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brewed-pangolin · 1 year

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Fireside Whiskey

As per usual, I got carried away with this one.....

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish and Fem Reader

This is an angsty version of a drabble request @deadbranch sent in, which can be found here. This is my first time ever writing angst, so apologies if its not very good. Feedback is greatly appreciated, I'd like to get a better handle at this side of writing. Much love, and sorry for the feels.

18+ MDNI Angst into fluff. Some suggestive themes. Overwhelmed reader may be a bit triggering. And of course a touch of smut.

AN: I was going to keep this drabble pretty angsty, but the fluff took over. I don't even know if I like this, but here we are.

It was a stupid, fickle little thing. You hated everything about it. The attention, the gifts, the constant reminder of another year gone by. Everyone else wanted you to have fun, enjoy the time with friends and reminisce on the past 365 days. But you couldn’t care less. The barrage of acquaintances, people who only came out on certain occasions had you overstimulated and down right annoyed. All you wanted to do was get home and bathe yourself in complete solitariness. You had to make due, put on the happy face and deal with it, at least until everyone else had their fill. Once the alcohol took effect and inhibitions would begin to wane you would make your exit. Creep out the backdoor and disappear into beautiful loneliness.

The opportunity never presented itself, but you had to to get out. Blaming it on a headache, you thanked the hostess and the partygoers for a wonderful time and bid them all farewell, relieved to be out of the claustrophobic event. The drive home was quiet, albeit the balloons in the back of your car seemed to make a mockery of you. Blissfully floating on nothing without a care in the world. You longed for that. Wishing the worries of the world would be carried away like a breeze along a turbulent sea. Alas, there was no hope. Except for one.

He stayed home, giving you the space he thought you needed. That’s what he told you, but you could read between the lines. Hear the gears spinning inside his head, You told him not to fret over it,

“It's not that big of a deal John. You know I don’t care for birthdays and I don’t want you worrying about it. You’ve got enough on your mind already.”

You tried not to scold him, you know he always meant well. But the broken down look on his face made your heart ache.

“I know lass, but it’s important t’me. Ya e’erythin t’me, y’know.”

John was quiet, somber. His voice barely audible above the bustling city outside. If you stayed any longer you’d only get mad, and John didn’t deserve your anger. You’d save that for the world that took him away from you for months at a time.

“I’ve gotta go, I’m gonna be late.”

And with that you were out the door. Slamming it shut, the reverberations cascading through the wooden frame and deep into the marrow of your bones.

Your mind was awash in emotion and endless thoughts. Like the steady stream of lights going by they were merely a glimpse of the past year, yet held so much memory and feeling you felt overwhelmed by it all. You wanted to escape, be rid of it all even for just one night. You wanted to feel nothing and everything all at once. Your tormented mind stewed within its confines, the brewed concoction sifting through the walls of your veins and bleeding out through your pores and into the void. An all consuming aura wrapped around you like a vice, tightening its grip with every breath. Your body trembled, knuckles white on the steering wheel and skin so taut you thought you would tear at the seams. Only one stoplight left, then home. Away from it all, closed off to the world and shed the societal skin you were always obliged to wear.

The light was still on in your dining room as you pulled into your driveway. No doubt John was going to wait up for you. The ever gentleman he was, molded from years of military training and discipline. You decided to leave the pesky balloons in your car, let them deflate and succumb to the world around them. And you didn’t want to bring anything else into the sanctity of your home. You had left in a strained state, and it would behoove you to leave it all outside the door.

As you opened the door you were met with the soft smell of lavender and jasmine, its scent flowing over you like fog over a gentle shore. It quelled the knot inside you, its grip loosening with every breath and beat of your overburdened heart. He remembered. Of course he did. Lavender to help relax, jasmine to clear your mind. The thought of it made your skin blush. A warm tingle caressing over the delicate hairs of your body. You let it envelope you, allow it to absorb your worries and take them out to the wayside. Gently you closed the door and as you turned you saw him, your John, sitting at the head of your dining room table.

“Hiya, bonnie.”

The past was forgotten; he was never one to dwell over anything that couldn’t be fixed over a simple conversation. You smiled at him, the warm ambience of your home doing its job perfectly, ridding you of the cold woes you had left outside your door.

“Hey, Johnny.”

Quiet, soft, barely above a whisper. But to his ears they were a beacon. That was his cue. Not John, not Soap. Johnny.

As he rose from the chair your heart began to race, not from worry or misconception. But from love. In its most purest of forms.

“I know y’didn’t want nothin’, but I had already gotten t’candles. Thought this might be t’best time for ‘em. Help ya relax a bit, yeah.”

In your previous state you would have taken offense to it; emotions blinding the context of what he implied. Johnny wasn’t being facetious, he was being genuine. He knew you would want to come home to warmth and simplicity. As he closed the gap between you, his arms stretched out and you caught a glimpse of the small ornate box in the palm of his hand.

“Soap MacTavish, that better not be what I think it is.”

Your playful quip had an edge of potency to it, but it only elicited a curling smirk to the face of your loving Scot.

“I ain’t gettin’ down on one knee, lass. If that’s what’yer implyin.”

His features were soft; eyes like cerulean pools that you would happily drown yourself in, and lips so subtle you could almost feel them on your own.

You placed one hand underneath his and let the other remove the top of the box, the small golden circular top inside glistened within the dim lights of your living room. Delicately you wrapped your fingers around it and brought it into view, and the sight of it made your heart jump. Fireside Whiskey. A candle, his candle. The same one you bought for him on your first date. The same one he brought with him on all his missions. That same one you knew he pleasured himself to as he thought of you half a world away. You never told him it was your favorite, you had given it to him as a gift and left it at that. You treasured the occasional waft of it when he returned from his missions, mixing with the scent of sweat and sand into a hypnotic-like aroma. But this was wholly different.

“Need ta make some new memories wi’this bonnie. An’I know ya taken a shine to it. Ya like to linger aroun’ me a bit more when I let it burn before I see ya.”

No wonder he was a sniper, absolutely nothing got past him. You thought you were coy but he picked it up right from the beginning. Smart bastard.

Removing its golden top you brought it up to your nose and inhaled its sweet sultry scent. You closed your eyes, the smell of it traveled straight to your core and the thought of Johnny working himself to it played within the dark recesses of your mind. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips, the feel of Johnny’s arm around your waist flashing your eyes open and away from the blissful sight you had created.

“Johnny..” you cooed as your body became flush with his, pressing his hand into the small of your back and making it apparently aware of the hardening erection buried within his pants. Johnny’s lips went straight to the curve of your neck, tasting your sweet flesh like a man starved for an eternity.

“That’s it bonnie, gonnae be s’good t’ya tonight. Make ya forget bout all’hat. Make ya cum s’good.”

You loved it when he babbled, so lost in the moment he couldn’t contain himself. You placed the candle on the table and brought your hands to cup the frame of his skull, fingers running through the pronounced mohawk atop his head. Your body melded with his, intertwined as his hands traversed over the flesh of your back and hips. You reveled in it, this was the everything you wanted to feel. Him. All of him.

“Take me to bed, Johnny.”

Without any hesitation his arms wrapped your waist and hoisted you up level with his hips, a playful scream escaping your lips at the sudden rigid movement. As he began to walk down the hall to your shared room you pointed back to the table in your living room.

“The candle Johnny, you forgot the candle.”

You couldn’t hide the giggle in your voice, especially as he swung you around like you weighed nothing at all.

“Ah shit, that’s t’whole fuckin point t’this.”

Quickly Johnny backtracked and grabbed the candle, putting it gently into your hands.

“Happy birthday, bonnie.”

Taking it from him you couldn’t help but crash your lips into his, letting his mouth devour you. Promptly you gave his tongue permission; he tasted sweet like cinnamon, smoke, and…whiskey. You wrapped your arms around his neck, basking in the everything that Johnny was giving you. The world disappeared, closed off, alone. Just the way you wanted it to be. It was going to be a very happy birthday indeed.

Drabbles Masterlist

#fireside whiskey #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #angsty soap #soap squad #soap squad 🧼#i have an obsession with scented candles #fireside whiskey is my absolute favorite

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rowan-e-ravenwood · 9 months

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been researching candle making and i can feel myseslf getting less normal about it by the second

#anyway i'm planning to start an Etsy shop #to sell some of my crafty stuff like decorated jackets #and i have twenty-one different candle scent ideas all based on characters #and i have no intention to stop there #i am obsessed with scented things and fragrances and designing things based on characters #and i think it has something to do with both the autism and the thing that's probably synesthesia #like those crossed over in the perfect way to make me unwell about scented candles #anyway. if you read this. give me suggestions for characters to base candle scents on. i've done a bunch of Batman villains #and some superheroes and also the mane 6 from mlp:fim #GIVE ME MORE IDEAS I CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH EVER #rowan rambles

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odetolovers · 1 year

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love playing one song on repeat until i get sick of it

#this time it's the river by daisy jones & the six....im simply obsessed ur honour #also life update nobody asked for <3 she was really hard for a moment there had several breakdowns but i have persevered and i am #THRIVING! kind of #okie we're like. semi thriving. and im actually doing stuff to help myself out which im proud of #i will survive 👹 idc how #also i bought a scented candle and it's lit and im cleaning my room. i feel at peace. amen #IT'S THE SMALL MOMENTS OF PEACE THAT WILL GET ME THROUGH!#valentina talks

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katya-goncharov · 1 year

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i feel like at the end of my first week working i should get myself some sort of little treat but i can't decide if it should be a takeaway or a new packet of loose leaf tea

#i own way way way too many loose leaf teas already BUT they bring me joy and also i've learned how to cold brew them now which means that i #can get through tea slightly quicker #tbh i'm starting to think i might have a liiiittle bit of a tea hyperfixation. can you get hyperfixated on stuff like tea?#i mean i had the same thing with scented candles a few years ago (got obsessed with buying them and learning to make them and now i own too #many but they bring me so so much joy and don't cost that much so it's worth it)#but yeah. fuel my probably neurodivergent tea obsession OR buy myself a nice takeaway for double the price.#(btw i've done exactly one day of work so far but i still want to think ahead about rewards to make it more bearable)

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moonstruckme · 1 month

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can we get sleepy reader x sleepy remus where they just the most perfect night routine designed for sleep

Can I get a nighttime routine with sleepy remus is the real question (pleasepleaseplease)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 613 words

Remus likes to keep the thermostat low at night, so you’re burrowed under your thick comforter, lying on your stomach with one of your legs stuck out awkwardly to touch his. Your boyfriend is sitting up half out of the covers (you don’t know how he can stand it) and sipping chamomile tea while he reads.

