#this is my favorite dynamic between them hands down. like not even in a way where it has to be romantic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soaps-mohawk · 1 month

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes

Summary: Things have returned to normal, or at least they seem to have. Nothing can ever go your way, though, can it?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7925 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, face sitting, grinding, spanking (it's like once and not even on the ass), Kyle is definitely a munch, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, reader is a little shit, angst, PTSD, nightmares, trauma, mommy issues, family issues, language, the author's bias showing just a tad.

A/N: Have you ever cried while writing smut? I have. Had two mental breakdowns during the course of this chapter, the worst of the two during the smut scene. Sobbing while writing the reader getting her back blown out? That's a new one for me. But, I did it. I finished Chapter 16 this week. I'm feeling significantly better than I was, at least physically. Giving it to you a day early because I feel bad about not posting last week. The events of this chapter pick up pretty much where the previous one left off. Timeline wise, this chapter is spread over roughly a week-ish. And special thanks to the battle rattle anon for inspiring part of this chapter 🫶

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(This is my all time favorite gif of him I swear I stare at it way too much)

You’re clawing at the door frame, desperately clinging to the last thing you can hold on to, the last shred of your life as you know it. You fight the hands pulling at your arms, threatening to pull you away from the comfort, the warmth, the safety of your home, of your pack.

Your mothers grief-stricken sobs reach your ears, her cries of desperation as they rip you from her, your father’s hate filled gaze directed at you over her shoulder as he holds her back. She loves all her children, but you were always her favorite. The bond between you two was always the strongest.

Now you know why.

The arms rip you from the doorframe seconds before the door slams closed. It’s like a gavel strike declaring your fate, cutting you off from everything you knew. You’re pulled back from the door, from the house that had become your safe space, from the pack inside.

They’re not your pack anymore. The thought is like a sharp knife, severing the lifelong bond in your mind. You’re not a part of them anymore. You’re alone in this world, cut off from what you knew, and it’s all your fault.

If only you could have presented as an alpha, like you were supposed to.

You’re sobbing, breaths coming in choking gasps. Your chest feels tight, your body tense and aching as you fight against the constricting hold around you.

“Easy, easy.” A deep voice murmurs in your ear, your senses beginning to return. “Yer alright, kitten.”

Your breaths continue to come in shaky gasps as you start to recognize your surroundings. You’re in Johnny’s room still. His arms are wrapped tight around you, your own pinned against your chest. You had fallen asleep before you even realized it, exhausted after your night with Johnny.

“Ye were havin’ a nightmare.” He says, projecting his natural beta scent in an attempt to get you to relax.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the scent start to numb your brain. The tears continue to slide down your cheeks, but slowly your breathing begins to normalize. Johnny begins to loosen his hold around you, not letting you go, but enough that you don’t feel like you’re being constricted anymore.

“Si gets them too.” Johnny continues, speaking quietly. His breath is warm as it fans your ear, reminding you that you’re awake now, and your nightmare is behind you. “Woken up tae elbows and fists in my face many times.”

You keep your eyes closed, taking in deep breaths as Johnny lays with you in silence, his fingers gently stroking your arms. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You hadn’t meant to have a nightmare. Not in front of them. You knew it would happen eventually, but you had hoped you could avoid it as long as possible.

You don’t want to reveal your weakness, your pain, your inner struggle to them. They have enough of their own, they don’t need to know how broken you are too.

You lay there, slowly calming your breaths and the slight tremble in your limbs as you wait for Johnny to begin questioning you. He’ll want to know, he’ll want to hear what it is that’s plaguing your mind. You’ll have to tell him, you’ll have to explain everything and then he’ll want to know more. He’ll want to unearth the brokenness and the pain that you’ve buried so deeply like an archaeologist looking for the secrets of an ancient civilization.

You don’t want to reveal it, you want to bury it again, lock it back in the recesses of your mind where it can’t hurt you. You want to compress it back down until you feel safe again without the threat of the past hanging over your head.

Johnny continues to relax his hold around you as you begin to calm down again, the tears finally slowing to a stop. You take deep breaths, trying to match Johnny’s even breathing behind you. You wait for it, the inevitable question, the prodding, the digging. He’ll want answers, he’ll want to know what plagues your mind, how much it’s been happening, why you haven’t said anything.

You’re not sure how much time passes as you lay there, counting breaths. It’s silent in the room, in the barracks. Even outside it’s quiet, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting patiently for the shoe to drop, for the truth to get revealed.

You can't wait any longer. The tension is too thick, the thought of waiting for the question to break the silence is too much. You'll rip the bandaid before he can try and force it from you. “I don't-”

“Ye don't have tae tell me.” He cuts you off before you can even start, the words slicing through yours, stopping you from spilling your darkest, innermost thoughts. “We all have them sometimes. No shame in that.” He tightens his grip on you for a moment, pulling you closer against his chest. “Simon doesn't even tell me all of his. Thinks he might scare me off, or somethin'. I'm no’ gonnae force ye to tell me anythin’ if ye don’ want to.”

You're taken aback by his words. You suppose they all have to be plagued by nightmares of their own, with the kinds of things they have to see when they're in the field. Ghost had told you a bit about the nightmares that haunt him, and that had only been one tragedy, one mission. You suddenly feel silly. The kinds of things you’re afraid of, the nightmares that terrify your mind suddenly seem inconsequential to the things they must dream about at night.

You wiggle in Johnny’s arms until you’re facing him, his eyes half closed as he stares down at you. You shift forward, pressing your face against his bare chest. His head tucks so his chin rests against the top of your head as he holds you, his breathing slowing just slightly as he drifts back to sleep. You don’t sleep, laying there awake as you listen to the slow, rhythmic beating of Johnny’s heart.

He’s snoring quietly, breath fanning across your hair as he sleeps peacefully. You let your fingers trail over his skin as you wait for his early alarm that will signal the end of your quiet moments of bliss, snapping you both back into your realities. You trace the scars lining his skin, all of them with their own stories, just like John’s.

He makes a garbled, snorting noise as your fingers brush over his ribs, his entire body twitching. His hand moves, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Tickles.” He murmurs, lifting your arm so it’s draped around his neck. He's asleep almost immediately, as if he hadn't woken at all from your tickling.

You continue to lay there as he sleeps, your mind drifting between sleep and your racing thoughts until Johnny’s alarm goes off. He groans, reaching across you to turn it off. He lays still, breath still fanning over the top of your head. For a moment you’re worried he’s fallen asleep again, but eventually he moves, rolling on top of you.

He presses his face against your neck, letting out a quiet groan. He’s heavy, but a solid weight above you. It’s comforting, the weight of him like a blanket keeping you safe. He presses gentle kisses against your neck, his fingers trailing across your shoulder before brushing over your mark. You let out a whine, arching against him.

“Screamin’ Jesus.” He curses, getting hard against your thigh.

“Don’t you have to go work out?” You ask as he begins to grind against you.

“Would rather stay here with you.” He growls against your throat.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” You gasp, bucking up against him.

“Worth it.” He grunts, kicking the sheets off the end of the bed.

“Someone missed the morning workout.” Kyle says as you and Johnny sit down at the table for breakfast. You’re the last ones there, despite Johnny skipping his early morning workout.

You take your normal spot between Kyle and John, sitting gingerly on the hard bench. There’s still a distinct ache between your thighs from Johnny’s enthusiasm and intense stamina last night and this morning.

“Aye, don’t worry. I still got a good workout in.” Johnny says cheekily, winking across the table at you.

You’re afraid you may combust as the other three pairs of eyes at the table look at you. It’s no secret what you were doing last night, or this morning. Johnny, as in most aspects of his life, is loud in bed. Kyle had known you were going to, and so had Simon, but you find your gaze turning to John as your face warms.

You’re not quite sure what you’re expecting as you look at him. It’s not like he had forbidden you from pursuing relationships with the others, or even shown any distaste at the idea. You were open to love the other members of the pack, just as they did one another, just as he did.

His face is stoic as he stares at you, before it begins to lighten, a gleam shining in his eyes. “Did he take good care of you?” He asks, the corner of his lips twitching.

You swallow thickly, your face getting warmer as you nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.” John grins. “ Then I suppose I can forgive him for sleeping in this morning, so long as it doesn’t become a habit.” He casts his glance across the table.

“I’m a bad influence.” You say, spooning porridge into your mouth.

“Certainly worth the trouble, though.” Johnny says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Especially when you do that thing with your tongue-”

Johnny’s words are cut off with a pained yelp as Ghost kicks him under the table. “Don’t go spilling all her tricks.” He grumbles, eyeing the tables around you.

You think your face might be permanently warm at the thought of anyone nearby hearing the topic of your conversation. Of course they know, but hearing about it was something entirely different.

Kyle walks you back to the barracks after breakfast, your hand in his, fingers laced together. His thumb rubs the back of your hand absentmindedly, shoulders brushing as you walk. Neither of you say anything, but you don’t have to. Unlike Johnny, Kyle is happy to exist in silence. They’re so very different, despite both being betas.

Your brothers had often joked about betas being boring, and how glad they were that neither of your parents were betas. You’d disagree now, after spending some time around betas. They’re just as complex as alphas and omegas, in their own ways.

Boring was the last thing you’d describe Johnny as last night.

Kyle holds the door for you as you enter the barracks, following you down the hall. You stop in front of your door, your hand pausing on the knob as Kyle leans in close to you.

His chest presses against your back, breath fanning your ear as he speaks. “Can’t wait to find out about this trick you do with your tongue.”

Your face warms again, your heart thudding in your chest as you turn to look up at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “You could find out right now.”

Kyle’s lips lift in a smirk as he leans in closer, trapping you against the door. “I’d love to, but I don’t think the Captain would be quite so forgiving if I skipped out on this training.”

You stare up at him, lost in his big brown eyes. “Soon?”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss you. “Of course. Just say the word.”

He leaves you there with your heart thudding in your chest, your stomach churning in excitement. You’d be more than willing to go that extra step with Kyle right at this very moment, but the subtle ache between your thighs thanks to Johnny is a good reminder why you should wait. You want to enjoy your time with Kyle.

You know it will be worth the wait.

“How have you been?”

You shrug, sinking back into the plush chair. It’s warm in the office, a stark contrast to the cold downpour outside. “Fine.” You answer, running your hands over your jeans. “Tired.”

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises an eyebrow at you. “Have you not been sleeping well?”

“I’m...having a hard time falling asleep.” You say. It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s not the whole truth.

“Why do you think that is?” She asks, writing something down.

Your palms begin to sweat. You hadn’t planned on going into too much detail about this with her, but you knew she’d likely notice and remark on your tired appearance. “Been thinking too much.”

“About what?” She probes, staring at you.

You know you don’t have to tell her anything. What you share is up to you. Yet, you can feel the words bubbling up, threatening to spill over before you can stop them. “My family.” You say, releasing some steam from the boiling pot inside you. Tears burn your eyes, threatening to fall as you continue. “Especially my mom. I miss her a lot sometimes.”

“You had a close bond with her.” Dr. Keller says. It’s not a question.

You nod. “The closest out of all of my siblings.” You snuffle, wiping the tear trailing down your cheek. “Makes sense why.”

“Sometimes we have traits or behaviors that show before we present that hint at our possible status. Having a stronger bond with one parent over another, especially in mixed status packs, can signal what one might present as.” Dr. Keller says. “Were you the first omega to present in your pack?”

You nod. “Yeah. My older brothers were alphas, and I don’t know about my younger siblings.”

“That could all contribute to a strong bond with your mother.” Dr. Keller leans back in her seat. “I’m assuming you haven’t had any contact with them since the institute.”

“Not since I was taken from home. The institute didn’t support keeping those connections with previous packs and...I don’t think they would have reached out anyway.” You say, picking at the fabric of your pants.

“What makes you say that?” Dr. Keller asks.

You pause, not sure you want to open that bag of worms. If anyone is safe enough to do it with, you know it’s going to be Dr. Keller. She won’t judge you, she won’t think you weak or silly for having such thoughts, such fears. She doesn’t care how broken you are. You’re not part of her pack. She’s an outsider, a doctor above all.

“Well, they did send me to the institute, didn’t they?” You finally say.

Dr. Keller hums, staring at you for a moment before she drops her gaze to her notebook, writing something down. “I suppose you have a point there. Hypothetically, if you were given the chance to, would you want to talk to them again? It’s not uncommon for omegas to seek out their previous packs and families after they leave the institute.”

Your stomach twists at her question. Even if it is only hypothetical, you had existed for years in the institute thinking you’d never get to see or hear from your family again. They were behind you, lost to you. They wouldn’t accept your attempts to reach out to them, even if you knew where they were. Even after leaving the institute, you knew the chances of seeing them again or even just hearing from them was almost none. You have a new pack now, your old one doesn’t matter.

