peels your sticky panties from your slick pussy, pulling them down to your knees. He looks at your glistening cunt, then to you. He's clearly unimpressed. "Think I'm gonna need a better look."

Rough hands smooth down your soft thighs, meeting at their apex and digging his fingers lightly into your flesh. Large thumbs slide up the side of your pussy and pull you open, exposing you to his gaze. The action makes you clench, pushing a trickle of milky white out from your hole and down the valley of your ass, staining Joel's bed below.

"Baby," he says, a warning tone in his voice. "I think you've been lying to me."

He traces another trickle with his finger, catching it before it can drop down to his sheets. He inspects it, before putting it in his mouth to taste. He doesn't even bother to hide his moan as he suckles on his own finger.

"I think we both know why your pussy is messy, baby. You and Andrew played with each other down here, didn't you?" He slides one thick finger all the way into you with ease and you gasp.

"Yes, Daddy."

"I'm not mad at you, baby," he says as he begins to pump his digit in and out of you, coating his finger in the clear slick if your pussy and the creamy white of your playmates spend. "I just don't like you lying to me."

His finger hooks up into you, making you moan and curl your toes, back arching from the bed.

"You have fun with Andrew?" he mutters, smiling softly, a fondness in his eyes kept only for you as he strokes your thighs.

"Mhm."

"He make you come?"

You giggle at the memory of the many times Andrew had made you come that day. "Yes Daddy."

He shakes his head at you, trying, and failing, to hide a grin by biting the inside of his cheek. This was definitely his favorite game.

"He came too, huh? Right in here?" He pushes his finger into you as deep as he can, curling it upward to hit a spot that makes you groan.

He pulls his finger out without warning, watching your hole flutter in his absence, cum coating his finger and dripping out of you once again.

"I know. There's so much in here baby, he made a real mess o' you. Lemme get this pussy cleaned up." For anyone else, this might have meant grabbing a wet wash cloth or hopping in the shower. But not for Joel. Instead, he slides his finger into his mouth, sucking it clean, and pulls your ruined panties off the rest of the way, using both hands to push your thighs wide as he leans down to lick a thick stripe through your swollen folds.

You squirm, jerking your hips from his grip. "Mnnngh, it's sensitive," you whine.

"Do you want Daddy to stop?" he says, nipping and licking at your inner thighs. Andrew's cum had spilled from you and smeared on them earlier, drying and making them sticky before you'd slipped your panties back on to keep in the rest. Joel doesn't mind, he never does, and he continues to nibble at your skin, tasting the combined release of you and another man.

You look down at him and pout. Of course you didn't want him to stop, his tongue on your pussy was the best feeling in the world, even when it made you twitch.

"Didn't think so, baby. You always want your Daddy, don't you?"

"Always, Daddy," you sigh, practically melt into the bed at his words. Even when you were being filled by someone else, you could never stop thinking about Joel - how much he would love to be there, watching you, listening to your moans, tasting you.

"I'll be gentle," he croons, stroking your thighs with his rough finger tips. "She's so sensitive, huh?"

He keeps his word, going back to lapping at you softly, small licks all over your pussy, suckling at the skin, cleaning you of the evidence of your earlier activities. He presses soft kisses back to your clit, before holding you open, pulling back your hood and lapping directly at your over sensitive nub.

"Keep still for Daddy."

It is impossible to keep still.

"Oh, fu-Daddy," you moan, reaching down to grab at his shaggy mess of hair between your legs. He looks blissful, his eyes almost closed as his mouth engulfs your clit. His tongue laps at it in broad strokes, desperate to bring you to orgasm and force more cum from your tender hole.

You were so oversensitive, so tender, that when he brings a finger back to circle the outer rim of your pussy, you can already feel your release barrelling into you. You whine, high pitched as you come, a feeble little thing in the grand scheme of things, hips gyrating uncontrollably into his face as you tug on his hair.

"Ohhhh."

Joel wastes no time unlatching from your clit and plunging his tongue into your twitching hole. He swallows heavily after each deep lick, swallowing down Andrew's cum as some of the remnants pulse out of you. His tongue teases down beyond your hole, to the crevasse of your ass, flicking over your asshole briefly to collect any drops from earlier as he teases a finger back into your cunt, dragging gently at your walls to pull more cum from you before sucking it off of his finger. He repeats the action, groaning with each taste of another mans cum off of himself.