Ordinarily you’d be reading too, but you’ve fallen into a stint of obsession with sudoku. The light from your candle warmer casts an orange glow over your notebook, your bedroom pleasantly saturated with the smell of bergamot and caramel. You’re partway through your sixth box of the nine, and you’re starting to doubt your ability to finish tonight, though you’re loath to leave a puzzle half done.

It’s the fault of the warmth emanating from Remus underneath the covers, and the light sound of pages flipping, and the pleasant ache in your muscles from the stretches you make him do every night even though you don’t love having to get up and do them either. It’s the softness of your sheets, and the chirping of crickets outside your window, and worst of all the unbelievable plumpness of the pillow squished underneath your elbows, where it’d be so easy to drop your forehead down to rest above your notebook for only a minute…

“You’re getting tired.” Remus sounds amused.

You turn your head, and he looks it too, his eyes honey-gold in the warm light. There’s a soft curve to one side of his mouth.

“I thought nothing could distract you from your reading,” you accuse.

“You can.” He folds the corner of his page, closing the book. His mug clinks as he sets it on the nightstand, empty. “Ready to turn the lights off?”

“I haven’t finished the puzzle,” you argue.

“It’ll still be there in the morning.” He puts his book next to his mug.

“And you’re not at the end of a chapter,” you say as he takes the pen from your hand and the notebook out from under you, piling them neatly on top of his book on the nightstand.

“Silly as it may sound, the same principle applies to book chapters as sudoku puzzles.”

You can’t find it in you to argue further, humming your acquiescence as you turn onto your side and cozy up to him. Remus smiles and slides down beside you underneath the covers. He lets you worm your fingers under his ribs, touching the tip of his warm nose to your cold one.

“One of us still needs to turn off the candle lamp,” he whispers.

You groan. Resignation finds its way into your boyfriend’s expression even before you make yours as pleading as can be, eyes big and pitiful.

“Can you do it?” you ask sweetly.

Remus sighs as he gets out of bed, and you press your lips together to quell a smile. A few seconds later, the candle warmer’s light clicks off and he’s slinking back in beside you, long limbs still warm.

“Thanks, handsome.” You take one of his hands in yours, kissing it and pulling it with you as you roll over and snuggle your back to his front.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, a smile in his tone. He slides his other arm underneath you. The room is nearly pitch black, only some silvery-blue moonlight bleeding in from the window along with the cricket sounds, and Remus’ cinnamony scent blurs together with the ones from your candle.

“Night,” you sigh, already half gone. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Remus’ voice sounds considerably softer now. He lays a soft kiss on the back of your head, palm splaying flat over your chest. “Night, darling.”

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malusokay · 6 months

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A cosy guide to a cosy December ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Have a Christmas movie marathon. I will post a must-watch list soon!! <3

Cinnamon oatmeal... or just oatmeal in general... winter is oatmeal season... make it cute, though!! :)

Having hot Chocolate by the fireplace

Bows. Bows. Bows.

Visiting Christmas markets and going ice skating

Cute Knitted sweaters and uggs

Baking cute Christmas cookies and decorating them with your friends

Spending hours making your wish list

Writing cute Christmas cards to friends and family who live far away :)

Start working on your 2024 vision board

Buying cute ornaments for the Christmas tree

Fluffy socks and fuzzy blankets <3

Experiment with your coffee order!! I've been OBSESSED with mochas; cinnamon is also a MUST.

Trying. a different make-up style. I always love the frosty/blushy look for winter <3

Planning your Christmas outfit

Buy some cute Christmas-themed pyjamas (Victoria's Secret always has cute ones!!)

Scented candles to set the mood. My current fav is the salted caramel one from ZARA Home!! <3

Go see the Nutcracker

A good Christmas playlist is a MUST. I already made mine; feel free to check it out:

I've been completely swept up by the Christmas spirit, so get ready for many, many, many cosy Christmas posts!! ⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

As always, please feel free to add your own suggestions and tips in the comments!! •̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙♡*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛

❆‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧౨ৎ

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hwajin · 6 months

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☆°. — ᴛɪʀᴇʟᴇss

genre: fluff, smut

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 3k

warnings: disgustingly cute sex, piv/ unprotected sex/ coming inside, explicit mentions of insecurities (though mentioned in the past and not relevant for the fics' present)

author's note: very self indulgent but i hope it resonates with some ppl, feedback is highly appreciated 🫶

Linen sheets around your body, the warmth they provided a saviour against the cold turmoiling outside. The sky had been gray twenty minutes prior, red and orange leaves having struggled to stay latched onto their trees, having lost the battle eventually to cover the asphalts in autumn colours. There was little rain drizzling from above still, though the sun had now found its way past the clouds drowning the neighbourhood golden. The faint scent of vanilla reminding you of the candle on your nightstand, the turning of pages and a sharpened pencil against them the only sound filling the room — it was peaceful.

"You're so pretty."

Hyunjin’s voice sounded barely as a whisper — anything but would have disturbed the atmosphere; quiet, warm, a sense of carelessness. And yet you jumped in your place, been far too engrossed in the book laying before you not to scare at his sudden voice cutting through the silence. You'd never feel pretty before Hyunjin. Before he's emerged in your life — you weren't sure still, how exactly, all too suddenly and without warning, as though he was a dream altogether — your appearance was something you'd obsessively worry over for the first half of your life, and tried to disregard entirely in the second one — despite blaming your loneliness on the very fact of lacking attractiveness you've come to simply live with the fact, had grown too tired to care, essentially.

You shifted in your shared bed, only a little to direct your focus from the book to Hyunjin, sitting by his desk — the surface as messy as his appearance. Pencils, papers and colors scattered all over, his hands proof of the artistry he's produced for the past hours; hair disheveled, shirt and shorts on his body ruffled up — he looked endearing, like lazy mornings personified, like coziness bundled up within a body.

He'd come into your life unexpectedly, and you wouldn't have believed anyone if they told you about it. About the sudden happiness the relationship with Hyunjin brought, the sudden feeling of securances, of home; of love. You wouldn't have believed someone to be ready to treat you the way Hyunjin did — any other person grew null to him if you only called, prioritizing you over passions and work. You wouldn't have believed to have found a love like this, a lover like him.

You wouldn't have believed to have found beauty within yourself, through him. And it had come naturally. You had never not believed him, never doubted his words — because they've always been spoken so matter-of-factly, so purely. Unexpectedly, too — much like now, while mundanenity lay over your features. Hyunjin carried a gift to search for beauty where other people would mind looking, and finding it effortlessly. More often than not you wished to be gifted with this vision, curious to see the world through his eyes — curious to see yourself the way he did.

Hyunjin chuckled at the way you blushed. You might be believing his every compliment, his every confession of love, though you long didn't grow used to it, or cold. Every tender word, every touch he planted onto your body as though you were fragile porcelain, most price treasure yet never stopped to send shivers down your spine. Wouldn't ever, you thought.

And you still never knew an answer. Flustered now, awkward as he kept looking at you, teasing simply, to test — Hyunjin had always taking amusement and certain pride in making you shy for him, because only he was able to. A shameful caugh left your throat, to fill the silence, to camouflage the speechlessness he'd brought upon you with as little as a compliment — you detangled from the linen sheets, letting the cold engulf you in order to make your way over to your lover, the man who was watching your every step with a knowing smirk as he inspected the blush covering not only your cheeks but the tips of your ears, your neck — it was a little as a mundane compliment, but it was far from meaningless to you, held as much importance as if Hyunjin had proposed right then there.

His hand found home on your bottom, the small of your back when you've stood next to him eventually. His eyes didn't lose your figure, glued onto you as if a look elsewhere would take you away.

"What are you drawing? Flowers?"

Hyunjin enjoyed painting nature; oceans, skies, flowers. Many grazed the walls of your very room, each a different meaning – he’d paint you baby’s breaths on your one-year anniversary, in everlasting love; he’d paint you pink camellias when he missed you, in longing; he’d paint you calla lilies if your insecurities got the best of you, in beauty. Though when you looked at his drawing it weren’t flowers; it was a sketch of you.

“Well, almost.”

Hyunjin's eyes turned to where you were looking, the drawing he's worked on for the past minutes, shy grin adorning his features at his cheesy comment. Your body was grazing the white paper, pencil strokes of your curves, you in the nude, another paper showing your face, a portrait, another one an abstract, more of only your eyes, only your mouth and nose, of your hands, some in colour, some in simple grey, small ones, bigger, doodles, proper paintings. You were scattered on his desk, your body was. Hyunjin's love lay open before you — maybe you didn't need access to his vision after all. His art was entirely enough.

Hyunjin waited for a reaction, squeezing at your hip when there was none, looking up at you, curious eyes beneath the silver strands of messy hair.

"I've been running out of ideas lately, and... it's always nice to draw you... most of these aren't finished and rough-"

"They're beautiful. I... can't believe you'd wanna draw me this often."

"You're the only thing I wanna draw. Ever."

Hyunjin's gaze lay upon you, deep, waiting for you to look at him. You did eventually, turning from away from his art and blushing momentarily at his piercing eyes on your own. A soft smile from both of you — not as much as an upturn of one corner of the lips, both for too flustered to muster up and actually smile, too aware of the tension laying heavily now on your shoulders — and no further words were needed. Would be void if spoken aloud; so you bent down to meet him to meet his lips, hopeful and wanting, inviting when they fell upon your own. Hyunjin sighed into the kiss, relieved, longing. His left hand joined his right on your body, holding you by your waist, caressing you at your hips, tight, secure touches, absent of hesitation. He granted you the same love capsulated in his notebooks with a touch, a grace, a squeeze against your flesh, your whole.