That’s just the life of an omega.

Would you want to? In this hypothetical world where this question exists as a potential option, would they even answer if you called? Would they accept an invitation to see you again, if they were given the chance? Could your father feel regret after all of these years for what he did to you?

“I...” You frown, tears pricking your eyes again. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s a complex situation. If you ever wanted to, though, I’m sure they could make it happen.”

Your gaze snaps to hers, the shock at her words clearly written on your face. Of course they probably could. It was their job to hunt down hard to find people, and with the CIA at their backs, you’re certain they could track down your family easily. Would they do it for you, if you asked? Would they allow you to have that connection with your old pack while still being part of theirs?

“Most people keep some form of contact with their family, even after they move on to their own pack.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s not unusual, even among omegas. Just something to think about.”

“Do you still talk to your family?” You ask her, partly out of curiosity.

“I do.” She smiles. “I talk to my parents pretty regularly, and my older brother occasionally. He’s involved in this world too. He was in the Army originally, but now he does whatever it is he does.”

You’re surprised by her answer. Not so much that she still talks to her family, but that she’s familiar with this world. It makes sense, how easily she existed in it, beyond just being a professional. “Do you think it had something to do with you being chosen for this position?” You ask.

“Most likely.” She grins. “Laswell probably wanted someone who is at least a little familiar with this world, but also someone she knew would work well with you.”

“I think she made the right choice.” You say. It’s the truth. You like Dr. Keller. You trust her. You’ve grown comfortable in her presence and you look forward to your appointments with her. It almost makes you feel bad for withholding the truth from her.

“Good. I think so too.” She says. “So, did anything exciting happen this week?”

You chew on your lip nervously, your hands disappearing into your sleeves as your face warms a bit. “Johnny and I...had our first time together.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise. “And that’s something you wanted?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like to get close to all of them, well, as close as Ghost will let me get.” You bite your lip again. “Ghost...gave me some pointers on how to handle Johnny. It worked. He...let me take control. I liked it.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Keller says. “I think it’s great that you’ve discovered this about yourself. I know omegas are so used to being controlled in society. I think it’s great that you’ve found a place where perhaps you can take a little control back.”

She’s not wrong. Your entire life has been dictated for you, controlled by someone else. The baton of control was just continually passed from your father, to the institute, to the CIA, and now to John. Though John has granted you the most freedom of everyone that’s held control over you, there’s still requirements for obedience and submission to him. You’ll never be your own person. That’s just the way society works, and you’ve come to accept that.

Yet, you’ve never felt quite so powerful as you did in bed with Johnny, when you’d gripped him by the mohawk like Ghost had instructed you to. When you saw the change in his eyes as you took over, controlling him, telling him what to do. You liked it, exerting control over someone else for a change. He just let you do it. It still sends a thrill down your spine at the thought of the possibilities, the things you can do now that you’ve discovered this part of yourself. You’d never show it in public, but behind closed doors...

The book was right. Perhaps omegas can be powerful.

“What are we doing?” You ask, staring up at John as he straps a tactical vest onto your body.

“We’re doing an exercise, and you’re going to help us.” He answers, double checking the vest before putting a helmet on your head. “Think of it as hide and seek mixed with tag.” He finishes strapping the helmet to your head, taking a step back. “How does it feel?”

“Heavy.” You feel weighed down with the vest and the helmet.

“You’ll get used to it.” He says with a smile, guiding you towards the door of the warehouse.

It’s dark inside, nearly pitch black except for the light coming in from the open door. There’s fake walls set up in front of you, with space just in the middle like a sort of hallway that disappears into the darkness.

“Your job is to get from this side of the warehouse, to the other without getting caught.” John says. “No weapons, just you trying to evade us and get to the other side while we try and catch you,” John lowers the goggles on the top of the helmet, the world coming alive in shades of green around you. “And night vision goggles. Be smart about it. Understood?”

You nod, looking around with the goggles, trying to adapt to using them. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You have a thirty second head start. Use it wisely.”

He leaves the warehouse, closing the door behind him. You’re left in complete darkness, with no sound but a fan running somewhere, probably to dampen any sounds that might echo. You stand there for a moment, trying not to breathe too heavily, as it might echo in the warehouse. You stare at the door behind you for a second before you begin to move forward, the adrenaline starting to pump. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they catch you. Are they working together or individually? What kind of strategy will they use? What strategy will you use?

You begin to pick up speed, running until you reach the end of the first hallway. It splits off in both directions, and you hesitate for a moment. Be smart about it. You don’t have many advantages in this situation. They’ve done this before, both in training and probably in the field as well. They’re highly skilled soldiers, trained to hunt down people in all sorts of environments, sometimes with nothing more than their scent.

Scent.

Of course.

You take off down the right hallway, following it as it twists and turns like a maze. A giant maze. There’s so many hallways, so many places to run, but not many to hide. That’s not the point, though. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they do. You have to track your way through this maze without getting caught by four special operations soldiers.

Simple enough.

You pause at a corner, undoing your vest so you can slip your sweatshirt off. You’re just putting your vest back on when the door opens, bathing the ceiling with light for a moment. It’s started. They’re inside. You can’t hear anything over the hum of the fan, and that’s almost more terrifying to you than if you had been able to hear them. The adrenaline is pumping now as you toss your sweatshirt in the corner before quickly backtracking and heading a different direction.

You try to keep your breathing quiet as you weave through the maze, doubling back and touching the walls every so often to try and leave your scent behind and confuse them. You take deep breaths through your nose as you go, trying to catch any whiff of them, any sign that you might have crossed their path or be getting close to them. They’ll reach the same area of the maze as you’re in eventually, sooner rather than later. You need to start pressing forward. You’re not just evading them, you have to reach the other side before they catch you.

You slip around a corner, pressing up against the wall as something moves behind you. You hold your breath, quiet footsteps passing by your position. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, the instinctual fear of being hunted rising in you. You take a couple of quiet deep breaths, slipping your shoes off to grab your socks before slipping them back on. You peek around the corner, finding nothing.

You toss one of your socks in the corner before doubling back, pausing as you cross one of their scents. Johnny. You recognize the citrusy tang in the air. Christ, you’ve never heard him be that quiet before. You continue on, your heart racing in your chest as you carefully weave around corners, slipping through hallways. They’re close to you now. They could be around any corner.

You pause as you cross the scent of leather and musk, something prickling in the back of your mind. It’s a fresh scent. You pause for a moment, looking in the direction he went before slipping around the corner. You still have your other sock clutched in your hand, knuckles white as you grip it tightly.

You should be nearing the end. The warehouse isn’t that big, even with all the doubling back and dodging you’ve been doing. You toss your other sock in a corner haphazardly as you decide to stop doubling back and go for the exit. You have to try and get ahead of them, as well as find your way through the maze to the exit door.

Simple enough.

Except, you have no idea which direction the exit is, or which direction you’re heading. You could be going backwards for all you know. You weave through the halls, around the corners, focusing on finding the end of the maze.

In your concentration you fail to notice the scent, weaving through the halls mindlessly as you attempt to reach the end of the maze. You pay for it as the sound of boots on the concrete floor rushes up behind you. You let out a startled shriek of surprise as your feet leave the floor, your body ragdolling over someone’s shoulder.

“Got her!” He yells out, weaving around a couple corners before light floods the warehouse, making you wince.

Your squint as your feet hit the ground again, the night vision goggles lifted from your face. Your nose crinkles as you stare up at Kyle’s smug face, his lips pulled up in a smirk.

“No fair.” You pout. “I was so close!”

“You were, but you got sloppy at the end there.” He says, undoing the strap of your helmet to help you take it off. You’re sweaty underneath it, hair sticking to your forehead. You’re glad you ditched your sweatshirt now.

“Not bad.” John says, exiting the warehouse, Ghost and Johnny following. “Nice strategy.” He says, tossing your sweatshirt to you.

You shrug, hugging it to your chest. “Had to think fast with what I had on hand.”

“Running around with no socks on too.” Ghost says, holding up your socks.

“Left you a little present. You can keep them if you want.” You smirk.

“Don’t want your nasty socks.” He grumbles, tossing them to you.

“That was fun.” You say, grinning up at them. “Like being hunted.” You don’t miss the quiet rumble in John’s chest at your words, his eyes darkening just a bit. “Can someone help me out of this now though,” You say, reaching for the velcro straps on the vest. “It’s squishing my boobs.”

The TV is playing some show, but you're not really paying attention. You haven't been, not for a while now. Your adrenaline had still been pumping a bit after your participation in the exercise earlier, putting you on edge the rest of the day. It had been a bit thrilling, the idea of being hunted like that. You can understand now how omegas enjoy being hunted, beyond just the inevitable end.

The thought of that being how the exercise ended, all four of them at once, out where anyone could see you...your skin begins to prickle as heat blossoms in your veins. Kyle would get to take you first because he won, he caught you so easily. Would John go second, or would he allow the other members of his pack to go first? Ghost would be rough, taking you from behind, hands bruising on your hips. Your teeth sink into your lip as you imagine him over you, a position you often found yourself in during your training with him. He's just so big, so strong. They all are.

You won't be able to control yourself during training if you keep going down that thought path.

John would be gentle, piecing you back together after the others have had their way with you. He'd take care of you, like a good alpha, dragging one more orgasm out of you after you think you can't anymore.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your scent. You're stinking up the rec room with your fantasies. You turn your head to look at the TV, trying to focus on what's happening on the screen in an effort to distract yourself.

It doesn't work, the subtle dampness between your thighs ever present on your mind. You have half a mind to get up and seek out Kyle, but like a miracle he appears in the doorway of the rec room. You see his nostrils flare, the lift of his shoulders as he inhales. He can smell your arousal, the spike in the sweetness of your scent. You have no doubt about that. He doesn't say anything, though, instead he approaches the couch silently, kneeling at the end.

He settles himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest. He lets out a breath as he settles, keeping some of his weight off of you, but he's still pressed against you like a weighted blanket. You fight the urge to shift beneath him, to press your hips up against him, to seek any ounce of relief for the warmth between your thighs.

You're not sure he's watching the TV either as he lays there, relaxed over you. Your fingers trail patterns across his back, gliding over his soft shirt. He's in blue today, one of your favorite colors on him. He looks good in anything, the perks of being pretty, but blue is one of your favorite colors on him.

It's silent between you for a while, Kyle relaxed above you while you fight to relax beneath him. If he’s affected at all by your scent, he hides it well. You have half a mind to ask him to take pity on you, to slip his hand beneath your sweatpants and ease the ache between your thighs. He had said whenever you wanted it. All you have to do is ask.

You shift slightly beneath him, lifting your hand to his head. “Kyle?” You ask, gently trailing your fingers over his scalp. He'd gotten his hair buzzed recently, the curly strands shorter than normal.

He hums in response, the sound rumbling through your body from where his head rests on your chest. When you don't reply right away he lifts his head, blinking up at you with those big brown eyes.

“Kiss me?” You ask.

Your heart starts to race as he pulls himself closer to you, his body dragging against yours. His eyes dart to your lips before they look back into yours for a moment. He leans down, slipping his arms underneath your back as he closes the gap between you. His lips are soft against yours, his kisses gentle and controlled as he holds you like you might break in his grasp.

“Kyle?” You murmur against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck.

He hums again in response, pulling away just slightly to stare down at you.

“‘M not gonna break.” You say, dragging your nails over his scalp again. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

His lips twitch in a smirk before he leans down, pressing his lips hard against yours. It’s a searing kiss that nearly steals your breath away. His tongue prods at your lips, and you part them to allow him in. He tastes like the tea he had been drinking after dinner, rich and earthy with a hint of sweetness from the sugar he added. You moan softly into his mouth as his tongue flicks against your own, your thighs squeezing around his waist at the thought of that tongue between your legs.

He smirks against your lips as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, his body shifting over yours so he can press one of his thighs between your legs. You move instinctively, your hips grinding against his thigh. Finally you're getting some friction, some relief from the ache.

“Fuck.” He breathes, pulling you tighter against his chest. “That’s it.” He groans, pressing his thigh harder against your grinding hips. “Gonna cum on my thigh, just like that?” He nips at your jaw, trailing kisses down the line towards your neck. “Haven’t even touched you yet.”

You try to muffle your moans as you continue to grind against his thigh, the friction on your clit pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Kyle?” You gasp out, gripping the back of his shirt. “Gonna fuck me on the rec room couch?”

He lifts his head from your neck, staring down at you for a moment. “Fuck, you’re right. Your room or mine?”