"Open up," he says, sticking his finger deep in you and dragging it around your walls to collect as much of your slick as he can. You do as he says, letting your jaw fall open as you stick out your tongue, eager to add to the taste still held in your mouth. "Good girl. If you make a mess you gotta help clean it up."

You watch dumbly as he pulls the finger from your dripping cunt and sits up to reach and slide it between your lips. You suckle on the digit, swirling your tongue around it to taste the salty tang of your used pussy. When he removes his finger his mouth quickly finds yours, tongue lapping at your own. You can taste the same salty sweet flavor on his lips, and you reach up to hold him, pulling him into you. You feel the painfully hard bulge in his jeans grind against your thigh.

"Such a good girl," he says into your mouth, biting at your bottom lip before entwining his tongue with yours. "He got your mouth all messy too, huh?" he says, and you nod in response, nose dragging up and down the side of his nose with the movement. "I can taste it."

He's shifting back from you then, pressing your body delicately, but firmly, away from himself. You try to protest as he pushes you down into the soft embrace of his bed, but he's soon slipping back down your body and between your legs, sliding two thick fingers through your folds and into your cunt. He slips them into you with ease, pumping slow and deep as he mouths all over your tender flesh, sucking your labia into his mouth and swirling his tongue over your clit with well practiced movements.

You convulse and twitch, bearing down on his fingers as pressure builds in you once more. You clench your muscles, wanting to grip his fingers and draw him into you, but the pulsing of your cunt does nothing but push more of your playmates creamy spend from your hole and into Joel's eager mouth. He keeps slurping at you, tongue plunging into your hole with his fingers to drink down every last drop that leaks out of you.

"Oh, fuck."

He yanks his jeans down, his thick cock painfully hard from being trapped in his jeans for so long. He's been thinking about this all day, sporting a semi for most of the afternoon as he dreamed of devouring another man's cum out of your pussy. He's so fucking close he can't help himself, and he grabs his cock as soon as it's free. He jerks himself frantically as he sloppily eats your pussy, hips rutting into his own fist and tongue desperately seeking out the creamy taste of your hole as it twitches.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mumbles into your cunt, squeezing his eyes closed, staving off his orgasm as long as he can. You feel his hot breath fan across your exposed pussy as he pants, groaning as he tastes you and moves his fist harder and harder, tighter and tighter up and down his length. You wish it was closer, you wish you could taste him, have his cum flood your mouth and erase the taste of anyone else from your tongue. You could ask for it, beg him, but his face buried in your your sensitive swollen folds is so much that the oversensitivity makes words impossible. All you can do is whine and moan, pushing your hips into his face, grinding into him as you babble the only word your brain can muster.

"Daddy, d-daddy, daaa- fu- daddy!"

You come again, legs clamping hard around his head, pulling him into you tighter when all you want to do is push him away, as sensitive as you are. He's surrounded by you, he probably can't breath, but his tongue doesn't relent and neither does his fist. You try to tug him off of you, hands pulling on his hair as you sob, but it does nothing but spur him on, nose pushing hard into you as he breathes deep one last time before his jaw goes slack and he releases a deep groan directly into your pussy, his cock throbbing in his hand. He comes long and hard, spurts of thick white cum coating his fist and the bed sheets as he comes all over himself and the bedsheets.

You go limp, thighs falling open and hand slipping from his hair, flopping uselessly down between your own legs as you gaze off into space, small whimpers still falling from your lips.

He rests his forehead on your mound, breathing deeply as he comes down from his own high. He places one last gentle kiss to your clit before placing his broad hand over you, rubbing gently, possessively.

"S'all clean now," he mumbles into you and you moan in agreement, even if you feel like more of a mess than when he started.

Joel stretches back, rolling from between your thighs to lay on his back, pulling you toward him as he goes. You curl into him, not bothering to avoid mess of his cum splattered on the sheets. The bed always needed changing after a playdate with Andrew anyway, a little more mess wouldn't hurt.

You card your fingers through his hair as his breath finally starts to steady. He takes a deep breath and shifts, his cock hanging limply against his belly now. This was your favorite thing in the world - curled up in a messy bed with Joel, both of you spent and satisfied.

"Saw Andrew as he was leaving. Told me you came six times today, baby, a new record," he finally says, looking up at you and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

You laugh, smiling as your mouth finds his. "I lost count after three."

"Mm," he sighs as you place gentle pecks all over his lips. "You'll have to thank him extra hard next time."

"I will, Daddy. Then I'll tell you all about it."

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