Never breaking the kiss, and you sighed when he pulled you closer to his body, into the space he presented between his half-bare legs. You understood — wouldn't have believed anyone upon hearing to be finding comfort on another’s' lap, without as much as a second thought, though it was so natural with Hyunjin. You let him guide you, large hand by the small of your back, another by your hip; and you straddled him, broke the kiss only to settle down, to get comfortable — and you wished you hadn't, for the side of your lover beneath your weight was almost too much to bear. Love behind his glassy eyes, adoration he only knew in connection to you, only ever felt if you were the matter. Gaze a longing one, jumping from your lips to your eyes and back down to your lips — but a puppy waiting for his treat, staring you down as if there was no other, nothing else existing beside you and your body, your face inches from his own.

You closed the distance again, unable to hold out on it — Hyunjin's lips reddened already, always so prone to sensitivity, to visible reaction to loving antics. His teeth clashed against your own, almost painful but not quite; you weren't careful, deemed to not have the time to — you needed him, and you needed him now.

"Baby... slow down."

It was Hyunjin to pull you back to reality, though not to clear-mindedness – you obeyed his words, not as much a command as a simple reminder; you loosened your grip on his hair, pulled away an inch, only enough to breathe, to sigh into his mouth that didn’t cease leaving open mouthed kisses against your own. Though your thoughts were but a fog, still, holding no clear picture beneath your lids except him, everything about him – pleasure-contorted face, though you merely sat on him, barely even moved atop his body; brows a furrowed line, creasing deeply in the middle, eyes soften and tender to paint contrast; cheeks coloured, in fluster and anticipation, dooming excitement; guiding hands on your figure, reminding of his presence, his attentiveness, his care – he didn’t loosen his grip on you a moment, held you close and tight as his lips moved leisurely against your own. He took his time with you – not too tease, not because he was well aware of your desperation, but because you deserved nothing else. Hyunjin knew you’d whine upon his patience, though it was the very proof of his devotion; his patience held love, his patience held the entirety of your world.

So, you continued slowly, though not any less unable of lucidity, because Hyunjin never allowed it. If his touch wasn’t driving you insane it was his voice, a whimper rolling off his tongue and onto yours, or a sigh leaving his throat for you to swallow. Your lover always receptive, never shy in volume. Or it was his gaze on you – Hyunjin pulled away, occasionally, leaving you empty to catch a look at you before pulling right back, nearer than he was before. He left you no time for coherence, fed you only enough care and affection so you wouldn’t hunger, yet not enough for eventual satisfaction, by any means. Driving you further to insanity, hands groping rougher at your body, easing with soft rubs right after, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to heal momentarily with a lick, a following kiss – Hyunjin pulled on your every weakness, and not accidently.

A chuckle left the man’s lips when your hips – hot and painfully ignored by any type of his attention, leave for his raging erection right against your core – dragged against his own, in any hope of relieving pressure, of searching for friction. Your lack of clothes wasn’t making it a hard task; you were merely in your underwear, the thin material of Hyunjin’s shorts and boxers barely layers to complain about, yet it was far too much separating him from you.

Hyunjin chuckled at your desperateness, though his proclamation of amusement turned into one of pleasure – you grinded with such force, such wanting vigour he didn’t expect, and his own futilely cool act crumbled in his palm, shattered to pieces for you never not had the greatest impact on him, his pleasure, his love. When it came down to it, he wasn’t any stronger than you, not even more patient – his heart was as much slave to you as yours was to him.

Any composure was long forgotten. You’d argue, even, that Hyunjin by now was needier than you’d been to begin with – he didn’t waste time getting rid of either of your lazy attire, a long, slender finger simply pushing your panties to the side before dipping into your wetness, experimentally at first, with new-found enthusiasm then upon your reaction – you hummed out, fingers fisting his lose-fitting shirt, body rolling into his, in search for more. A second finger after a minute or two, a third one moments later and you were grinding against him, needy, loud, head thrown back or hidden in the crook of his neck. Your hot breath against his skin egged Hyunjin on, his digits curling within you, lips turning into a hazy smirk when you whined out, when your teeth sunk into the part between his shoulder and his neck, in helplessness, not in embarrassment over your sounds – you would never deny Hyunjin your voice in pleasure. The stinging feeling on his skin made him twitch in his confines; you felt it, if only subtly, and your eyes found his from beneath, fogged with bliss.

“Want you…”

It needn’t much more – Hyunjin both understood and was ready to comply for he wasn’t much stronger in resisting than you; it wasn’t a minute until his erection lay exposed between your figures, red and leaking already – he could act as coy as he wanted to, though his body would always serve as living proof of your effects on him.

You lined up, still fully dressed, white panties pushed to the side; hovering above him was hard given current position, legs growing tired quickly though Hyunjin supported enough with his hands by your hips, guiding you above him until you felt his tip by your entrance, until you – finally, eventually – sunk down on him, taking him fully momentarily. You moaned out in unison, almost pathetic, definitely frantic – it needed only the feeling of his cock inside you, of your walls around him for the both of you to fall victim to utter senselessness. You had the comfort of each other, though, aware of the similarity in lust and longing, so less embarrassed by it.

Hyunjin had given you a moment to adjust, had used the minute to clear his mind himself; to little avail, though he’d like to believe he gained back a fraction of the composure he had lost along the way. Yet, and it drove him entirely insane, the view of you was powerful enough to make him lose every battle he was fighting with himself – he watched your seemingly struggling face, eyes shut, mouth agape, lost in the pleasure Hyunjin granted. He prided himself on your expression, on your thoughtlessness; and then you opened your eyes again, locking them directly with his own. You both blushed, you both sucked in a breath, at the sudden realization of intimacy, of closeness, or maybe at nothing in particular, at the view of the other, the sight of your lover; your hips started moving, mewls rolling off tongues, eyes closing again in granted relief. Hands on bodies, groping hopelessly, feverishly. Eyes fighting to stay open to watch, to inspect, to remember. Mouths longing for the other, tongues dancing waltzes, sounds of pleasure being swallowed to make each their own. Two lovers on a late noon, two lovers so very engrossed in each other anyone looking upon them would struggle not to believe in souls, the connection of such.

Every flutter of your sensitive walls, every roll of chasing hips, every clench Hyunjin reciprocated with sounds so endearing they got you light-headed, got your urge growing to grant him more, better, greater. None of you were in control, in particular, and yet both of you were fighting for it — though not in selfishness, but for gratification for the other. Despite your cramping legs, positioned uncomfortable on the chair beneath Hyunjin, despite your inability to even move much you did nevertheless, as best as you could, pulling on all of your lovers' buttons — you nibbled at his neck, breathed out against it, swore confessions against his damp skin; everything you knew would drive him needier, more insane. Though he was the same — he throbbed within you, guided your hips along his erection for you to feel entirely, to drag out the feeling of his every vein grazing your walls, of every of his rigid fitting your own like pieces of a puzzle. His hands, though sweaty and strained, held position at your hips, to stabilize, to ease off the pain in your legs. Your own were homeless, playing with Hyunjin's hair right by his nape or pulling at his scalp when he granted a mindless thrust against you, or exploring his body entirely, grasping fingers on his chest, against his torso, on the steadiness of broad shoulders.

You grew impatient. Had never been in the first place and lost some more of it yet, wanted to hold onto the feeling of Hyunjin prodding at your cervix yet urging release. Hyunjin was no different – he had let you move solely on your own before though now snapped his hips into yours, mouth agape or biting at his deep red lips, sucking in breaths and sighs of your name in anticipation. His grip on you would leave marks on your skin, that you were sure of – though you weren’t one to complain. The telltale signs of his high doomed on you; furrowed brows, twitching erection within you, frantic, passionate, messy, wet kisses against your mouth or your neck; the act of pulling you closer to him – and then the words, finally; “Fuck, baby, I’m– …I’m cumming. I’m gonna cum.”, before he did, spilling within you. He hadn’t waited on your release, only because he knew you’d reach it after his own – he had felt you being close, had noticed the fluttering of your walls around him, your calls of his name increasing in pitch and volume, had seen the expression on your face he’d never misread – and he knew his orgasm inside you would bring you to your own, would be the last push down the cliff.

Your muscles spasmed, your legs contracted and Hyunjin held you close, eased the pain off your legs with a tired grip on you. Despite it you didn’t dare get off, though – basking in your closeness, relishing the warmth of body on body, losing yourself in the giggled kisses Hyunjin now planted on your panting lips, the loving confessions spoken against the lobe of ear before it was nibbled on in adoration – affection never stopped after release with Hyunjin, after the reach of simultaneous orgasm; his love expanded the sheer physicality, mere lust.

Hours later you’d lay in bed again, naked then, bare bodies glued to one another, every painting, every drawing of you on Hyunjin’s desk long forgotten, if only temporarily, for the cleverest artist couldn’t possibly copy the beauty Hyunjin saw in you before his very eyes, every day anew; tirelessly.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #hwang hyunjin smut

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lunarw0rks · 9 months

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I feel like Graves would end up with a really soft and innocent s/o just because he loves being the 'strong man' lol and even though they're maybe even smaller than him all sweet and shy- he is absolutely whipped for them! Especially if they can cook and be a lil housemaker for him??

♡♡♡ warning(s): nsfw + sfw, fem!reader

─── graves and his homemaker s/o ❤︎₊ ⊹

there's no one on earth more loved and adored by him, despite the stigma surrounding the dynamic you two have. he doesn't pay any mind to their judgements. in his heart, he knows how tender he is with you behind closed doors. and in yours, he hopes.

you never pictured it to end up this way. before, you were like any adult. busting your ass at work, ending each week exhausted and struggling to buy yourself groceries.

and then you met him. chivalrous and borderline self-obsessed. but you weren't being patronized when he acted with traditional courtesy. you weren't a body to be claimed or a trophy to hang on his arm.

you were merely his. all his within months of meeting, and that meant you were to be taken care of. spoiled rotten, some would say. what better way to have it? compared to your old life of hardship, it was paradise.

everything paid for, without a second of hesitation. what little savings you had idle in your bank account, untouched when he's around.

he can and will take care of you — in every way. it's in graves' nature to provide.

no different than he does for his men, only you've been appointed the privilege of seeing the gentler side of him, when the uniform of a commander is rid of his scarred body.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈nsfw under the cut!

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙˖⁺₊˚⊹♡ it's only fair, to be taken care of in every way possible. you've been so good to him, so good for him, right? there's no quicker way to his heart, than someone who enjoys being smothered with his praise.

what better sight, than opening the door and seeing you concerning with such trivial things. he spent the day making life or death decisions, and you're there; concerned with which centerpiece looks best on the dining table. some men would see it as a means for competition, or a degrade — but graves finds it irresistible.

the house smells divine; your scented candles, the fragrance you spritz, and whatever you have baking in the oven. he can practically feel the tension leave his shoulders, how his senses come alive when greeted with the comfort of your shared home.

you've dressed nice for him again, though he always gave no pressure for you to do so. clothes to match the summer heat, hair styled and pinned back to stay out of the way.

you, in your domestic, relaxed state — the one thing better than all the trivial pleasures in life, better than the house you were both standing in.

though you usual greet him, you're immersed in the centerpiece debate. you hold the two pieces up to him, "do you think I should go with the silver candle candleholders? or how about the brass ones?" it's a genuine question, but it's only met with an amused scoff — a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

graves sets aside his luggage, stepping closer to you and your very concentrated gaze. "why do you ask me, sweetheart? it's up to you. and if you don't like 'em, we'll go buy more." he examines the decor in your hands briefly, but his eyes end up back on you permanently.

"just want it to look nice in here," you sigh at his dismissal, turning away to resume contemplation. "we have that supper planned in a few weeks, don't we?" you add, setting the options back on the oak table.

as if the place could be more meticulously decorated. there was barely a trace of him in this house, except for his nightstand and office. you had free reign to adjust the home to your taste, considering you were the one who spent most of your time there.

a gentle chuckle rang from him, followed by a click of his tongue, "don't think it can get much nicer in here, darlin'. i reckon you've left a touch on just about every inch of place, haven't you?" you shoot a flustered look, even though his words are truthful.

it was a silly dilemma, considering not a soul would be criticizing your centerpiece decision. "oh, c'mon, don't do that face... my guys will eat anything you slide in front of them, you know that? could host the damn supper in the closet and you'd charm the daylights out of 'em." he says, soothing every worry down to a simmer rather than a hard boil.

he's definitely good at shutting you up. only, in the most embellished of ways. without fail, a charmed smile spread on your face — as did a surge of warmth. graves cupped one of your cheeks, running his thumb along it, "see? much better than a scowl. now, tell me, what's cooking?"

"you know the rules. i can't tell you until the timer beeps. besides, it's supposed to be a surprise." you replied, making a meek escape from his gentle grasp. displayed on the small screen; eight minutes remained.

with a hasty yank and then a stumble on your end, your back was against his chest. "i don't like surprises, do i?" you felt the sensation of his teeth nibbling along the side of your neck, all in the midst of his patterned kisses. when he was this close, he got deep whiffs of your intoxicating perfume, the freshly shampooed hair on your head, the detergent you insisted he buy. heart-stopping — like it was every time he pulled you close.

it was true, he hated them. the tickle of his lips made you squirm — a futile attempt to slip away and leave him hanging. that never worked, and you knew it. "we're down to five, time's a-wastin'."

somehow, someway, neither of you made it up the stairs this time. all he did to prepare was send the stacks of mail flying from the island; the one you found yourself sitting on. graves stood between your legs, his caressing fingers your means of preparation. though, by the times your legs were exposed to the breeze — you and your body were eager enough for him.

the minutes decreased no matter how hurriedly he moved, and he always stuck to his rules. if there was a time limit, he'd get it done before zero.

"been thinking about you all day," he breathes. "by the looks of it, you have too, sweetheart." his tip prodded at your slick entrance, while the other hand hooked around your thigh to keep it hiked up with ease. wasn't the first time he ravished you on the kitchen counters, it certainly wouldn't be the last. slowly at first, then all at once — he thrusted inside of you.

once he got situated, there was no stopping him. every rock of his hips was purposeful and deep, yet his kisses remained delicate and tender. your moans muffled against his mouth, his lips pinkish and coated with saliva as it roamed your warmed face.

soon, your back was flat against the island with your legs still hanging off and in his grip. with every methodical movement, your walls tightened around his length and edged him closer to a finish. by now, you were certain your appearance was faulty; either ruined by sweat or the constant hands graves had on you.

despite being close within the first few minutes, he had gotten carried away ogling you. your gasps, your squinted eyes, the teeth indents on your bottom lip from how harshly you sunk into it. however, now there wasn't any restraint left in him. the tight coil in his abdomen begged for release, no matter how much stamina that remained in his body.

as the clock struck zero, he bottomed out with the force of his whole body — spilling every last drop inside of you. the oven beeped three times, as if on cue.

a string of curses against your lips as he leaned down to kiss you, sneaking in a few sloppy thrusts afterward. "i'll make it up to you later, make it worth your while." he pecked along your jaw, adjusting the strap of your top that had slid down your arm.

"it was worth my while." you replied between catching your breath, voice still quivering slightly.

he chuckled, fingers still playing with the fabric, "so, what's cooking? have i earned my right to know?" he was right; you always told him once the meal was ready, and that's what it was right now. the aroma hit your nostrils, as intoxicating as he found yours.

your eyes flicked over to the digital screen, still flashing and urging you to remove the pan, then it beeped for a second round as a reminder. "just a roast your mom taught me. thought you would've recognized the smell by now." you uttered, tracing your fingers along his blond stubble.

"hm, something must've distracted me, darlin'," he ran a tongue along his bottom lip, now gazing with admiration rather than hunger.

then, his brow raised with interest. both in humor and intense dread he added, "you've been calling my mother?"

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves smut #phillip graves cod #graves x you #graves smut #graves x reader #graves headcanons #commander graves #shadow company #task force 141 x reader #141 headcanons #cod headcanons #philip graves

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vanteguccir · 2 days

Text

Apocalypse | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Chris takes care of Y/N after they make love.

Warning: Mentions of sex, insecurities (?).

Requested?: Yes, by anon

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The room was immersed in a comfortable gloom, lit only by the soft light from the aromatic candle next to the bed. The air was filled with a post-orgasm stillness, and the soft sound of Y/N and Chris' panting breaths was the only thing that broke the silence. They were lying on their backs, side by side, their intertwined hands resting between them as tingles ran through the limbs of their bodies.

Chris turned his head slightly, taking in Y/N's profile. Her face was slightly flushed, and her body still exuded warmth and satisfaction. With a low sigh, Chris slowly turned onto his side, resting his head on his hand, the sound of cotton sheets moving echoing briefly. His blue eyes roamed Y/N's body, tracing every curve, every line, taking note of the way her breasts, still slightly reddened by stimulation, rose and fell with each breath.

The boy couldn't contain himself and extended his free hand, letting his fingertips slide gently over her exposed shoulder, feeling her skin slightly sweaty and warm under his touch, a trail of goosebumps following right behind.

He began to silently count the moles on Y/N's collarbone, a soft smile curving his lips, he already knew the exact quantity and locations by heart, but he would never get tired of recounting them. Each dot was a constellation on her skin, each a unique mark that he adored.

Chris remained like that for a few minutes, just caressing and bathing in the sensations that the moment gave him, enjoying every second of the intimacy they shared.

"You're so pretty." He muttered silently, feeling a wave of emotion wash over him. Chris couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her by his side. "My pretty girl."

Chris can not seem to ever get enough of Y/N, no matter how many years they were in a relationship and how many times they had sex. The way her taste flooded his mouth when he got on his knees between her legs or the way her tight little pussy feels as she's wrapped around his cock always led him to feel new sensations.

Chris felt an almost obsessive fascination for her.

The boy leaned over and kissed Y/N's shoulder, a gesture of silent adoration, his still swollen and pink lips brushing her skin in a lingering caress.

"I'm so lucky." The brunette whispered again, feeling a shiver of pleasure run through his body when he felt her skin against his own. Every touch was a reminder of his love for her, a love that seemed to grow stronger every day.

Y/N finally turned her face towards him slowly, smiling a drunken smile, her eyes with dilated pupils and slightly reddened from the tears of pleasure shed minutes before observed him intently. She tilted her head down, sealing her lips over Chris's messy strands, breathing in the scent of sex and men's shampoo.

After long minutes, Chris slowly pulled away, touching the tip of his nose to his girl's, caressing the area in an eskimo kiss, before moving back and getting up from the bed carefully, not wanting to break the tender moment, smiling in amusement at the whine that escaped Y/N's throat with the lack of heat.

He headed to the bathroom and returned with a damp pink towel in hand. Sitting down next to Y/N, he used his free hand to snake the sensitive skin of her right leg, gripping her knee firmly - but carefully -, spreading her legs apart before beginning to gently clean the expanse of skin from her legs and between her thighs, with each movement an act of affection and devotion.

His eyes never left her face, watching her eyelashes caress her cheeks with each lazy blink.

A moan of complaint escaped Y/N's throat as the damp towel pressed against her sensitive core, her legs acting on automatically as they tried to close around Chris's wrist.

"Shh, I know, dove. It's almost over. 'Need to have you nice and clean, huh?" Chris murmured softly, his fingers sliding over the warm skin, pushing her legs apart again.

Y/N let out a small sigh, her body reacting to Chris's soft touch and words. He continued his work, his voice a tender whisper, muttering words of love.

Chris finished cleaning her and set the towel aside, leaning over her upper body between her still open legs, slowly lowering himself to place a soft kiss on her abdomen, his warm breath against the sensitive skin causing goosebumps to form in the area.