“Yours.” You say, hanging on for dear life as he scoops you up off the couch, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He walks you to his room, carrying you the entire way. He kicks the door shut, beelining for his bed. He drops you down on the mattress, your body bouncing as he hastily peels his shirt off, revealing an expanse of smooth skin marked here and there by scars. You immediately reach out, trailing your fingers over his skin. It’s just as soft as it looks, your fingers trailing the lines of his muscles.

His hand flattens over yours as it reaches his chest, pressing it into his warm skin as he leans down, kissing you again. His hands slip under your thighs, lifting you and switching your positions so he’s seated on the bed, and you’re in his lap.

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He says, looking up at you.

“I think it’s been mentioned before.” You say with a shrug, smiling down at him.

“It’s the truth.” He says, slipping his hands under your shirt. “Deserve to hear it all the time.”

“Bunch of handsome men complimenting me constantly?” You say, lifting your arms over your head so he can remove your shirt. “Can’t complain about that.”

“Luckiest men in the world.” He says, smoothing his hands across your back as he presses his face into your throat. “Pretty little omega.”

You shiver as his teeth nip at your skin, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arch against his chest, pressing yourself closer. There’s a bulge in his pants, a shiver of pride running through you at the thought that you did that to him. You elicited such a reaction from him.

“I never properly thanked you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“For what?” He asks, staring up at you curiously.

“For taking such good care of me during my heat. Couldn’t have been easy, seeing me like that, knowing you couldn’t even touch me.” You grind your hips against his, his teeth sinking into his lip as you grind against his bulge. “Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself while thinking about me?”

“Too many to count, love.” He groans, leaning his forehead against yours. “Sounded so sweet, getting ruined by our alpha.”

“Been so patient, waiting for this.” You gasp, still rocking in his lap, the wetness between your thighs intensifying from the friction. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Sit on my face.” He growls, pushing you off his lap so he can lay down on the bed.

You shove your pants and underwear down your legs, fighting the urge to be bashful. Kyle has already seen you at your most vulnerable, been up close and personal with your most private parts. Yet, it feels different like this. More intimate, and less of a necessity.

You take his hand as he offers it, letting him guide you to kneel over his face. You grip the headboard as you hover over him, his hands settling on your hips.

“Wait-” You say, before he can pull you down onto his face. “What if I suffocate you?”

“Then I’ll die a happy man.” He says, tugging you down onto his mouth.

You let out a gasp as his tongue drags through your folds, already soaked from his teasing. His tongue flicks across your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. Your hips jerk when his mouth closes around your clit, suckling at it with a lewd smack of his lips.

“Fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips against his face as he continues to tease your clit, drawing patterns on it with his tongue.

You’re close already, your legs trembling around his head. He holds you steady, keeping you still above him as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it harshly. Your knees attempt to squeeze around his head as you cum, soaking his face with a cry. He continues to lap at your folds, licking up every last bit of your release before he finally lets you move off his face.

You drop to the side, staring down at him as you try to catch your breath. He licks his lips, his face shiny with your juices. He reaches a hand over, tangling his fingers in your hair as he pulls your face down to his, kissing you. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue and lips, already starting to get wet again.

Kyle wraps his arms around you, flipping you onto your back under him. He hovers over you, the bulge in his pants very visible, even from this position.

“Sweet little omega.” He says, nipping at your lips. “So fucking perfect.”

“Kyle,” You gasp, pulling him down into a kiss. “Need you.”

“I got you.” He soothes you, pressing another kiss to your lips before he sits back on his knees between your legs, staring down at you. He drags his fingers through your folds, still just as slick as they had been before your orgasm. “So fucking wet.” He groans, hastily undoing his belt and pants, kicking them off the end of the bed.

You stare at him in awe, his cock just as beautiful as he is. Long and thick, curved just slightly. You can’t help but ogle him as he wraps a hand around the base, squeezing it. He’s hard, raging hard, the tip leaking precum already. He really has been so patient, waiting for this. You almost feel bad making him wait so long, but he had agreed to be patient, if only to keep Johnny from making everyone’s lives miserable with his pouting if he didn’t get to go first.

It’s only fair that you let Johnny go first too, considering Kyle will likely be the one you spend the most time with. It’s only natural, thanks to your bond with John. Kyle’s your beta, just as much as John is your alpha. You’d like Johnny to be your beta too, but you know without that bond with Ghost, it’ll never feel quite the same as it does with Kyle. Regardless, you’ll continue to treat Johnny as if he was your beta.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Kyle asks, watching you as you get lost in thought.

You truly do it at the worst possible times.

You lift your gaze to his, staring into those big brown eyes. “Just waiting on you to hurry up and fuck me.”

You let out a yelp as Kyle’s hand smacks your inner thigh, the sound cracking through the room.

“Don’t get cheeky now.” He warns, rubbing the spot on your skin that’s quickly turning warm from his smack. “Just making sure you’re alright.”

“Fine.” You say, spreading your legs further for him. “Be better if you finally fucked me.”

Your laugh is broken by a moan as he drags his head through your folds, his hand falling to grip your waist.

“That needy for me, huh?” He asks, teasingly pressing the tip of his cock into you before pulling back.

“Just worried you might not make it since you’ve waited so long.” You gasp, trying to move your hips to take him deeper into you, but he pins you with the hand on your hip.

“Careful what you wish for.” He says, the warning clear in his tone. You handled Johnny just fine, you can certainly handle Kyle.

You hope.

He finally takes pity on you, sinking his cock deeper into you. You moan at the stretch, flopping back on the bed as you try to relax around him. He rolls his hips in short thrusts, sinking deeper and deeper as you open up to him. You reach for him as he sinks even further into you, his body folding over yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring up at him as he seats himself completely inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Hi.” You breathe, getting lost in his soft gaze.

“Hi, love.” He grins down at you, fingers brushing your cheeks as he leans on his elbows above you. “Doing alright?”

You nod, squeezing around him. “Yeah. Feels good.”

“Good.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. “Been waiting so long for this. Feels better than I imagined.”

You let out a quiet whine, clenching around him again. The thought of him imagining this, trying to picture what you’d look like, what you’d feel like while he waited patiently for his turn has your body burning hot. You shift your hips below him, causing him to move inside you.

“Kyle?” You breathe, shifting again. “Please move.”

“I got you, love.” He smiles down at you, pulling his hips back before slowly pressing forward again.

Your head falls back as he moves, keeping his pace slow and languid. Heat burns through your veins, your very nerve endings alive as he slowly rolls his hips into you. Something thrums in the back of your mind, the mark on your shoulder almost tingling as you stare up at him, your fingers trailing over the mark on his shoulder, a mirror of the one on your own. A shudder runs through him as your fingers brush the scar, his lips parting in a low groan. You clench around him at the sight of such unbridled pleasure on his face, pulling him closer against your body.

He drags your pleasure out as he makes love to you, slow and passionate and deliberate with every movement. You know you won’t last much longer, the sensations beginning to overwhelm you.

“I’m close.” You breathe into Kyle’s ear, pressing kisses across his neck. “Don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum for me?” He groans, keeping his thrusts steady. “Gonna let me see that beautiful face as you come undone for me?”

Your back arches as you cum, pushed over the edge by his words. Your nails bite into his shoulders, but he offers no complaint as he continues to roll his hips into yours, working you through your orgasm as he chases his own. His pace picks up slightly as he gets closer and closer to the edge, your eyes on his face, wanting to watch him now.

“Your turn.” You breathe, still trying to catch your breath from your orgasm as you clench around him.

His head tilts back, lips parted in a deep moan as his hips jerk. His cock twitches inside you, his thrusts getting sloppy as he cums. You trail your hands over his back, sinking your teeth into your lip as you watch his face morph into complete bliss. You’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful.

He collapses on top of you, just managing to keep his weight off of you thanks to his elbows planted on the bed beside your head. You continue to rub his back, fingers tracing the smooth, sweat slicked skin, only pausing to trace the scars that you find. Kyle presses soft kisses to your face, slowly trailing lower across your jaw and neck. He presses a kiss to your mark, a shudder running through you. He lets out a groan as you clench around him, shifting so he’s face to face with you again.

“Give me a minute.” He says, slipping out of you as he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Tired already?” You ask cheekily.

“No,” He says, kissing you again before slowly sliding down your body. “Just need a minute to catch my breath. Besides,” He settles between your thighs, pressing them open so he’s face to face with your pussy. “I’ve got a mess to clean up.”

You stand outside the door of John’s office, brows pulled into a frown. You have a feeling you already know what he’s going to say, yet your mind keeps reeling, coming up with the most fantastical ideas as to why you were summoned to his office in the middle of the day. It’s weird that he’s in his office in the middle of the day. Usually they’d be off training, but he’d pulled them all into a meeting this morning after breakfast, one that had gone into your usual lunch time, and then they hadn’t gone to train after you finally got to eat.

“Come in.”

Your hand pauses on the handle as you hesitate, almost as if you could prevent what’s going to happen by just not going in. It’s a ridiculous thought. Avoiding this will only likely get you into trouble.

You step into the office, the air inside different from any of the other times you’ve been in his office. John’s face looks grim and focused behind his desk, and it’s not hard to tell you’re not facing John right now, you’re facing Captain Price.

You take the seat across from him at his desk when he motions to it, trying to fight the tears threatening to brim in your eyes as you stare at him. You won’t cry. You knew this was going to happen eventually. You knew going in what was going to inevitably happen. You had been well prepared for this part of your new reality, yet you don’t want to acknowledge it now that you’re staring it in the face.

“I know you’ve likely already figured out what’s going on.” He says, his voice gruff and deeper than normal.

You can see it in his face. He’s fighting his own battle with having to tell you. You hadn’t expected it, to see him struggle with it. He knew it as well as you did. He knew it better than you did, and yet, you can see the turmoil behind that focused gaze.

He lets out a sigh as he continues, hands closing into fists on his desk, his tone almost apologetic. The words sting despite the fact you had known they were coming, despite the fact you had expected them when you walked into the office. “This morning we had a debrief for a new assignment. We’ll be leaving tonight. All four of us.”

Taglist:

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon ghost riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/Omega dynamics #omegaverse

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yzzart · 6 months

Text

a revelation between songs.

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: you, Tom and Rachel had an idea to create playlists for your characters.

word count: 593!

notes: inspired by an interview where Rachel says that she and Tom created playlists for their characters, and i recommend the song i mentioned because i was listening to it while writing!

"Well, i heard that you created playlists for your respective characters…" — The interviewer, who was incredibly dynamic, commented. — "… and it's true?"

"Oh yeah!" — Rachel responded with an enthusiastic smile and nodding her head, wanting to complement and talk about the topic presented. — "We created our playlist during the first few days of recording, right?" — She asked, resting one of her hands on her chin.

"Right!" — You replied with a complicity smile. — "We were so excited about the idea, that we didn't even wait for the opening day." — And it was a suggestion that brought you all closer together and created in your minds what the characters' musical tastes would be.

And to this day none of you have finished them because every day you add a new song.

"Exactly!" — Rachel concluded. — "I think it's technically impossible to choose one but "Hunter" by Florence + The machine is addictive and very good." — The interviewer nodded in agreement and paid attention to every word.

"One of the first songs i added to my playlist was "Do you love" by machineheart." — You tilted your head to wonder if it was correct. — "Yeah, she was one of the first and she became my favorite." — The interviewer agrees, crossing her legs and eager for an explanation. — "I feel like the lyrics clarify my character's emotions."

"I'm pretty sure i have it on my playlist too." — Tom stuttered thoughtfully and resting his arm on the back of the chair accompanied by a complicity look in his direction. — "Like, seriously." — He laughed.

"Do not tell me!" — You pretended to be surprised and finding the coincidence incredible, and trying, as much as possible and with all your strength, not to laugh at the situation.

Meanwhile, the interviewer found it funny, even without understanding and believing in the possible and concrete coincidence, and Rachel looked at the two of you with her mouth open. — Knowing, deep down, that it was a joke.

"They spent the entire recording session listening to each other's playlists." — She revealed, laughing, putting her hand over her mouth. — "Every time i went to Spotify, with that function to see the songs your friends were listening to, i saw Tom listening to Y/n's playlist and she listening to his playlist."

"No way!" — The interviewer joined.

"I swear!" — Rachel exclaimed; the only thing you did, seeing that you had no way to justify or defend yourself, was to put your hand over your mouth and Tom placed one of his hands on your thigh.

Rachel wasn't lying or exaggerating; since the beginning of the recordings along with the idea of playlists, there was no other playlist, not even the ones you created, that you listened to the most besides Tom's. — There were so many songs with the presence of the small and typical green heart. — At any time, anywhere, you listened to that playlist; like Tom did with you.

Tom would share photos, screenshots with your playlist or any of the songs included in it in the background for you. — Tom even listened to them while driving his motorcycle.