He stood up again, stroking the instep of her right foot with his thumb before walking slowly towards the bedside table, retrieving the bottle of water he always left there in case one of them woke up thirsty during the night.

"Come on, drink some, petal." Chris asked, turning back to Y/N and helping her sit up slightly, using his free hand to keep her in position. He brought the bottle to her lips, pressing the straw into her smooth, pink skin, watching her fondly as she took a few sips. "You need to hydrate."

Y/N looked up at him, her orbs shining with gratitude and love, innocently.

"Thank you, baby." Y/N spoke for the first time since her last orgasm, her voice soft and slightly hoarse from constant use. Chris smiled softly before turning around and placing the bottle back on the table.

"Can you walk?" He asked in a low tone, turning back to her and watching a small pout form on her lips, already knowing that she would fight against getting up from the bed at that moment. "I know you're tired, petal, but you have to pee. I'll carry you there, hm? It's gonna be quick, I promise."

"Okay."

Chris smiled satisfied, passing one arm under her straight knees and the other arm around the back of her shoulders, pulling her up, pressing their naked bodies together again.

His steps towards the bathroom were quick but careful, afraid of shaking Y/N's body too much and causing some discomfort. He raised his left arm, pressing his elbow awkwardly onto the light switch, illuminating the room before taking small steps to the toilet, carefully lowering Y/N onto the seat.

"D'you want me to get out, pretty?" The boy's soft, husky voice echoed through the bathroom, the echo making it sound louder than it should have been.

"No, stay here, please." Y/N shook her head, tilting her upper body tiredly so that she laid her head on Chris's exposed abdomen, resting her elbows at the base of her bent knees and resting the palms of her hands on her boyfriend's thighs, caressing the milky skin covered with small hairs with her fingers.

It didn't take long for her to finish, moving away from Chris momentarily so she could clean herself properly with the intimate wet wipe, watching from the corner of her eye as her boyfriend's arm reached for the toilet, the sound filling the room next to the running water in the bathroom faucet in the sink where Y/N washed her hands.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's get you to bed." Chris whispered against the back of Y/N's head, sealing the area quickly before resting his right hand on the small of her back, guiding her back to the bedroom, making sure that she felt more comfortable walking, even though slowly.

Soon, the two found themselves lying on the double bed again. Chris adjusted his body on the mattress before gently pulling Y/N close, allowing her to snuggle into his chest, pressing her head against his bare chest and closing her hands in a gesture of prayer between her stomach and his.

The boy waited for her to stop moving and stabilize herself in a comfortable position before finally hugging her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his left hand where they shoulders met while his right one found home on her hair, his fingers stroking the strands calmly and tenderly.

"Was I good?" Y/N's voice sounded muffled against Chris's chest, her tone suddenly small and vulnerable.

"What?" Chris stopped his caresses on her hair abruptly, frowning and pulling back slightly, searching his girl's eyes.

"Was I good tonight?" The serenity of the moment seemed almost ethereal, but, inside Y/N's eyes, a storm of doubts was beginning to form. The feeling of vulnerability after such intimate moments always took her by surprise, making her question whether she had been as good to Chris as he had been to herself.

"Baby, what- Of course you were good, amazing actually! You make me feel loved and wanted in a way I never thought possible. It's no wonder that if you hadn't stopped me after the fourth orgasm I would have continued for hours on end." A smirk grew on Chris's lips as he saw a reddish tone take over Y/N's cheeks in seconds, her twinkling eyes shyly lowering and focusing on his neck, playing nervously with her fingers against his belly. "Hey, I love you, okay?" Chris murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can express."

Y/N lips formed a pout, an embarrassed laugh escaping her lips as she felt Chris's hand that was on her back snake around her shoulder, caressing her cheek before having her snuggle closer to him.

"I love you more, Chris." She replied, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. "Thank you. For taking care of me."

"Always."

They stayed like that, hugging each other, the heat of their intertwined bodies filling the space around them. Chris continued to stroke Y/N's hair, each touch filled with love and care. He couldn't imagine a more perfect moment, a fuller feeling.

Finally, Y/N closed her eyes, feeling safe and loved in Chris's arms. He watched her for a while, admiring the serenity on her face before closing his eyes as well, letting the darkness fill his mind.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My requests are closed, but my asks are always open ♡

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @junnniiieee07 @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @somegirlfromasgard @hpyjw @annamcdonalds67 @always-reading @slutsformatt

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d3vilcvntz · 5 months

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PLSS WRITE MORE LEON 🙏🙏 that’s all im requesting but if you could make something rough w/older leon and younger reader??

leon s kennedy x top male reader

a/n : reader is around 24 and leon is 34 (10 years age gap). leon is afab again (obsessed with afab leon mb), reader's gender isn't really specified but written to have a dick

you've always looked up to him, he's the reason why you wanted to became a cop in the first place. something about him, attracts you. thankfully, your parents is quite powerful so you got yourself in the same place as him. working with him is your dream ever since he saved you when you were a teen. he might not remember you, but he's been on your mind since then

you were lucky enough to finally get him as your partner later on. all the sweat and tears were all worth it because now you're finally assigned together. actually working by his side feels so unreal for you. after months of being together and you basically flirting with him all the time, it finally happened.

you both were drunk and one thing lead to others. you confessed to him and he accepted, though he did hesitate at first because of your age gaps but still, it very much surprised you that he actually have feelings for you since you entered the agency but never really have the courage to say it to your face. he never really have time for relationships as he was always busy with works, but you were glad that he's willing to be in one with you.

it's your anniversary today, it has been 2 years since you've been together with him and everything went smooth. though, you did ended up arguing with him a few days ago.

it was over some stupid stuff. he keep saying things about how being with someone's old like him isn't really ideal and you should find someone your age. he even suggested for you to see other people that will suit you better, which breaks your heart a little because how can he suggested something like that when he knows that you love him very much :( don't he understand that you only wanted him and he's the only one that's perfect for you ?

but, you do understand his worries, he think too much about what others said. 10 years is a lot to others, but to you? you don't really care, he can be 50 and you'll still love him nonetheless.

and tonight, is the time you'll show him, how much you love him.

you prepared the room with flower petals on the floor, lightly scented candle on top of the bedside table, and a towel laid in the middle of the bed. now you're just waiting for him to come home, sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with your phone

he came home a few minutes later, with flowers in his hands, surprised by your preparations, he gave you a big smile "happy anniversary" he said, passing you the flowers "i..apologise for what i said before. i wasn't thinking right and i know that i hurt your feelings that time" he said, putting his hand on your face "it's okay, i am not mad about it anymore. it's our anniversary, so let's enjoy it to the fullest" you responded, putting your hand on top of his

the flowers he gave you are truly beautiful, but not as beautiful as him, laying on the bed. legs spread, face flushed. you specifically told him to wear a special made lingerie for him. it suits him perfectly, the white laces looks really good on him.

pushing the panties aside to take a look at his pretty pussy. playing with his clit and spreading his hole. it's so wet that you're sure you don't even need the lube. blowing air on it to make him shivered. "hurry" he demanded. he's so cute when he act like this , but you can't give in tonight. you thought of something that you've always wanted to try. suddenly raising your hand and

plap !

the sounds of his wet pussy meets your hand. his eyes were wide, mouth opened, feeling shocked of your sudden moves. you didn't say anything though, just flashed him your usual smile

plap !

"w-wait! stop" he said, trying to push your hands away "hmm you sure? looks like you're enjoying this" you teased him again, putting your fingers in his hole, your fingers sliding in so easily from how wet he is. sweet moans leaving his pretty lips. as he was enjoying it, you pulled your fingers out, which caught him off guard. as he was about to say something, you raise your hand again

plap !

you spank his pussy again "what...? what was that for?" he asked, confused and aroused at the same time. face flushed from embarrassment, he never felt like this before. he had no idea why you're doing this all of the sudden, like you're treating him more rougher than you ever did before. he's not used to this but, he doesn't hate it ♡

you didn't answer, instead, you land another spank on his pussy making him shuddered. he tried to struggle to get away from you but your grip is just too strong !

plap !

again

plap !

and again

plap !

as you spanked his pussy for the last time, he squirted all over your palm. you were shocked to see how he became just from being spanked on his pussy, guess he's really enjoying this.

tears are forming in his eyes, looking up at you. you just flashed him a smile before sitting right above his face, pulling out your dick from your underwear.

"suck" you told him. he was hesitant but did as he told. as he was going down on you, you pushed his head, forcing your cock to the back of his throat.

he was struggling to breath, hands gripping your thighs. you pull out, just to push it all in again. you were using him like a toy.

it felt too good for him, the way your cock reaches all the way to the back of his throat made his mind all blank, all he can think of is your cock ♡ the more you thrusts, the more he feels like he couldn't breath but, don't ever stop, because he's very much enjoying this.

you came deep inside his throat, making him swallowed it all. he knew that you weren't done with him as you grabbed the lube that you specifically put on the bedside and pour it all over your hand. "let's try something new" you said, moving his hair out of his face

before he even had the time to respond to what you just said, you push a finger in his asshole, the excessive amounts of lube making it quite easy to slide in. "feels weird" he whimpered, you shush him, playing with his clit to distract him from this unfamiliar feelings. slowly, you keep adding fingers until you feel like he's stretched enough

you positioned your dick right in his asshole. "w-wait" you slowly pushed your dick inside him, stretching him out. he's still quite tight despite all the stretching you did earlier. his hands gripping the sheets. you kiss him and played with his clit to ease him.

you finally pushed your cock all in, his pussy's juice dripping all over your hand. you started thrusting slowly but becoming rougher and faster as he eventually get used to it

you fingered his pussy as you thrust your dick inside of his asshole. his moans filling up the room "im close" he said, hands gripping your shoulders

you pushed his legs further to his chest, thrusting your dick deep inside him. your thrusts becaming sloppier now that you're close. you came inside him after a few more thrusts and he squirted all over himself right after. he's so easy to squirt <3 you're glad that you laid the towel down on the bed before or you'll have to do extra cleaning later on.

you pulled out and laid beside him, his head on your chest

"what was that all about ?"

he asked, his fingers drawing circle on your chest

"proving my love to you"

#sub character #top reader #top male reader #d3vilcvntz's works #leon x male reader #sub leon kennedy #anonasks

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aajjks · 4 months

Text

I love you (m)

synopsis. He is so in love with you and it’s about time he let you know that.

warning. FLÜFF, lövèsïck töjï, hè ïs sö ïn lövê wïth yöü, kïssïng, än ädöräblê cönfêssïön, cöök!töji, FLÜFF FLÜFF FLÜFF! Söft!töjï. Böyfrǐěnd!töjï.