"I strongly consider it a love language." — The British accent echoed confidently throughout the decorated room, his hand was still on your thigh and now making a pleasant caress. — His eyes admired your radiant smile.

You hugged his clothed arm and rested his head, gently and gently, on his shoulder; a wave of comfort and protection entered your belly. — Quickly, Tom rested his head on your.

"Very romantic, very romantic." — You said, laughing softly and with red cheeks, a little embarrassed.

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus #snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus imagine #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes

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romanoffsbish · 6 months

Text

Worth the Wait

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request | Natasha loves it when you tease, well, unless there’s nothing she can do about it… | WC: 1,896

Warnings: Minimal plot | Injury / Stitches / Blood

Smut: Free Use Referenced | Unprotected Sex (Natasha has a penis)| Breeding | Squirting | Cockwarming (KO)

18+ | Minors DNI

“Oh my god!” You shrieked as your bare midriff was pressed into the cold marble of your kitchen counter by small, callous hands; Natasha filled the gap between your bodies, and you could feel her pulsing through her boxers. “You make me so fucking hard detka,” she rasped breathlessly as she firmed her body into yours, her warm lips trailed over your cold shoulder.

Natasha loved moments like these the most, when your body gave into her touch as if it was your haven. She could feel you warming up, and pressing into her, it was a dream come true, if only not for the knock.

——

“Romanoff, we have a mission, wheels up in ten,” Tony called from behind the door, having learned his lesson from the time before. The image still haunts his mind.

You smirked at her through the glass of your kitchen window, ten seconds ago you were going to give it all to her, but now you were going to tease her. It was a promise that your face made as you twirled in her hold and kissed her lips with feigned innocence. Your deviance shown in the way you cupped her hard-on and stroked her firmly, but only for a few times.

“Behave,” you warned when you felt her kiss you with more urgency. “Y/N, we have enough time, please.”

You leaned back, removing your lips midway through the kiss and she nearly growled at your interference. “Y/N, I swear to god, if you make me go without.”

“What?” You provoked her, “What is it they’ll do?”

Natasha backed down when she saw the promise of a month in your eyes. It was a shifty illusion, deep down she knew that but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

“I’m sorry love, I just, I get so riled up when you look this delectable,” her hands softly groped your thinly veiled breasts and your gasped air brushed across her face. “Please don’t make me wait, I need you so badly.”

“No,” you affirmed, “You need to be in tip top shape baby, and fucking me beforehand will weaken your stamina. I need you back alive and well.” The redhead was two seconds from being all over you, but she saw the genuine worry in your heart through your eyes.

“When I’m home?” You grinned, and winked. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” she conceded against your lips as she pecked them. “I’d wait forever for just the promise of eventually, I love you.” You smiled like an idiot then gently pecked her lips in return. “I love you too baby.”

You had no intention on holding out, and you also knew Natasha wouldn’t wait anyways, even if her words were sickeningly sweet. The concept of no was (consensually) removed from your dynamic, she’d never cease to wear you down into the perfect place to warm her cock and you’d pant just like a bitch in heat, needy and open. Natasha left with a knowing smirk.

Hours spent worried and horny went by in a flash. In the midst of cleaning the already spotless loft up you’d stopped to take a shower, preparing yourself for the climax of your day. After getting dressed in her favorite crotchless set you took a quick set of photos. Each one was blurry in their own right, but she could see your glistening folds between your white laced, thick thighs.

Her eyes darkened with lust, fueled mostly by fresh hot anger as she caught Wanda’s eyes widening. The way her cheeks flushed red and her throat cleared it was obvious she was having thoughts about your body. It was a direct oversight on her end, but she’d blame you.

Had you not made her leave so desperate, she never would have opened the attachment without looking around first. Wanda had already made her way to the other end of the jet, preserving her peaceful trip and trying to restore her prior indifference to your body.

The redhead stormed off the jet and headed straight for your bedroom. Opting to take the stairs in hopes of being too ahead of the nervous super soldier who was fresh on her tail with an idea for what was happening.

You two were the compounds resident horndogs as Tony drunkenly deemed you both one night. The rest of the team had cheered and you were embarrassed. Yet it never stopped you two from fucking like bunnies. Nothing would ever get in her way from having you.

So Natasha wasn’t exactly having it as Steve shouted at her, the man was only urging her to get her shoulder fixed up, but she was in far worse pain elsewhere. The man truly didn’t deserve to be tossed into a wall as if he were the size of a toddler to the woman who stood a foot below him, but he was interfering with her needs.

His pride was wounded and her shoulder throbbed, but it was satisfactory when she was able to walk away without another word from the super soldier. You had heard the commotion bleed into eery silence aside from firm footsteps. The spy’s step a calculated warning, you knew you were truly fucked; you hoped.

The redhead slammed your door faster than your eyes could register it had even opened. Your eyes fell to her shoulder and her heart considerably warmed at the way your lip trembled with concern. She caught it with her teeth as she pressed you into the counter, again.

You gasped at the way the lace tickled your back, it was relatively feather light but it made your body shiver. Her tongue greeted yours in the same breath and you were gone, mind melting into a state of obliviousness. Which is why you gripped onto her shoulders, blood gushed around your thumb and you both cried. The redhead sucked in a sharp breath containing her rage, you were already in the dog house for her festering jealousy, she wouldn’t blame you for her injury too.

“Get the first aid kit,” she groaned, pulling away with a scowl as she felt anger at the unfair loss of your touch. You were quick to appease her, after washing your hands you were back with the white tin in hand.

You nearly stumbled forward, knees clanking as you barely caught yourself at the sight of your bruised lover. The wounded warrior’s look always turned you on the most, knowing she’d left to protect you, and returned with a need for your safe touch after was hot.

Natasha had stripped down to nothing, showcasing the new bruises you’d have to watch fade from black and blue to yellow and green in a days time. You were always grateful to her bodies advanced healing, but to know she was ever in pain hurt you all the same. She saw your concern, even appreciated it, but she wasn’t going to waste the lust in your eyes over the softness.

“I’ll g-go get some anesthetic from Cho,” you gulped and the redhead smirked, then her tongue clicked as her finger curled, urging you forward. “No, you won’t.”

“B-but,” you stuttered, needy eyes avoiding hers with the hope of being able to fix her up first, but her hand wrapped around your wrist and your body lurched forward until your pussy was nearly hovering her head. Her hand pulled the first aid kit from your own, and quickly laid out what you’d need on the bedside table.

Then she brought your hand down to her throbbing tip, letting you feel her desperation before she helped you to guide it to your entrance. “The only anesthesia I need is your warmth choking my cock detka, so take a seat and offer mommy some well earned relief.” Your hand squeezed over hers firmly, then it slipped off so that you could hold onto her good shoulder as you slid down, both of her hands gripped at your hips as the pleasure wrapped around her roughed up frame.

“Ride me,” she whispered hotly against your throat, you gulped against her lips, walls clenching at the thought, but for a minute you killed the mood with a hard refusal. “Let me clean you first, just a moment.”

Natasha huffed, but shut up quick as your teeth nipped at her bottom lip. Then as your warm rag rushed over her shoulder you offered her your tongue to pacify her, you felt her raspy cries with every brush or clench.

Once finished cleaning and weakly numbing the wound with some cream you found, you pecked her lips then began to stitch her up. After a few moments you found a synchronic way to tend to her every need. With each dip of the needle that was reconnecting her skin you’d rise up, then drop back down as you pulled the thread tight. Hips connecting with each finished stitch, and you finished in sync as well, the redhead nearly burst them back open as her load shot into you without more than a twitch in warning. Then yours gushed, flushing the combination down into her lap.

Natasha’s head was leaned back as she relished in her high, dick still pulsing as you sloppily applied the salve and bandage to her shoulder. Just as you finished she was back on you, her lips crashing into yours as your body melded into the plush mattress. “I’m going to make you regret making me wait detka, might finally fill you up enough to start our family. Gotta claim your womb before anyone else can try to steal it from me.”

“What?” Natasha saw your confusion but she didn’t reply with any context, just a reminder, “You’re mine.” Her teeth sunk into your shoulder, giving you a little taste of her paralleled wound as she marked you. It only made you wetter seeing her so desperate to claim you that she forgot about her ring sat on your finger.

Your wife smirked against your skin as she felt you suck her cock in even further. Your ass now sticky as your arousal oozed out of you, her green eyes found yours and you felt your breath disappear. “I hope you remember your safe words,” she winked and you were gone. “Oh shit…” There was no hope left for you now.

There were two words you called out during sex that indicated an encroaching limit. “Stop,” was a clear word, but it wasn’t transparent as this was what you called when you wanted her to push you a bit more. It was a feigned safe word, as she sped up her attempts each time. Tears streamed down your face as she pressed a bullet to your abused clit, you gasped as your back arched before it collapsed back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” is what you usually muttered when it was time for her to give you a break, but your conscious slipped just before she could hear you cry it out. In the end she chose to fall into your body, more than happy knowing that she made you squirt. She decidedly left her cock inside of you to lessen the chance of her seed oozing out. Her consciousness slipped, but in the back of her mind she dreamed that you’d wake up wanting more.

You were sure to be parents come next holiday season.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x female reader #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha x fem!reader

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gatheringbones · 6 months

Text

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

#tristan taormino #bi literature #gender stuff #femme #currently reading #terra preta

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carolmunson · 8 months

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the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)

this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head. needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it. tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.

You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.

'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week. But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.

'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'

You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.

He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.

"Hi baby," you say sweetly.

"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.

"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."

"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.

"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.

"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"

You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."

You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.

You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.

You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.

"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"

He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.

"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"

You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.

"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.

"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.

His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.

"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.

"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."

'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!' It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded? You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.

With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.

Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.

With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.

“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”

His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.” You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips. You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core. "Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt. "Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"

"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.

"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"

You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations. "Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress. "Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out. "No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.

"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"

You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.

"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"

You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.

"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.

"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.

"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool. "Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."

You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.

Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.

"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."

Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."

"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words. "You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.

"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish. "Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?" "Turn it on, please," you whisper. "Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips. "Please what?" he asks again. "Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on." "Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."

He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit. "Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there." "That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"

"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him. You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.

"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."

"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good." He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.

"You'll be so good?"

"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way. "Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck." "That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids. "Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood. "You're very nice," you whisper against his lips. "Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease. Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort. "Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."

A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes. "Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could. "Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."

He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.

"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."

He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.

#eddie munson smut #dom!eddie munson #daddydom!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader

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sprout-fics · 2 months

Text

Silver Fox

(Nikolai x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (MDNI) Wordcount: 5k Tags: Character study, Age gap, Light Dom/Sub, Fluff, Slowburn, Smut, Dominant Nikolai, Soft Nikolai, Aftercare, Orgasm delay/denial, Light BDSM dynamics, Cuddling, Corruption kink, Brat Taming, Overstimulation, Dirty talk in Russian, Power dynamics, A dose of manipulation but everything is consensual Warnings: Brief mention of capture and torture A/N: This is my first and most likely not my last attempt to write for Nikolai. I really like this dynamic and welcome requests for more

When Nik first meets you, you try to rob him.

You’d been younger then. Wilder, scared of a world you struggled to survive in. With hardly a roof over your head, always an empty belly, chased by ghosts of a past you struggled to leave behind. You were desperate, constantly looking for a way out, clawing and scrambling at the stone alleyways in hopes you could one day see the sky.

He finds you like that- as a dirty, fierce little stray. In a grimy jacket, eyes wild, dirt smeared across your face, you hold up a knife to him and demand his wallet. Stupid, you know, but shivering, scared of the world that was destined to eat you alive, choosing a target far bigger than yourself.

Cute, he’d admitted later.

It takes little effort from him to twist the knife from your hand, examining it as you froze in a shock that only seems to multiply when he asks you if you want a warm meal. The offer is too tempting to ignore to your growling stomach, but in reality it’s the barest hint of softness behind his eyes that has you follow him like a kicked stray out of the cold.

Little did you know, behind that softness lay his own hunger. A deep, prowling thing that circled you beyond your sight.

He takes you to a quiet little eatery, out of the way, only three tables in what amounted to a shed. One of his favorites, he tells you with a smirk. The cook gives you both a look, suspicious of the man who had escorted in a woman much younger than him, dirty and nervous as you are. Nik lets you order, smirking still as you nervously pick something small, cheap, and he instead orders something large and warm for you. He watches you scarf down the entirety of your meal, gazing at him suspiciously all the while. He’s quiet- appraising you later realized.

You know of men like him. Gangsters, thugs, men who work alongside the mafia or even worse. Men from the underbelly of Russian society who walk in plainclothes and hold dark secrets. You know the danger of accepting favors from men like him. Be it your body, your servitude, or a debt paid in blood, men like those you feared would come to collect in due course, would bleed you dry and leave you ruined given the chance. The only charity they offered served their own interests, the cause they flew their flag for.