Toji is really learning to appreciate the little things whenever he’s with you.

No, you’re just so sweet and kind, even to someone like him, he’s definitely problematic and complicated, but you still keep up with him despite everything? Why? He wants to ask you but he never has enough courage to.

Funny right? That a shameless man like him feels too shy to ask his girlfriend a question that’s so simple and easy? You make him a different Man.

How? He’s always a smiling man whenever you’re around and he almost cries when he sees you crying over a sad movie that you two watch together sometimes. Or the fact that he wants to spoil you like you’re his everything, every penny he earns? He wants to give it you.

When he’s passing by a mall- he’s got this urge to go inside and buy you a nice present or some makeup supplies because he knows how much you love it.

You’re his princess and he’s your protector because the murderous urges he gets whenever you two are out and he sees multiple creeps staring at you like you’re some kind of a wonder-

Which you are, but only for Toji to look at and smile.

He’s definitely overly posessive and protective about you, you’ve been dating for what? Six or seven months but he already feels himself falling for you deeper and deeper for you.

So tonight, he’s finally going to say it- he knows that you want to hear him say it so badly, whenever a character on screen says ‘I love you’ to their female lead, your eyes are on him every time.

He’s waiting for you to come to his house, he did message you to meet at him at his place, you should be here soon- he’s eagerly waiting for you because he wants to surprise you.

Yeah, he doesn’t cook often at all? It’s all you, who’s always feeding your big guy with delicious meals and frankly he’s addicted to your cooking.

You’re giving his mama tough competition.

Toji did everything right, he’s kind of a perfectionist, especially when it comes to impressing you, everything has to be perfect.

The scented candles he got for this occasion are the perfect scent because they are exactly the ones you like, he noticed them in your home.

And the flowers are also your favorite, tulips. They’re your lock screen too that’s how obsessed you are with them, he can’t help but notice the littlest things about you.

It’s almost creepy.

And the food- oh he’s so proud of himself for cooking it- he was at it since the early morning honestly, but he’s not going to tell you about that.

In short, you’re going to love everything tonight.

Toji doesn’t flinch when he hears the door unlocking, his heartbeat flutters however, when he realizes that you’re here.

“Yn, princess you’re here.” He whispers as your scent immediately goes to his nostrils, and he inhales the sweet smell.

“Yeah, baby I missed you.” You walk over to him and he’s in the dining hall right past his living room, and when you’re back hug him, he feels his heart melting because you’re shorter compared to him and he’s big muscular and tall, you barely reach his shoulders- so instead, you wrap your arms around his muscular arms.

And then, when you finally notice something you gasp.

Toji smirks.

“Toji… don’t tell me you did all of this for me.” How do you have the most adorable voice in the whole universe? “Yes I did, honey.” Don’t blame him because you’re too adorable, and he has a habit of calling you every single nickname in the relationship book.

“Now come on and sit on the dining table, I bet you’re hungry.” He smiles, turning his back so he can look at your face.

And God knows you have the most beautiful face.

God definitely took time creating you- and he’s so glad.

With the most minimal make up on your face and with your hair down, he loves it when your hair is down, you pay so much attention to his likes and dislikes that just makes him love you even more.

Yes, he loves you and he’s going to tell you that officially tonight.

“Mhmm it smells so good and I noticed you got tulips and my favorite scented candles lit up.. your house always smells amazing.” You press a kiss right behind his ear before he pulls out your chair for you.

See now normally he doesn’t do these romantic things. He doesn’t remember the last time he did this. so he feels a little awkward doing this, but it doesn’t feel weird.

“Sit.” He then goes to his kitchen to grab the dishes. Some of them are traditional Japanese dishes because that’s all he really knows how to cook but don’t worry he got your favorite too.

You clap like a little girl when he puts the delicious food on the table for you, and it just makes his heart clench in his chest because you’re so sweet.

Toji sits right beside you, and before you can grab your plate and take the food yourself, he beats you to it because he wants to do it for you.

“Ahh yn let me do it.”

You give him a look and he continues with his work, “now eat, my love.” And just like that you both begin eating. Your occasional moans from the taste of the food Definitely distract him because he choked on his food for a good three times.

“D-Do you need water? I’m sorry but the food is just so delicious…. Can’t help it.” You say, as you stare at the curry in front of you.

“N-No yn just continue eating I’m sorry” he laughs, before diving in once again.

like the sweet girl that you really are you ask him about his day, even though he didn’t leave for work today he took the day off.

And then you start telling him about your day, and he loves to listen to your little rants. Your eyes get wide, and you make the most adorable expressions.

Just like that an hour goes by and you’re still sitting at the dining table when he’s picking up the dirty dishes, and yes, he insisted for you to get up and help him because this is not for you to do.

And he’s so glad that you loved his food because you keep on praising him and stop it before he blushes. “Ugh…” after he comes back from the kitchen after putting the dirty dishes in his dishwasher, toji takes your hand and guides you to the couch in the living room.

“Yn I have to tell you something.” And he’s nervous all over again. You look at him all look confused, “what is it babe?” There is honestly nothing for you to be concerned about so he should just say it before you get worried.

“Yn… I..I..” he’s stutters like the helpless man he is. You don’t speak you just not and look at him with love. And that gives him a little bit of motivation.

Come on, just say it, Toji!

before he can chicken out, you grab his hand and squeeze it, you know him so well, he inhales before taking a few seconds to compose himself and he looks into your eyes.

“I..I love you yn.” And now his heart feels so light, Toji doesn’t care if you’re not going to say it back, it’s okay, he’s a mature man- he can wait.

no please just say it back yn!

He is not looking at you anymore because as soon as the words leave his mouth, he tries to avert his eyes from you but you grab his face and now you’re making him look at you.

He’s sure you can feel the freshly shaved skin of his chin, you like the feeling a lot. Toji is silent, “I-It’s okay yn you don’t have-” but before he can complete his sentence, you kiss him.

And he cannot help but be surprised because he’s always the one that kisses you first, you’ve taken a lead this time and he’s amazed.

He kisses you back eagerly and you’re still grabbing his face so he settles his hands on your shoulders, and you both have the most romantic and passionate kiss ever.

He doesn’t want you to pull away, but to his dismay, you pull away after a few minutes, he just wants to bask in the feeling of your lips on his, you can never get enough of kissing you.

Before he can whine about the lack of contact, you push your head against his. You’re breathing loudly, he is panting, it is safe to say you left him speechless, and breathless.

“I always wanted to hear you say it and… I love you too.. I love you so much, Toji.”

He doesn’t believe the words that come out of your mouth because what the fuck. Toji’s can’t help but stare at you with his wide eyes. “Y-Yn do you really mean it? I..I.”

Once again, he’s speechless.

You smile at him before caressing his cheek.

“Of course silly. I just wanted you to say it first.” You give him a small kiss once more and he closes his eyes, thinking to himself that he’s so lucky man alive and he’s never going to let you go.

He won’t give you a chance to because he’ll make you so happy.

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kaleldobrev · 4 months

Text

Lavender & Honey

Pairing: Felix Catton x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Felix Catton

Summary: Taking a bath with Felix

Word Count: 760

Warnings: Just pure fluff & Implied nudity (takes place in the bath)

Authors Note: Obsessed with the idea of taking a nice relaxing bath with this man | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

It was late, but you were nowhere close to being remotely tired as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed at 11:00pm.

Your boyfriend lie next to you, entirely focused on the newest and final Harry Potter book that was being passed around to the group. Tonight, was his night to read at least two chapters before handing it off to Venetia. With his free hand, he gently had it resting on your bare thigh, tracing small circles on your skin with his thumb. It was such a simple gesture, but yet it was one that you craved at all hours of the day and night.

Since it wasn't your turn with the book (as you had just given the book for Felix to read); you opted to doodle in your sketchbook that Elspeth had given you for your birthday this past year. You weren't a particularly good artist, but drawing and painting and going to art museums was something that you had enjoyed doing for as long as you could remember; part of the reason as to why you were studying History of Art at Oxford.

You let out a small yawn and closed your sketchbook, placing it onto the side table on your side of the bed. Out of your peripheral, you could see Felix had a soft smile on his face. "Getting tired?" He asked, turning to look at you.

"Not really but, I think my body is giving up on doing anything remotely productive the rest of the evening," you stated. "Would you want to join me for a bath or are you too focused on the prospect of The Golden Trio having a threesome?" You said teasing.

Felix let out a small chuckle, placing a bookmark between the pages before closing the book completely, placing it on his side table. "As much as I am interested in the prospect of them having a threesome, I much rather take a bath with you because it could lead to other things," he smirked, slightly leaning in close to you.

"It always does," you smirked back.

Walking into the bathroom, Felix automatically made his way to the tub, turning the water on as you went into the cabinets. As you knelt down in front of the cabinets, he looked over at you and couldn't help but admire you. You were wearing one of his rugby shirts, and it looked like a short dress on you given his height; and your hair was in slight disarray — still managing to look like a model in his eyes.

"Find what you're looking for love?" He asked, his eyes solely fixated on you.

You turned around, a slight grin on your face as you stood up with a bag of what appeared to be bath salts. "I did!" You beamed, and walked over to him, pressing the full bag into his hands. "I found this at a shop with V and Farleigh when you were spending the day with Ollie yesterday."

Felix looked down at the bag, and it was a large bag of lavender and honey bath salts — your scent. "You know if we put this in the bath, I won't be able to keep my hands off of you."