It became clear as time grew that Nikolai was not much different, that he had taken one look at you and had seen the thing you never saw in yourself:

Potential.

In the end he tells you if you ever need work to come find him, and find him you do.

You’d been foolish, you think back, if only because you’d been so young, naive without the lessons he would soon teach you.

It’s simple things at first. Taking packages and dropping them off at seemingly random locations, picking up things from shady characters who’d let their eyes rake down your form. In exchange Nikolai offers you a warm place to sleep, a roof over your head, hot meals and shelter from the ghosts that chase you. Distant, professional, but there all the same. Steadfast, waiting for your skittishness to shed itself before he comes closer. Waiting. Expectant.

Curious, you’d watch as he tinkers on his helicopter, cleans his cache of weapons, fixes the aging appliances in his house outside Saratov where the remains of the Soviet legacy lay etched between the old manors of the дворянство.

You observe, quiet at a distance, and ask him about the life he led, to which he was vague.

“I fix things.” He tells you simply, snapping a cartridge back into place with practiced efficiency.

You wondered then, if he was trying to fix you too.

He welcomes your interests in his work, skittish though you are, ready to dart back to a safe distance at a moment’s notice. You peer over his shoulder as he works at his tool bench in the hangar, assist him as he tightens screws on his helicopter, pass him ingredients as he cooks dinner for you both on his stove. Rather than answer any questions you pose, Nik elects to show you himself, putting his hands over yours and allowing them to guide you with ease in his tasks.

His protege, he introduces you as to those that ask. The younger woman he had taken under his tutelage. You’d almost resented it at the time, still suspicious, ready to flee at the first instance of betrayal. Yet inside you knew it was too late. In the same way that wolves became dogs, you found yourself near the fire of him, resting your weary bones as he offered you a place to stay.

Even if he held a leash behind his back.

Nik is careful, stern as a teacher but tender as a friend. In moments of learning his voice is whip-sharp to correct any mistakes, but in the quiet evenings he is almost soft, blunted at the edges in a way that betrays his indulgence in you. Each time he gets close, you try to ignore the way his touch lingers, holding back, greedy but restrained as your heart flutters inside your chest. Purposeful, careful not to spook you lest it ruin the things he’s predestined for you.

You try not to miss him when he leaves you behind for work, reminding yourself this is only temporary, to not let your guard down lest he burn you. He will someday stop having a use for you, and you will once again walk into the wild seeking shelter under a different name.

When he returns, you try to ignore the relief that bubbles inside your chest, the desperate hunger of a lonely thing looking for warmth.

You don’t see the glittering silver collar he envisions in his mind.

The teaching moments are constant. It’s not long before Nikolai begins taking you on assignments rather than leaving you at the house alone. You become familiar with the inside of the chopper, and learn to doze in the co-pilot seat when you are allowed. You help him catalog his ammo and supplies, listen over your headset as he explains piloting to you. In meetings with suppliers and clients he tells you quietly to stay inside the chopper behind him, and you peek out to see the eyes of his ‘friends’ flicking towards you. Curious, even as Nik stood as a stalwart wall between you and them.

In the passenger seat of his truck you learn to carefully balance his chosen rifle on your lap, feeling the stiffness ease from your shoulders as he lays a heavy hand across your nape. On long drives he stops at sunset to admire the view, and you hover close to his side as he smokes long drags of cigars. When he encourages you to try you cough on the smoke, and he thumps you between your back gently, chuckling even when you shoot him a glare. The next morning finds you somewhere new, and the lessons resume.

All the while his careful guidance reminds you to keep your eyes up, to stay alert, focused, to heed his warnings and obey his orders when given.

Nik is an endless wealth of knowledge when it comes to his profession. He’s deliberate in the things he teaches you: how to calculate the distance of a target 100 meters away, what the warning lights on the helicopter console meant, how to handle the kickback of a machine gun, where the major organs of the body were located and how to slice them open in deadly fashion. You take to the lessons easily as predators take to the snap of bone between jaws, and can’t help but preen with every accomplishment, every feat you manage to show him.

“Good girl.” He offers when you finish the task assigned to you, noticing the way you stiffen, a shiver racing down your spine at the praise. Testing the waters, quietly moving goalposts in his mind as he maps your future before you.

When you fell ill during that first winter he nurses you, sits your sluggish form up in bed against his chest and watches as you finish what little food you could stomach. When you insist on drinking with him one evening, pass beyond your tolerance, he smooths a hand over your back as you bend over the toilet bowl and whispers soothing reassurances in your ear. When you cut your palm on the edge of a tool bench in his helicopter hangar he lets you squeeze his hand as he pours alcohol over the gash, reminding you the wound would make you stronger. When you take a swig of the vodka to settle your nerves after your first mission with him he hums happily, murmuring an ounce of praise that settles low in your veins like warm liquor.

You let him, suspicious though you are, so desperate for a place to belong, to be taken care of, to have somewhere in which to shelter the storm. Nikolai is your mentor, yes, but more than that Nik shapes himself into your ally, into someone you can turn to, to a man you look to and seek praise from like turning your face to the sun.

Teaching you to eat from the palm of his hand.

You trail behind him at a distance, eyes softening and heart weary, seeking a soft place in which to rest itself. Nikolai is not a soft man, you remind yourself. Tender as he can be, his true heart remains a shadowed thing like all the men and women he keeps close. Even so you cling fast to that same shadow, hovering at his side as he makes a place for you there.

He’d plucked you from the wilds, had taken you like a starved, injured, feral animal into his care. You’d growled and snapped at him, unsure, suspicious of the twinkle behind his eyes that betrayed intentions you couldn’t quite discern. It was as if he knew the things you were capable of before even you could see them, the way he shaped you slowly under his care.

You stay there when he introduces you to his allies, to Price who looks at your skittish, suspicious nature and to Nik with a disapproving but knowing stare. You hear the meaning to it later as you creep downstairs to listen to them smoke outside.

“I won’t say anything.” Price tells him gruffly. “God knows I have my own vices. Just don’t ruin her, Nik.”

Nikolai takes a long, purposeful pause as he considers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, captain.”

Price chuffs, but comments no further.

Slowly, Nik begins to move closer to you, getting you used to his touch. It seems incidental at first. Squeezing too close behind you in the kitchen and offering a chuckling apology as you feel his hips press against your spine; leaning over you to inspect your work, rubbing a hand between your shoulders after a hard day and relishing the tiniest little sigh you offer in return.

In his teachings he is deliberate, gauging your progress under a keen eye, offering life lessons just as he purrs little doses of praise at your progress. He knows you wouldn’t leave now, you’ve become too accustomed to a life under his care. So slowly, Nik begins to test the boundaries of your trust in him, pushing a little farther each time and leaving you dizzy in the wake of him.

In the hot days of summer he works with his shirt off, the broad span of his back glistening with sweat. You tell yourself it is just the warmth of the sun that lays upon your cheeks, but even then you find your eyes straying, catching his own knowing gaze at a distance. Teasing, waiting, expectant.

“Smells good.” He hums over your shoulder as you made breakfast one morning, bacon simmering in the pan. “You’d make a good wife.”

When you feel heat rise to your face, stammering and scandalized, Nik only laughs.

“Шучу.” He grins. “Just kidding.”

It doesn’t seem to be that much of a joke, not with the way Nik is so comfortable around you these days, easing into your personal space just enough to make your heart race, dangerous thoughts of the ‘what if?’ lingering even after he’s pulled away.

On longer jobs he puts a cot in the back of the chopper to sleep on. Normally he likes to sleep in the pilot seat- vigilant and ready to take off at the slightest hint of trouble. Yet sometimes he complains about his aging back and squeezes in behind you, tucking you against the wall and arranging you so you both share what little space there is. You can’t really find it in yourself to complain, taking in the warm, musky scent of his and letting it lull you into dreams.

Slowly, you come to him. You ease into his touch, to the way his hand rubs across your shoulders in greeting, the way he holds your hand as you stiffened during client negotiations. In the evenings he sometimes watches terrible knock-off action movies, rolls his eyes at the impossible stunts as you nod off on his shoulder. Comfortable, you curl into him- seeking the place you belonged, and Nik quietly smiles at the wild creature that has made a home in his heart.

On the odd stretches of time where there are few assignments to follow through from his strange clientele, Nik takes you on his version of a holiday. He brings you to places you’ve never been, restaurants in cities you didn’t know existed.

“Try this.” He tells you in that smirk of his, lifting an oyster from the Caspian Sea to your lips, loaded with butter and spices. You make a face as you swallow, lips closing around his fingers, and don’t notice the way Nik’s eyes flick to the bob of your throat, distracted. “Good girl.”

The praise sends a shiver up your spine, alighting inside you with the need to please him- this man who has taken you in, sheltered you, is teaching you everything he knows.

You don’t realize the danger you’re in when you realize you’ve gotten too comfortable.

It’s a sunny Wednesday morning when you’re taken.

Being the pretty, feral thing at Nik’s side comes with a fair bit of attention. People begin to notice the beautiful vixen at his side. Whispers of your skills echo in the halls of underground bunkers and private airliners. Nik is known to work alone, so to see you with him as his protege, his partner, his co-pilot that he trusts as much as he mentors, means that you’re a target.

You pop out for groceries on his old Soviet era moped, having pestered Nikolai for pirozhkis for dinner- to which he told you only if you fetched the ingredients yourself. You ignore the small gaggle of men smoking near the corner store, common as they were in your neighborhood. It’s only when you come out with your arms full that they spring on you.

Your head cracks against a stone wall. The world goes dark.

When you come to, you’re somewhere you don’t recognize. barely lucid, head pounding, they try and ask you questions about him you can’t answer. There’s things Nik keeps secret from you for your own safety, and the things they want to know are among them. The blows come, knock you from your chair, and you’re left alone in the cellar, trying to understand how the nightmare you dreaded before you met him could have come true after all.

The difference is- now they’ve made a mistake. They took you after he’d taught you how to survive.

The men who took you are stupid. They underestimate you, tying the ropes too loose for your frame. You manage to get your hands free first as Nik has taught you, then your feet. In the corner of the cellar a sliver of light peeks through broken slats, and despite your battered limbs and bruised hands, you peel the plank off quietly so it reveals the underbelly of the house. Like digging a den, you crawl your way into the earth, beyond the foundation, and stumble into the night before your captors even decide to check on you.

Escaping the snare, as wild things do.

It’s early in the morning when you manage to stumble to the back gate of the house. You trip over a loose rock in the soil, collapse in a heap of bruised limbs and fatigue just beyond the back step. The door swings open, and you close your eyes before you can see the sight of Nikolai with a rifle in his hands, ready to fend off intruders.

“лисёнок.” He murmurs hoarsely as he gathers you in his arms, cooing his name for you as you whimper into his chest. Injured, broken, limping back to him. Only him. “What did they do to you?”

You don’t tell him, too exhausted to form words, slumping against him and letting the crash of adrenaline pull you blissfully under.

When you wake up, you’re in his bed. Bandaged, tucked in tightly. He’s washing blood off his hands in the sink.

You don’t realize until later it isn’t yours.

You never ask him what he did to those men while you were asleep, maiming them, killing them for the offense of hurting you, only to come home and haul your figure close to him with whispered reassurances that they’d never touch you again.

Things...change after that.

It wasn’t as if Nik wasn’t affectionate before- he was. Nik’s fondness of you was intertwined with his mentorship. Yet there was always a sort of distance involved. Teasing, playful, interested but careful not to push too far lest he spook you away too soon.

Now, as you cling to him in the aftermath of your capture, shiver and feel your bandaged fingers grip at his shirt, Nik is indulgent.

He lets you sniffle into his chest, rubs his hand along the knot of your spine and rumbles low, soothing words in Russian. He hauls you to him, calls you quiet pet names, cuddles you close and reminds you you’re safe.

In your recovery Nik spoils you, allows you to take all the time you need. You sleep until noon, a rare luxury under his tutelage, and find him cooking your favorite meals when you wake. When you call for him, he’s there, helping you ascend the stairs with your mending knee. He sets you on the couch in warm blankets so you watch movies of your choice until you doze off, to which he carries you upstairs and tucks you quietly, sweetly, back into bed.

All this and more, as Nikolai silently declares to himself that he is never letting you go.

When you recover, the gentleness doesn’t seem to stop. Yet with it comes a sternness, a demand to yield to his promise to care for you, to keep you safe. The hole of want inside you yawns open for him, looking to his care, his guidance, seeking ways to please him. You’re softer now, no less deadly, but the softness in the aftermath has you brushing against him, yearning for his embrace, which Nik offers readily.