You wrapped your arms around his waist; and he did the same. Looking up at him, you grinned. "That's the idea love," you slightly whispered, standing up on your tippy toes as he leaned down and met your lips, giving you a quick peck.

The entire bathroom was filled with the strong smells of lavender and honey; the only light emitting from the room came from the assortment of candles that you and Felix had lit which added a rather cozy ambiance.

Felix got into the bath first, and laid back into the tub, his arms slightly hanging off the sides of it. He spread his legs a bit, just enough for you to fit yourself perfectly between them.

Getting into the tub, you settled yourself perfectly between his legs, and laid your back against his chest as you nestled your face into the crook of his neck slightly. His arms found themselves wrapping instantly around your frame as he placed a kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin in the exact same place.

It was simple moments like these that the both of you truly cherished, and couldn’t imagine doing it with any other.

“I love you,” you said softly, peering up at him.

“I love you too,” he replied, placing a kiss on your temple.

Taglist:

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#felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #saltburn #saltburn imagine #saltburn one shot #saltburn drabble #saltburn drabbles #felix catton #felix x you #felix x reader #female reader #reader insert

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jhkfan123 · 4 months

Text

you're losing me | coriolanus snow

pairing: coriolanus snow x !fem reader

in which: after a work trip, y/n finds coriolanus with another woman

warnings: angst, conflict, cheating, shouting, panic attack, no happy ending (only read if you want to depressed)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: i'm actually not sure where this came from but i am lowkey proud of the writing.

"you say 'i don't understand' and i say 'i know you don't'"

you were so excited to come home early. surprise him. bring home his favorite dinner for him.

you had been gone three days now. it was a trip for all the interns at the job you had been interning at. in fact, you were studying your favorite subject. you were desperately looking forward to actually starting your career with the people you were now working with. but they had let you come home a day early. because today was your birthday, and you wanted to spend it with the love of your life.

with the bag of food in your hand, you opened the door to the penthouse. it was dark out, and there were no lights on, so you flipped one on. he was not in the main room, so you placed the food on the kitchen table and began to search for him. you checked the living room, nothing, so you headed for your bedroom. from under the door, you could see that the lights were off, which had you thinking maybe he wasn't home. nevertheless, you opened the door.

you shouldn't have. you should have stayed on your regular path. you should not have come home early, then you could have lived with him blissfully unaware.

but you did. you opened the door. and you found him, with clemensia dovecote. giving her kisses in places he hadn't given you in a long time. he quickly stopped when he heard the door creak open. the two of them immediately started shuffling around, and you slammed the door. you gazed at the closed door for a moment, realizing what you had just seen. then you ran to the bathroom, and locked the door. you slid down on the door, and began to breath very heavily.

every time you tried to capture your breath, you would lose more air. every time you tried to breath in and out, in and out, in and out, you just choked. you felt warm tears stream down your cheeks, which sent you into another spiral. you ran your hands through your hair and tried to get yourself together.

you had been dating him for three years. three years. three years. and now he throws it all away? since senior year. the two of you had been dating, since before the 10th hunger games. He went away to district 12, and when he came back, he came running back to you.

you never thought this of him. he was protective, and jealous, and seemed to be obsessed with you.

on the bathroom floor, you tried to calm down. you tried the only thing you knew.

five things you can see: the floor, the sink, the toilet, the shower, the candle on the counter.

four things you can touch: the cold floor, the towel hanging low on the rack, your own arm, the drawer near you

three things you can hear: the buzz of the air conditioner, your breath, and shuffling in the hallway. that didn't help

two things you can smell: the lingering scent of the candle from when it had most recently burned, and the scent of your body wash in the shower, even though it was faint

one thing you can taste: the salty tears now running into your mouth.

you could now take slightly deeper breaths. you realized you would have to go out there soon. maybe you would wait two minutes. maybe clemensia would leave.

clemensia. you hadn't even seen her since graduation. you thought he hadn't either. clearly that was wrong.

the two of you had a strange relationship. you were always jealous of her, but for some reason, she was always jealous of you too. anything you would do, she would do better. and anything she would do, you would do better. it was a constant battle to be on top.

you thought you had won. you got the guy, the grades, the job, everything. now you weren't so sure.

you took one final deep breath, attempted to balance and get yourself up. you unlocked the door, and almost opened it. but then a knock was heard from the other side of it. you opened the door and saw coriolanus with his head down. you pushed past him and made your way for the kitchen. he began to walk behind you.

"hey, i-" you heard. you pivoted on your foot and stopped abruptly. he jumped back.

"what the fuck, coryo." was all you could get out. he winced at his nickname. "really! clemensia dovecote!" you felt tears stream down your face again.

"look, it didn't mean anything" he sighed out.

"that's all you can come up with? coryo," he looked like he hurt more each time you said his name "then why would you do it in the first place!" you shouted. you didn't mean to, but it wasn't your decision. it just happened.

"i," he began to stutter. you could tell he was trying to make up excuses.

"please don't make excuses. be an adult." you said. you closed your eyes to get the remaining tears out.

"i don't know." he responded. you sighed with immense disappointment.

"yes you do. yes you do." every time you were stressed, you had a habit of repeating yourself. it was comforting, hearing yourself. "you wouldn't-" you took a deep breath. "you wouldn't have done it if you didn't have a reason." now he took a breath.

"she had been reaching out to me a lot recently. i didn't tell you anything because i didn't think it was anything. then-"

"how long." you asked. he looked up at you as you interrupted him. "how long have you been with her." you desperately wanted to know. "how long have i only been loving half of you. how long have i only been loved by half of you" you asked.

"i swear, i swear it was only tonight." he said. that actually made it worse.

"coryo, it's my birthday." you choked on tears that were now streaming down your face again.

"i, know. i know." he seemed to be kicking himself. he attempted to get closer to you, but you backed up. now the two of you were on opposite sides on the island.

"what did i do." you asked. double the amount of tears were coming down now. "how badly did i screw up that you did this."

"you did nothing, my love. it's my-"

"do not call me that." you cut him off. he nodded in acceptance that he didn't get that right anymore. he didn't get any part of you anymore. you could have swore you say his eyes get teary, now.

"she came on to me." he explained.

"you could have got her off. but you didn't. you kissed her. and you kept kissing her. and you took your shirt off. and that's the image i walked in on. do not put this on her. yes, she shouldn't have done that, but it's your responsibility, coryo. it's your responsibility to tell her no." now a tear did stream down his face as he listened to you. "so i ask you again, what did i do?" you felt yourself getting weak. you were so disheveled and out of it that you hadn't realized how hungry you actually were.

"you didn't do anything." he responded, fairly quickly.

"then why!? why would you ever do this!" you shouted again. snot getting everywhere and your vision become more blurry with each tear.

"it just happened. you didn't do anything. and i'm a horrible person and i know this is a horrible situation and you don't deserve this at all, but please, believe me, when i tell you that i love you." the words stung you like an alcohol wipe on an open wound. the words felt like a stab in your back, like a stab in your heart.

he made his way over to you again. you were to weak to back up. you looked up at him, your vision allowing you to just barely see his silhouette.

"coriolanus, i don't even know if i can believe you anymore." you crumpled this time. the tears all came out at once. you began to sob, and then your legs gave up. you fell to the floor in agony. you felt coriolanus grab you, and you didn't move. you had no energy to. but how could he even allow himself to touch you like this?

he got down onto the floor with you, and held you around your chest while you sobbed. he didn't say anything. he was probably lost in the smoke of his guilt, that had now flooded the entire penthouse.

the warmth of his body would have normally felt comforting, like cuddling in a warm blanket. but not now. you were ice cold. shivering from your hunger, and your tears. not even the heat of his body could melt the quickly freezing heart you had for him.

it felt like hours passed before you finally managed to see your surroundings. when you managed to finally calm yourself down enough to stand, you moved yourself away from coriolanus. then you sat. both of you, at the island.

the two of you were silent. the two of you had nothing left to say. the two of you had nothing left to do. all you could do was do the next right thing. and in your mind, that was to go somewhere. anywhere but here.

"i'm leaving." you got up, took a second to gain your balance, you still hadn't eaten after all, and grabbed your bag.

"it's freezing out. please, stay." he begged. his eyes were also dried out from the tears he shed.

"i walked here, earlier. i can walk back." you replied.

"where will you go?" he asked. you thought. you had moved in with him after graduation. his home was the only one you knew for the last three years of your life.

"i'm going to go stay with a friend. and then, i am going to come back, in a few weeks, and get my stuff. move out." you laid out your plan for him. you saw another tear fall from his face.

"are you sure?" he asked.

"coriolanus, i'll be fine." you began to make your way towards the door. then, you paused. a single tear flowed down. "i will miss you, though. i hope you know that." you said. you refused to turn back. you refused to look at him. if you did, you thought you might go running back to him. if you did, you would never look away again. so you opened the door.

"i'm always going to love you. and i'm always going to be here. for you." he said. your heart begged you to look back, but you couldn't. not after that.

and, even though it slowly broke every part of you. you steadily closed the door behind you.

#jhkfan123 #tomblyth #coriolanussnow #coriolanus snow #hunger games #tom blyth #hungergames #tbosas #snow lands on top #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #im really sorry im not sure where this came from

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charlizekkelly · 11 months

Text

hungry like the wolf

Spicy Prompt: “Look how well you’re taking me.”

Pairing: Reader x Dwayne (The Lost Boys 1987)

Word Count: 2167

TW’s: Size kink, slight somophilia, dub-con (??), non-con, pet names (sweet girl & good girl), biting and blood play.

Author's Note: God damn. This got out of hand and like Dwayne, this is a big one (I'm sorry I had to). Who wouldn't want to be fucked senseless by him? Let's be honest, he's the man and would fuck like a God.

Tags (Dwayne's hoes) : @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @misslavenderlady @dwaynesluscioushair @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @lostinsantacarla

!18+ CONTENT - MINORS DNI!