With his nose buried in your hair, your arms wrapped around his waist, Nik smiles at the silver snare he’s circled around your throat.

and, silently, he begins to pull.

“Behave.” He tells you when you snarl at a supplier who tries to upcharge him, and Nik lays a heavy hand on your nap that somehow feels like a warning. It settles low in your stomach, warm and liquid with a want you don’t understand yet but need all the same.

“That’s my girl.” He hisses as you stitch a gash on his arm after close contact when you were flying out of a hot zone. He takes another swig of his vodka and groans just as a drip of red oozes down your fingers. You shudder at the sound, feeling something pull taut below your belly, trying to echo the praise quietly in your thoughts.

“Pretty thing.” He smiles as he offers you one of his spare shirts on mission. You swore you had packed more, but the scent of him clings to your skin and it distracts you enough to not question it. You warm under his words, curl up beside him when he gestures. Obedient, wanting.

You think he’s gone from the chopper that night, tucked on the cot and sneaking a hand under your panties to rub idly at yourself- thinking of him. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, swaddled by a phantom of his warmth, and imagining what it would feel like to have his fingers inside you, stroking, coaxing wetness to trickle down the breadth of them. What would it be like, you wonder, for him to hold you like that, to whisper those filthy praises in your ear so you clench down on him?

Footsteps, boots on the metal grate, and a low chuckle.

You yank your hand free, but it’s too late.

“Don’t stop on my account, Дорогая.” He murmurs, and you back against the wall with a shuddering little gasp, skin on fire as Nikolai couches over you, ready to eat you whole. “I was only gone for a few minutes- did you miss me that much?”

The utter confidence in his voice, the knowledge that you were thinking of him, has wetness ooze between your thighs as you try to find your voice. It’s no use, because Nik swoops down against your lips, humming in satisfaction as you ease against him with a little whine, slowly reaching for him until you drag him down onto the cot with you. Surrendering at last.

Hours later, his seed dripping between your thighs, you doze on his chest while he smokes. Exhausted, entirely worn out from the number of orgasms he’s wrung from you, lulled to sleep by his calming heartbeat under your ear.

It’s the first night of many. Like a dam collapsed, Nik releases the full tidal wave of his desire onto you, never missing a chance to haul you to him, to bend you over, to sit you on his cock as you groan and leak around the stretch of him inside you. You realize far too late just how much Nik has been holding back, his hunger for you as boundless as your desire to please him, to stay.

He has you there in the chopper on the cot that can barely hold the weight of his thrusts, back in his bedroom where you collapse face first into the pillows. He eats you out slow and luxurious with you balanced on the kitchen counter, has you brace on his tool bench as he drapes himself against your spine and ruts into you from behind.

“Taking me so well, little fox.” He purrs in your ear, nimble fingers working at your clit as you hiccup and mewl for it. “So tight. Made for my cock, hm? Твоё тело сводит меня с ума. Fuck.”

Nik is an unstoppable force, with stamina you struggle to match. He keeps you in his bed as long as he is able, staving off his orgasm if only to prolong yours, trying to draw as many as he can from you even when your hand smacks at the headboard, trying to tap out.

“Just one more.” He growls as he tries to fuck you through the mattress, glued to your back so the heat of his frame, the swell of his cock inside you is the only thing you can feel. You’re teary eyed, gasping, the lewd squeal as he thrusts into you filling the quiet of the bedroom. Your eyes roll back just as he nails that perfect bundle of serves inside you, voice caught on a choked sort of whimper. “Just one more and then we can take a break, darling.”

You sprawl against the sheets, exhausted as he lounges bare by the window, a whisp of smoke curling from his cigarette before returning to you once more, spooning you and slipping back inside the sloppy mess of your well-used cunt.

“Good girl.” He tells you again when you moan breathlessly, hand cupping your jaw and turning you to him so he can kiss the gasp from your parted lips. You clench down on him at the words, and he hisses a sound of pleasure against the corner of your mouth. “All mine. My girl.”

“Yours.” You whisper hoarsely, as if there were any other answer.

In the come-down he gathers you to him, kisses the tears of overwhelm from your eyes and holds you as you shiver in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling worn to the bone in only the best of ways. Cum splatters the inside of your thighs, and Nik idly scoops it onto his fingers and back inside, purring endearments between presses of his lips to your face.

Comforting, gentle when you need it, but demanding, forcing you to surpass beyond what you think yourself capable of if only to see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. When you fail, deliverance is swift as it’s always been, but now it’s different.

“I told you no touching.” He growls, forcing you to look at him as his thumb circles roughly over your clit. He’d caught you masturbating in your room, thinking the house was empty, that he wouldn’t catch you. “You want to touch yourself, you come to me, sweet thing. I’ll take care of you, I always do, don’t I?”

“Yes, yes-” You pant, bucking your hips, desperate, aching without the fullness of him, but Nik pulls away. “Wait. P-please-”

“Need to learn your lesson, little fox.” He soothes, pressing a kiss into your hair even as you whine, trying to buck up and grind against him in a vain search for friction. “Make sure it sticks, Да?”

Yet even as you obey, keep your hands to yourself just as you promised, Nik delights in working you up and pulling away at the last minute. He corners you, slips his hand beneath your waistband and soaks his fingers in your leaking cunt until you moan and mewl for him, then withdraws if only to smirk and suck the taste from them. For days he teases you, edges you until a hiccup threatens in your throat, makes sure you’ve learned your lesson that you are his, and then pulls away to let the reminder sink in. You can’t stand it, go mad with need, find yourself close to humping his knee if only to get some sort of relief.

When he finally does let you come days later, you howl into his flesh, biting down into his skin until he shudders, groans against you and spills inside your clenching cunt.

“My sweet girl.” He murmurs, stroking your face as he cuddles you afterwards. “Я не могу без тебя жить.”

You smile, nuzzle into the warmth of him, knowing he has you, he always will. You can’t forget, not with the things he growls against you as he makes love to you, reminding you that you belong to him. Soft in his room, you lay with him, fold into him as a beacon of safety and trust, know that he will never hurt you, will keep you safe, that this will always be your home.

In front of others you’re his partner, his accomplice, the apprentice he found like a diamond in the rough and had polished into a perfect blade. Deadly, clever, keen-eyed and watchful of all threats. Nik tells Price you don’t play well with others when Price tries to introduce his own protege, and when Gaz offers his hand in greeting you make no motion to return it until Nik grazes a thumb against the side of your throat as if tugging an invisible collar there.

“Careful.” He warns the sergeant. “She bites.”

In private he calls you all his endearments in purring Russian. Ангел, Прелесть, Огонёк. Angel, precious, little fire, the object of his desire. You're his girl, his sweet, fierce little sweetheart, the thing he taught to eat out of the palm of his hand while keeping your wild, dangerous nature.

You're his only family, his beloved little fox he managed to domesticate, the thing that still will bite him given the chance, but likes to curl up in his lap and yawn like a housecat. You're his obsession, his partner, his apprentice. If anything else, you're his weakness.

“Я тебя никому не отдам.” He swears to you, voice a low, deep rumble as he strokes your face, feeling your sleeping breaths fan across his palm.

“I will never give you to someone else.”

You dream of the first day you met him. Feral, scared, hungry and starved and inside- looking so desperately for somewhere safe to call home.

Now, years later, you know. Generous though Nik was, it was this that he had hoped for in the beginning- with you as his partner, his protege, but at the end of the day sleeping in his bed, worn and exhausted from the effects of his desire. Dangerous, feral, useful, but in the end tamed just as he’d envisioned.

And you, younger than him by years and foolish as you were, had gone blindly into the snare.

Nik had never given you any reason to regret it.

Russian Translations (Native Russian speakers feel free to leave a comment of correction)

Дворянство - Russian nobility

Шучу - I’m joking

Лисёнок. - Little fox

Дорогая - Darling

Твоё тело сводит меня с ума - Your body drives me crazy

Да - Yes

Я не могу без тебя жить - I can’t live without you

#nikolai x reader #cod x reader #cod nikolai x reader #nikolai x you #call of duty modern warfare 3 #my writing #my fic #x reader

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everyonewooeverywhere · 1 month

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MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ sub-ish!mingi x soft dom-ish!f!reader

synopsis ✭ Mingi really likes your boobs. So much so that he's willing to skip work for them.

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI, fluff (warnings below the cut)

word count ✭ 1.3k

note ✭ this just came out of me on a whim. like, yeah, i've been thinking about mingi being a boob guy forever, but this one just kind of fell out of me and into a word document in the middle of the night 🙂 anyway have fun boos

also the dom/sub dynamic isn't super prominent, but i thought i'd put it in there

AND nothing was proofread, so if you see a typo...no you didn't. don't tell me about it 😭

warnings ✭ unprotected sex, fingering, breast-play (obviously), pet names (baby-mingi, angel-mc)

✭✭✭✭

Song Mingi loves boobs. He really does. He loves how soft they are. He loves how well they fit in his hands. He loves absolutely everything about them.

Of course, your boobs are his favorite. And it is no secret to you that he loves your chest. Maybe you picked up a couple hints from the way he oogles at the lowcut tops you wear sometimes. Or maybe its the way he grabs and holds them any chance he gets that gave you an inkling.

The biggest, most obvious tell, though, is how he can never remove his face from them. Ever. When you’re watching a movie on the couch, he’s laying on top of your chest while you play with his hair. When he’s fucking you relentlessly, he keeps his lips attached to your tits, occasionally biting and bruising them.

And even now, as the sun slowly starts to light up your bedroom, his face is burrowed in your chest. Only the thin cotton t-shirt you’re wearing separates his face from your skin. You’re both laying on your sides, facing each other. Your leg tucked securely between his arm and his waist.

As per usual, you wake before him, gazing down as his pretty face pressed against your chest. In the low, orange light of your bedroom, you could see the outlines of his face. The flutter of his eyelashes. The way his lips were parted ever so slightly as he slept so peacefully. His soft snores and the sound of your ceiling fan overhead were the only noises in the room.

You brushed through his hair with your fingers, softly scratching his scalp and kissing the top of his head. You loved to watch him sleep. The softness of his features and his relaxed disposition just made you feel so at home. And being able to coddle him just made everything so worthwhile.

After several uninterrupted minutes of you playing with his hair, Mingi begins to shift around in his sleep. You kiss the top of his head again as he wakes up. He only nuzzles deeper into your chest.

“Mingi, baby, you have to get up soon,” you whisper, bruising his hair back to look at his eyes which are still closed with his brows furrowed in protest.

He shook his head and groaned, “What time is it?”

“It’s already seven. You have to leave soon.”

“Fuck that. I’m not going anywhere.” You’re somewhat aware of his hand creeping up your shirt.

You hummed, “Baby, I know you want to stay in bed, but you told the guys you’d be on time today. And you’ve been late every single day this week.”

He didn’t say anything, instead, he creeped his hand even further up your shirt until he reached your breast. “Mingi.” You warned as he held it in his hand, softly pinching your nipple between his fingers, He finally opened his eyes and looked up at you with his big brown eyes.

“Angel, let me stay with you this morning. It’s okay if I’m a little late. I just wanna stay with you for a little bit.”

“Mingi,” you scolded, failing, though, to keep down the moan that bubbled out of you when he rolled your nipple under his thumb, “You cannot distract me with sex every time you don’t wanna get out of bed.”

“Don’t think of it as distracting you,” he pulled your shirt up even further, and you let him pull in over your head, “I just wanna make my girl feel good.” He took your nipple into his mouth.

Your grip on his hair tightened as you sighed at the feeling of his tongue playing with you as his hand held your other breast between his fingers. He groaned as you pulled his hair.

His other hand teased the waistband of your panties, snapping the elastic against your skin. Slowly, he pulled the garment down your legs, and you helped him to kick it off. His free hand ventured between your thighs.

“Oh fuck baby,” you groaned as he ran is fingers through your folds.

He pressed two fingers against your hole, “Fuck angel, you’re so warm.” He sighed as he sunk them into you, causing you to tighten your grip on his hair.

He continued to explore your chest with his mouth. Playing with your nipples and biting the skin around them. He lazily played your clit with us thumb as he fucked you fingers into you. God you were so beautiful he couldn’t take it. From your pretty pussy, to your beautiful face. And god your tits. You smelt so good, too, that all he could do was breathe you in.

You felt so relaxed as he played with you. The morning drowsiness wore off only to be replaced by the blissful mess of your pretty boyfriend getting off to making you feel good.

It was beyond obvious that he was enjoying this. Partially from the way he enthusiastically pleasured you. But you could also feel how hard he was getting against your thigh. You teased him a bit by pressing your thigh into his length. He whined.

“Oh baby. Let me help you,” you pulled away from him, much to his dismay. He pouted, “Don’t give me that face baby. I’ll make you feel good I promise.”

You told him to sit against the headboard after stripping him down completely. You took that opportunity to crawl over him, softly holding his length in your hand, pumping it just enough for him to squirm just a bit. Chuckling, you leaned in to kiss him softly, “Can I ride you baby?” You whispered against his lips.

He nodded with begging eyes, “Please, angel.”

You positioned yourself over him, rubbing his length along your folds. He let out a moan as you sunk down onto him, his voice cracking.

His head fell back as you started to bounce up and down on him. As his head spun when he felt you tighten around him as you moved your hand down to play with your clit. It was only a couple seconds, though, before his face was back in your chest. Kissing and biting your breasts as you fucked yourself put on his cock.

He relentlessly moaned into your chests, and you could he was getting close. His little cries were the biggest indication of how close he was. And he couldn’t help it. The combination of being buried deep in your pretty cunt and having your tits all in his face was a fucking wet dream (one he had had many times before).

“You close, baby?” You asked pulling his face out of your chest by his hair to look him in the eyes. He nodded with his jaw dropped open. “Yeah?”

“Please, angel, let me cum,” His voice was weak as he felt himself get lost, “Please I’ve been so good.”

“You wanna fill me up?” You asked, speeding up your pace. He frantically nodded, eyes rolling back in his head, “Ok baby, you can cum.” You let him finish, filling you up completely. You followed soon after with your own orgasm that made your legs weak as it washed over you.

When you pulled off of him, he was quick to return his hand to your cum filled pussy. He grabbed some of it on his fingers to smear it all over your chest, “You’re so pretty, angel.” He leaned back in to lick the cum off your tits. You giggled softly as his neediness.

“Thank you baby. How about we go hop in the shower? You have to get to work soon.”

He nodded and made his way to the shower. Surprised to absolutely no one, though, Mingi did not go to work that day.

#everyonewooeverywhere #mingi smut #mingi x reader #song mingi x reader #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #mingi imagines #song mingi imagines #song mingi #mingi #ateez #mingi fluff #song mingi fluff

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inbarfink · 2 months

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I think a lot about the Concept of ‘choices that matter’ in video games. Like, in terms of what it is that makes a choice ‘really matter’, what do we perceive as a choice that matters or has a consequence, how do different games with different amounts of branching or non-branching storylines play with those ideas… Especially because Undertale is one of my favorite games of all time, and it has often been hyped as ‘a game where your choices REALLY matter’ and… honestly, I dunno if all of this hype was fully conducive to Undertale. Because the way it handles the concept of Video Game Choices is actually a lot more interesting and complex than that simplistic descriptor makes it seem.

Because Undertale actually has a lot of choices that ‘don’t really matter’! Lots of dialogue choices and silly little decisions that on a first playthrough seem like they’re some sort of moral choice or a branching plotline but end up always leading to basically the same result regardless of what you do!

And the game doesn’t really try to hide the fact that these choices are kinda 'Fake'. I mean, on a first playthrough a player might assume there’s gonna be some Massive Consequences for picking the ‘wrong’ drink on Undyne’s date, but the game’s narrative expects for there to be multiple playthroughs and pretty much every Choice that Doesn’t Matter is peppered with that Undertale brand of wacky character-focused humor that inherently makes the moment memorable. Papyrus leading Undyne straight to you no matter what you do is basically a cross-timeline running gag.

On some level I see this as a sort of gag that serves as meta-commentary about the expectations around Choices That Matter in Video Games. As in, a lot of games have their Moral Choices happen in clearly easily marked ‘this is a Moral Choice!’ moments within the story, while the actual gameplay (and any violence the player might cause as part of said gameplay) is basically entirely divorced from any element of narrative-branching and doesn't effect the story at all. Undertale basically entirely inverts this dynamic; the most important factor for which Route you’re own is how you handle your FIGHTs, and what seems like clearly-marked and obvious Moral Choices are just goofy insubstantial minor changes in dialogue.

But also… there is also a level where you must ask yourself ‘what does it mean when we say that these choices Don’t Matter’. I mean, it’s not like they didn't change anything about the game, the Player still made the character say that other thing, the choice probably led to an alternate piece of dialogue, probably a joke with a call-back at the end of the game… The line between a one-off joke and an actual story-changing moment can be a little blurry if you look at it too deeply.

For example, near the end of the Waterfall part of the game, the Player is given the choice to save Monster Kid even at the risk of having to face down Undyne.

Pretty much anyone who isn’t deliberately trying to be an asshole is going to rush to save them and obviously that includes the Pacifist Route Players. But you can actually leave Monster Kid to die without it 'mattering' in the sense that it wouldn't divert you from the Pacifist Route. Undyne saves them instead of you, and ends up with slightly less HP for her battle (which might Matter for Runs when you try and FIGHT her but obviously not in Pacifist Runs) and… by the end of the game, during the extremely happy True Pacifist Ending, they still clearly remember that you abandoned them and are upset by it.

So… does saving Monster Kid ‘matter’ or not? On one hand, choosing not to save them mostly just changes a few lines of dialogue but… these lines of dialogue kinda recontextualize this happy ending and the Player’s actions in general. Despite the True Pacifist Ending otherwise portraying the Player/Frisk as a kind-hearted and brave hero... they still did this undeniably cowardly (and perhaps even cruel) act to one of their friends .

Was running away and leaving Monster Kid to die a brief but significant moment of weakness that the Player regrets and has cost them what could’ve been the start of a lovely friendship? Or is that simply that being a True Pacifist was always more of a matter of pragmatism rather than ideals? Were they only acting as a Pacifist to get that promised 'Best Ending', and only Monster Kid has an inkling they are not as heroic or kind as everyone thinks they are?

And then there’s the Snowman ‘quest’.

A free healing item given early in the game, with your mission being to carry it along in your inventory for as long as you can without ever consuming it. The only reward you will ever see from it is a few lines of dialogue…

But for many, it is more than enough of an incentive to preserve the Snowman’s Piece. You can do whatever you want with the Snowman without it ‘mattering’ in terms of Ending or consequences. You could carry it through all of your adventures with care and kindness... or you could eat it while he can’t see you and then go back to him and tell him that you ‘lost’ it and then get another piece and eat that as well, you could eat it right in front of his face, horrifying him.

And much like with Monster Kid, you can STILL get the True Pacifist Ending after doing that, all that would change is a few optional pieces of dialogue from the Snowman…

And a total recontextualization of the Player’s behavior and the ending. The Snowman sees the Player as a cruel and heartless person who is just pretending to be good so they can be liked - the way they acted with this immobile, powerless Snowman who could do nothing for them and their reputation reveals their true self. And he says their friends will realize that too one day...

Doing a True Reset on the Pacifist Ending is, by definition, a (almost) consequence-free action and yet it changes future Pacifist Routes immeasurably. Turning the Player into a Hypocrite doing the exact same thing they were trying to stop Flowey/Asriel from doing - trapping all of their friends into a time-loop so they can play with them forever while never actually letting them to enjoy freedom on the surface, simply because they are not willing to move on or put their friends' wishes and agency above their own. Nothing in the game actually changes, not one character can even suspect that you did something like that, and yet for the Player - this choice makes the entire Meaning of the game flip on its head.

Even the most famous and heavily-toted Big Consequence in the whole game - selling your soul to Chara after completing a Murder Route… mostly what it does is just… recontextualize the ending of the Game.

As a game, ‘Undertale’ is very much about the ways in which a Player engages with a game can radically recontextualize it. The huge chasm of difference between the Pacifist and Muder Routes is just the most literal example of it. But, in a way, even the tiny little Dialogue Options - where the lack of real choice and consequences is Obviously a Joke - matter. Because of the way they can recontextualize the Player Character’s behavior.

(Okay, maybe not this one, but hear me out…)

Do you trust Papyrus to not betray you, even after you spied on him with Undyne?

Do you have the integrity to admit you forgot something or got it wrong even when there’s no consequences for just lying about it?

Are you a hypocrite for trying to get Alphys to be truthful with Undyne only to then immediately turn around and lie to Undyne yourself?

None of these choices matter for the ending, some of them don’t even get, like, a call-back joke or anything, but… if you are engaged in this story as a narrative, if you are invested in these characters as if they were people, if you are honestly trying to be the best person you can be, if you are trying to self-reflect at the way you approach this game… even the silliest little dialogue option can suddenly be imbued with deep implications and you can make them matter.

Undertale is one of the best demonstrations of this concept, but this is absolutely not exclusive to it. For example….

‘Ace Attorney’ is pretty much as far away as you can get from a ‘branching narrative’ within the video game sphere. It is a heavily-linear Visual Novel where 70% of the time it won’t even let you talk to random characters at anything but the exact order it expects you to and any ‘Bad Endings’ are basically just glorified Game Over Screens. (... because this is the Internet and something something piss on the poor, I should probably specify that I am talking about ‘Ace Attorney’ because I love Ace Attorney and these are neutral descriptions of the game and not complaints. There’s nothing wrong with a game being linear.)

If there’s any Dialogue Choice in AA, it’s generally a very basic ‘right answer-wrong answer’ choice between Progress and a Penalty, or a total non-choice that just gets you to the same final result regardless. Except… Well… as we just talked about, getting to the same final result doesn’t necessarily mean a choice is ‘meaningless’, does it?

There’s actually a lot of great storytelling moments where Ace Attorney, despite its otherwise strict linearity, uses this exact sort of recontextualizing mindset I’ve talked about with Undertale to make choices with some really powerful emotional impact…. Even if technically, the ending is the same ending. It can be something as basic as ‘even if picking this Wrong Answer doesn’t get me a penalty, it still embarrassed my character and disappointed my friends/rivals and thus I feel bad for picking it’. Consequences as recontextualizing your character as more incompetent than they should’ve come across at that moment.

And then there’s moments like the iconic ending of ‘Justice for All’. That moment before Franziska bursts into the Courtroom with the case-making evidence and saves the day. The moment where it seems like Phoenix really is gonna have to pick between protecting his best friend and carrying out a rightful sentence.

The player gets to pick between the two options, but Phoenix never gets to say his choice out loud before Franziska comes running in... and yet… he, and the player, still made that choice. Even if no one ever has to experience the consequences of your choice, even if the rest of the world has no idea what Phoenix Wright would’ve chosen if the Miracle hadn’t happened, we know what we picked and that knowledge of the choice matters. Because of how we feel about this choice and what it says about our interpretation of Phoenix… and about us.

There’s also a bit of this ludonarrative device in ‘The Great Ace Attorney: Adventures’. During “The Adventures of the Runaway Room”, when you investigate the Omnibus for the second time and start finding things that… don’t quite fit together. When you’re finally starting to make progress with proving McGilded’s innocence, while also maybe starting to notice that something is… wrong with these pieces of evidence.

The unchanging linear narrative of the game is that Ryunosuke does eventually realizes McGilded's trickery, puts truth ahead of victory in court and yet, despite his effort and good intentions - the case still ends with a false Not Guilty verdict. And yet, the Player has the choice to... tweak the details.

There are several points where Ryunosuke can object, where he can call out the inconsistencies even though they help his case, where he can support Van Zieks in his accusations of tempered evidence... or he can not. Not necessarily intentionally misleading the Court as much as subconsciously trying to ignore the inconsistencies in the name of trusting his client.

And yet… in the end it doesn’t matter. Maybe Susato calls out the inconsistency instead of him, maybe Van Zieks does, maybe it remains uncontested but... no matter what you do, the case will end with a Not Guilty verdict (I mean, I guess you can deliberately fail the game but that will not progress the plot), McGilded doesn’t seem like he held a grudge (in the few minutes he had left to live), and a few cases later - Ryunosuke would always be punished for his part at this false verdict.

So it doesn’t really matter what Ryunosuke did back then? Does it matter if he did his best and called out every single inconsistencies or if he kinda half-assed it until he (and the Player) had to? He’s still going to suffer the same consequences down the line. And yet….

And yet, I think there’s something so powerful about giving us that option. About knowing that Ryunosuke, and we, did try and do something about McGilded's dirty tricks- even if it didn’t work. Or alternative, knowing that there was more that Ryunosuke and us could’ve done even if it was not nearly enough. Even if in the eyes of the game and the British Justice system there is no difference, the fact that we know what did and what we could’ve done can radically change the way the player feels about all of the later scenes concerning the truth about McGilded’s trial. It can radically change the way the player interpret Ryunosuke’s feelings about it as well.

Because even though the game itself keeps playing along with the same script regardless, that trial had irrevocable consequences for the Player.