The alkaline-infused breeze skittered down the tunnelways of the cavernous home, carrying the scent of the ever-changing tides of Hudson’s Bluff through the cave, blustering the flames within the fire barrels or the candles perched upon rock crevices. Not that it mattered to her, tucked beneath the assortment of blankets on Dwayne’s bed with soft candlelight illuminating the room. Oblivious to the path his thoughts had taken as he peered down at her with dark irises, lingering on the dark fabric of his shirt and the white-lace panties he glimpsed from where her leg stuck out from beneath the sheets, his shirt riding up her body in a way that made him want to groan.

Dwayne was many things–patient, caring, attentive, coolheaded and loyal–but with her, he found himself obsessing over the way she smiled up at him whenever they spoke. Or the way she laughed and he had to feign nonchalance like the sound hadn’t sent blood rushing to his dick and a multitude of thoughts to careen through his head. Of how she tasted, the way he could make her squirm, the sounds she made or the way she felt wrapped around his cock.

This isn’t helping me, at all, he thought, watching as she shifted on the mattress and he gingerly slipped from beneath the sheets.

Heading toward the room’s doorway before her voice rippled to his ears and he came to a jarring halt, his head turning ever-so-slowly back to where she lay, sound asleep. He waited a moment, locked in the doorway with his gaze pinned upon her, wondering if this was a cruel mind trick played by Paul and Marko. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if David was a part of it–all three blonds notorious for their love of mind games.

But then, the saccharine call he thought he’d heard from her lips filled his ears. A sound so sweet, it almost brought him to his knees. Something his companions continuously taunted him about, the trio aware of his infatuation with the human woman he cared about. But neither of the trio was game enough to cross him, knowing the ease with which he went from coolheaded to protective–possessive–but it didn’t deter their playful jests.

“Dwayne,” she called again, her voice all breathy and laced with lust.

As hard as he tried–which wasn’t very hard at all–he couldn’t fight the smug grin that crept across his face, approaching her with wolfish ease. He knew she was a moderately light sleeper but still, he reached out and pulled the blankets away from her body, baring her to his hungry eyes as he sunk onto his jean-clad knees at the end of the bed and admired her for several moments.

It was as she shifted on the mattress and his dark irises locked on the pearl-white lace that contrasted perfectly with her skin, that his deeply timbered voice filled the room. “Fuck.”

“If you’re going to fuck her, can I watch?” Came Paul’s husky voice through their pack’s bond.

Dwayne’s eyes rolled at the hopeful edge of his companion’s voice–and where he wasn’t opposed to sharing her with him–he didn’t want to share her right now. “Paul,” he warned.

“Is that a yes?” Paul questioned, an audible sigh skittering down their bond when the brunette didn’t immediately respond. “Dwayne?”

Dwayne’s large palms smoothed over her bare legs, up her thighs until he grasped the soft flesh and gently pulled her to the bed’s edge, careful not to wake her as his stare traversed her features.

“Not tonight.” Came his distracted response before Paul’s presence vanished from his mind.

With a tenderness he reserved for her and her alone, he parted her legs until the flesh of her thigh pressed and bracketed his shoulders. Careful not to nick her skin as he lithely cut the lace from her body, tossing it over his shoulder with little care before he settled his hands upon her inner thighs. Kneading the flesh for a moment as if to savour the feel of her, his ebony tresses tousled and framed his face like a wrathful god whilst his umber gaze remained trained on her face as he dipped his head and his tongue dragged a sensual trail over her labia.

A soft noise tumbled from her lips as he focused his attention on her clit for several seconds, his fingertips sinking into her skin when he dragged a slow stripe up her cunt. He couldn’t stop the low groan that emanated from the depths of his chest if he tried as the taste of her cloyed on his tongue, the sound vibrating into her clit in a way that drew a soft, sleepy gasp from her lips, and for her eyes to groggily blink down at him.

“Dwayne…what are you–what are you doing?” Her brows furrowed as a breathy moan tumbled from her mouth and she subconsciously ground her cunt into his face, his grasp tightening on her in response.

His head lifted from her cunt, grinning up at her whilst his fingers leisurely toyed with her clit. Like he had all the time in the world. “Oh, this?” He drawled, feigning confusion, fingers dragging the mix of his saliva and her arousal up to circle the sensitive nerve ending, a sharp breath sucked into her chest as a single, thick digit salaciously sunk into her cunt. “I’m taking care of my sweet girl. I’m worshipping her.”

His finger dragged torturously slow, his eyes locked on her face and the way her head tipped back into the sheets when his thumb pressed into her clit, a second digit slipping into her cunt as his pace never faltered. Dwayne’s fingers continued their steady strokes, fingertips curling in a way that wrenched a guttural moan from her lips and a dozen curses to rent off the cavernous walls.

“Fuck, Dwayne. Don’t stop,” she said, hands bunching the sheets beneath her.

“And refuse you of what you want? I don’t think so. I do have a better idea that’ll benefit us both.” A dark chuckle filled her ears, his eyes flashing with something sinful as he pulled his fingers from her cunt and they nimbly unbuttoned his jeans, shoving the fabric down his muscular legs and kicking it off to the side.

“Benefit us both how?” She said, holding his dark gaze.

“Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.” Came his response as his lips tugged into a wolfish grin.

Without much thought, her legs dutifully parted for him, creating more space for him between her thighs as he discarded his boxers in the same direction as his pants. She watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked himself, stepping into the space between her legs before he teasingly dragged his tip across her cunt and one of his hands grasped the flesh of her hip, the other pressed into the fabric beside her.

“Please,” she murmured as he lowered his head and his lips brushed hers, drawing circles into her clit with the head of his cock.

The muscles of his abdomen rippled beneath his skin, capturing her attention before his voice filled her ears. “What do you want, beautiful? Tell me what you want. Use your words.”

“I want you,” she breathed out against his lips, pushing herself onto her elbows so she could connect their lips, kissing him whilst one of her hands skittered over the chorded muscles of his arm and tangled in his dark locks.

And like it took everything in him to pull away–his lips hovering above hers a hairsbreadth away–the hand by her side balled into a fist and his voice lowered several, heady octaves. “Where?” He grounded out through clenched teeth, the action seeming to sharpen his jawline.

Her brows furrowed with confusion for a moment. “What?”

“Where do you want me, sweet girl? Where do you want my cock?” He rasped, pressing a sensual kiss to the underside of her jaw before he nipped at the soft skin.

“Inside me,” she said, gasping as the first few inches of his cock plunged into her cunt, his girth stretching her insides in a euphoric way. His lips met with hers for a moment, kissing her with ravaging quality before she pulled away from his mouth. “Dwayne,” her gaze darted to where they were connected and the inches his cock still needed to enter her–every glorious inch of him that sent her mind reeling–as he slowly pressed more of his cock into her. “You’re so…big.”

He hummed in response, pressing firm, adoration-filled kisses to her throat. “You say that every time, my love, but look how well you’re taking me.”

His words clamoured in her mind, dousing her in a lust-filled haze when he slowly drew back and plunged the rest of his cock into her, his thumb drawing circles into her clit. A breathy moan–part curse, part garbled moan–fell from her lips, body sinking into the mattress as he quickened the pace of his thrusts and the head of his cock brushed a spot inside her that made her squirm.

Dwayne’s dark tut traipsed across the room, hands grasping her hips to prevent her from squirming. “Not so fast. You wanted me inside you and I gave it to you. So now, you’re going to take it like a good girl.” His thrusts deepened as he peered down at her, revelling in the way soft pants escaped past her lips. “Are you my good girl?”

“Yes,” she breathed dazedly, gasping as his cock pressed against her G-spot and the budding tide of her orgasm crept to the forefront of her mind. “Fuck, Dwayne. I’m your good girl.”

A deep groan fell through his lips, head tipping up to the ceiling as he purposely thrust his hips in a way that he knew would collide with her G-spot and his thumb pressed into her clit, mounting her orgasm as he felt her clench around his cock.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he praised, tearing his gaze from the roof to traverse her body before his thrusts seemed to falter and he hurriedly freed her from the dark fabric of his shirt. His mind short-circuited for a moment when his stare landed on where his cock thrust steadily into her, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he refocused on her bare body.

A large hand cupped her breast, mildly irritated at himself for not paying them any attention sooner as he rolled one taut nipple between his fingers whilst his mouth captured the other and he alternated between circling her nipple with his tongue and sucking hickeys into her skin.

“Dwayne,” she moaned, all breathy and filled with a desperation he recognised.

He knew what she wanted the moment her strained plea met his ears, pulling away from her breasts as the hand at her hip tightened and he rolled his hips in a way that drew another moan from her lips, her cunt clenching around him. “Yes, my sweet girl?”

His lips brushed against hers, her soft pants warming his face as he peered down at her with wolfish delight and she managed to form a coherent sentence through the lust-filled haze of her mind. “I’m going to cum. Fuck, let me cum…please.”

“With manners like that? Who am I to deny you?” he drawled, his hand trailing over her chest to grasp the nape of her neck. Supporting her head as he drew her closer to himself and his teeth elongated into fangs, sinking into her throat in the same moment the head of his cock brushed against her G-spot.

A pleasure-riddled moan echoed across the room and down the darkened tunnelways, no doubt reaching Marko, David and Paul’s ears as she came and he swallowed languid mouthfuls of her blood. He pulled away from her throat in the next heartbeat, head tipping back to the ceiling as he came with a guttural moan, fingertips sinking into her hips.

Her blood coated his chin, dripping down his throat to the chiselled plains of his stomach when he refocused on the room around him and he nimbly hooked her legs around his waist, climbing onto the mattress and situating them in the middle of the bed. Dwayne dragged the assortment of blankets over her body as he tucked her into his side, fussing with the pillows until he was satisfied with her comfort and his blood-stained lips pressed a loving kiss to hers, arms woven over her waist.

A content hum tumbled from her lips as his fingers grasped her chin and he angled her head to bare his marks to his gaze, lathing his tongue over the weeping indents he left behind, ensuring they closed beneath his dark stare. The taste of her cloying on his tongue as he forced himself to refrain from plunging his fangs into her throat once more, always craving her like an untapped hunger that couldn’t be quenched.

Hungry like the wolf.

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boxofbonesfic · 3 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…

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