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lady-lauren · 9 months

Text

Apotheosis

↬ Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader

↬ Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

↬ Word Count: 2.3k

↬ Warnings/Tags: breeding, talk of pregnancy, dacryphilia/tears, possessive actions, power dynamic/age gap, cum eating, excessive cum/creampie

↬ A/N: It’s been a while since I showed love to my favorite man 💕 Apotheosis: the highest point in the development of something; culmination or climax.

Tears are expected in Erwin’s world. Fat, emotional tears upon the loss of a comrade, tears of frustration at the end of a failed mission, cries of agony of a population ravaged by fear and unrest.

But he could drown in your tears, feast on them like waters from the heavens. You’re pretty when you cry, delicate and overwhelmed, all from him and him alone. His actions, his words, his pleasure and pain.

“Take it, darling, all of it.”

You’re barely undressed, tits spilling from the torn buttons of your uniform, leather straps of your gear pressing into the fat of your thighs as the fabric of your pants struggles at the spread of your legs.

“C-Commander, I, please, I—” nonsense, it’s all nonsense as he flattens you against his desk, cockhead spearing through the unprepared, yet dripping folds of your cunt.

It’s been weeks since he’s seen you. He has no patience left to spare.

Erwin breaches the first ring of muscle into your depths, hissing through his teeth as he feels your pussy suck around him.

He can’t even remember if he locked the door to his office before he pounced on you, his favorite little cadet.

“Good girl,” he coos, thumbs smoothing over your ass as he bullies his way inside of you. You choke below him, sucking in air at the intrusion.

It’s all too much, the burning spread of your cunt and the way he presses your aching breasts against the crumpled papers, fingertips mean and eager against your hips. But he adores when you get overwhelmed, gasping like you haven’t taken his cock countless times before.

“I’ve been thinking of you,” he grunts as he bottoms out inside of you, your ass slapping against his pelvic bone, belly quivering as his cockhead brushes against the most sensitive parts of you. “I’m going to cum inside of you, darling, fill you to the fucking brim with me.”

“Oh god,” you whine, wiggling against his hold as you come to terms with the full stretch of his length. His veins are throbbing inside of you, pulsing against your walls. He doesn’t give you the time you deserve to adjust, instead using your flesh like a toy and bouncing you back and forth on his cock.

“I–we–I-I can’t have…we shouldn’t…” you moan and writhe below him, asschecks bouncing with every sharp thrust.

The vision of you pledging your oath to the nation, to him, is crisp in his memory. Your fist over your chest, eyes gazing up at him from the second row of fresh cadets. He’d noticed your faith then, felt drawn to you like a moth racing toward a funeral pyre.

He’s let himself be consumed by your dark flames, let dreams of you belonging to him, only to him, fill waking thoughts.

“You don’t want my babies, darling? Is that it?”

The sound that drips from your throat is sinful, longing, like his words have speared through your heart and ripped tender emotions.

A heavy hand runs the length of your spine, stopping at the base of your neck to press you down harder, keeping you trapped below his strength.

“Y-yes, Erwin, I–fuck, but we can’t,” your tone lingers on your opposing declaration, brave but lost. You mean it, but you don’t.

Leaning forward, Erwin drops his lips to your ear, slowing his pace to a grind into your cunt.

“Your pussy is desperate for me, I can feel it—you want to milk my cock, want me to fill your insides with my cum.”

Your nails scrape at the wood in his desk, leaving lines in their wake. Your bodies are heady, sweat bleeding into cotton and leather straps catching against the press of his thighs to yours.

“Let me tell you what I think about, darling,” he whispers wickedly, hand slipping between the press of your stomach into the edge of his desk. He is brutal with the remainder of your shirt, ripping threads and snapping buttons as he claws his way to your skin.

“I think of you ripe with my child, my seed growing inside of this strong, perfect body. I imagine you glowing, flushed with hormones and proud at the mention that your child is mine. That I came in your body, took you, bred you.”

Perhaps he’s being purposely crass—he wants a reaction from you, wants to feel your emotions bubble over and spill at his feet.

“Oh fuck,” you squeak below him as he continues to press into you, his cock hot and angry, his weight heavy upon your back. “I want that, god fuck I want your babies, b-but it’s so…” your thoughts trail away as the mental image becomes too much to handle—you, pregnant and showing, growing the Commander’s child in your womb.

Erwin relents, pulling his aching cock from your cunt. He smooths his hands over your body, warm and affectionate, coddling you as he repositions to have you face him.

“It’s too much…” your voice is soft, eyes blinking away the treacherous emotions that have settled into your psyche.

“Look at me.”

He says your first name as he pets your cheek, the taste of the syllables like sin on his tongue.

“I want you,” he asserts, latching his lips to yours to prove his point, “more than you'll ever know, darling. You’re mine. You always have been.”

He plucked you away from the Military Police the moment he laid eyes on you; requested a direct transfer to have you working below him, for him. Then he got inside of you, felt every raw desire and built an unwavering trust. Every time he’s fucked you, he’s been discreet, kept you away from prying eyes. Now he wants all eyes on you, on him, on how he’s taken you.

Gently, he peels the tatters of your shirt from your breasts, placing hot, long licks along your nipples. You buck against him, brave hands tangling in his hair and pulling at the roots.

Taking his time with you almost feels foreign. Every fuck has been to satisfy the obession inside of him, a whirlwind of potent feelings and lust. Claiming you in the dark, a palm over your mouth, his fingers on your tongue and in your cunt.

Now he kneels before you, experienced hands unbuckling the worn scout leathers from your thighs, kissing at the grooves left behind in your tender skin.

You awaken the most primal of needs inside of him—to have, to claim, to breed.

The lines of his roman nose disappear between your legs, skimming along the folds of your pussy as he licks along your slit.

“Erwin, please…” Naked, you sigh with the utmost content, head tilting back as you fall prey to all the emotions swirling in your gut.

“Please what, darling? Use your words, tell me what you want.”

Gazing from between your thighs on his cheekbones, your slick on his tongue, his cock throbs against his pants as he watches the faintest of tears pool on the apples of your cheeks.

He loves ruining you, overloading you with so much passion that it becomes visible.

“Breed me. I want to feel you cum inside of me.”

“Are you sure you’re prepared for this?” He rises to loom over you, tugging your body against his, his clothes sticking to your soft, dewy skin. “I will fill you until you can take no more, fuck you as many times as it takes to breed you properly.”

Pupils dilated and dark, you nood, fisting your fingers around the leather strap that clings to his pectorals.

“Please…make me yours, all yours.”

Erwin slots between your plush thighs, golden hair falling against his brow as he shoves his cock back into your depths, groaning at the feel of you spreading for him.

His size is to his advantage as he consumes you, bucking hips and bouncing you along his shaft. The boldness inside of you is growing, he can feel it in the way you move against him—hungry, greedy, eager to take everything he can give.

A hand grips meanly into your thigh, while the other traces up your back, coming to rest on your jaw, keeping your gaze smoldering into his. He moves ruthlessly inside you, hips snapping against yours with every sharp, deep thrust. Little sounds leave your lips with every plunge, blissful tingles stemming from where your bodies were conjoined. He adores how he can feel the head of his fat cock dragging along your tight walls, thick veins throbbing under silken skin.

A coil of pleasure begins to tighten within his lower stomach, boiling in his balls, hot and mean, like it is ready to tear and erupt with a rush of ecstasy. You moan his name like a prayer, eyes closed tightly as you focus on the intensity of his cock thrusting inside you.

“Everyone will know,” he murmurs against your wet lips, stealing your breath, “your babies will look just like me.”

He knows how to play you, circling your clit so perfectly with his thumb that you’re already shaking. Your lower belly clenches, all the euphoria rushing to your head and making you feel drunk.

“God you get so fucking tight,” Erwin grunts at the feel, starting the kind of brutal pace that told you he was already aiming for the finish line, ready to fill you up and watch you drip just so he could do it all over again.

Everything is burning, like a warm, wet glow between your legs, filled to the brim with him. You gasp and moan, little sounds you just can’t help, too overwhelmed. He stretches you so wide that you feel breathless, tears leaking down from the corners of your eyes.

“Good girl, let it all out. I’ll take care of you, promise.”

“G-gonna cum, Erwin, fuck…”

“Me too.”

His hips still for a moment so you can both feel the way his cock pulses, forcing his seed deep into your womb. The heat breaks you along with his thumb on your clit, making you cry into his chest as you fall over the edge. Your pussy is a milking compression around him, squeezing every last drop of his cum. There’s too much to keep in, hot seed dribbles out over your pussy and around his cock to paint the inside of your thighs and make a mess against his desk.

But he doesn’t stop.

His cock is still hard and twitching inside of you, fat and heavy as he starts to push back deeper into you. Your head dips forward against his shoulder, one of his hands holding your neck while the other splays across your belly before moving lower. Two fingers slide along the folds of your cunt, spreading around his intrusive cock so he can feel his leaking cum.

“Feels so good,” you mumble, “your cum feels so fucking good.”

Erwin groans, lifting his messy fingers to your agape mouth. You take them in without question, sucking at the taste of cum and slick pooling against your tongue. He keeps your mouth stuffed with the digits, allowing you to scream around them as he picks up his pace.

He’s a man determined, sight sets on a goal. He promised to breed you, and he will. No matter how many batches of cum it takes for his seed to take hold.

The squish of his cum spurting with every thrust is mesmerizing, breathtaking, and he can’t help but marvel at the sight of his pretty little girl taking in his cum. You’re a mess, streaked with tears and cum, spit dripping down your chin as you choke around his cum stained fingers.

Erwin removes his fingers from between your lips, angling you back so he can watch your tits bounce with every plunge of his cock. Brushing wet knuckles over your breast, he tugs on your nipple until you mewl.

“C-Commander,” he’ll never tire of hearing his title in your mouth, “I want more.”

“More what, darling? Tell me.”

“More cum, god, fuck I want to drown in it.”

In the back of his mind, Erwin is distinctly aware of sounds outside of his office door, shuffling feet and whispers. But nothing could stop him, not even God Himself could bust into the room and remove Erwin from you. He has you where he’s always wanted you—panting, weeping, begging for him to breed you, to keep you.

He tugs you against him, using you like a little cocksleeve made to suck his cock dry.

“One more,” he groans, “give me one more, darling. Let me feel you cum for me.”

You nod like you have any choice, pulling your thighs up farther so you can lay flat against his desk and take his onslaught.

Long fingers circle back to your puffy clit, rolling the tender bud until you can no longer keep quiet. The feel of you is electric, spiraling, pussy spasming against him, slick gushing with every crest of pleasure that comes over your body. Your climax has you splitting apart, and also sucking him in so deeply that he can't help but to pour his load into you.

Erwin finally pulls his still throbbing cock from your cunt. You are ruined, the tightening of your belly in the aftershocks of your orgasm making cum continuously bubble out of your hole, drooling onto the edge of the desk and into his floor.

“You look so perfect covered in my cum.”

Erwin’s fingers are quickly back between your legs, making you whine as his fingertips glide over your swollen clit. He trails his fingers down your thighs, gathering what cum is still traveling down your legs. He pushes the lost cum back inside of you, making your back arch at the oversensitive feeling. Over and over again, he repeats the motion, taking his time to gather every viscous droplet and push it back into your quivering cunt.

“I expect you to meet me in my room tonight, understood?”

“Of course, sir.”

#erwin smut #erwin x reader #erwin smith #tw:breeding #aot erwin #erwin smith smut #aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x you #erwin x y/n #erwin x you

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cyberchronics · 3 months

Text

・。.・゜✭・.・✫..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

choso kamo + make up sex ♡

★ cunnilingus as an apology, choso is an eater, bed humping, no power dynamics ★

✩∘₊ ✩*✯☆⃟⃟⃟✯*✩₊∘✩

choso doesn't get into arguments with you. he's always patient with you, staying quiet even when he knows you're wrong and fixing things behind your back to make sure you won't get upset. for you, he's willing to keep his temper under control. but that isn't to say he never slips

it's never intentional. but sometimes after a long day, his will crumbles and he accidentally lashes out. the harsh words taste like poison as he spits them, and when you mumble out a soft apology before slinking away instead of yelling back it's as if his heart is being torn out.

he always regrets it. emotions are still a bit hard on him, making him unable to find the right words no matter how hard he tries. but there is another way… and actions always speak louder than words, right? why would he spend days trying to come up with a semi-decent apology when he can say sorry and make both of you feel better at the same time?

eating you out all night long is just the sensible solution. it's what any rational person would do, curse or otherwise.

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

It's late when Choso slips into your shared bedroom. He had spent the last twenty minutes trying to make himself forget about the way he overreacted, cringing internally as the scene of him blowing up at you for the tiniest thing replays once more. Such a stupid thing to get upset over, yet he still made you get that sad look on your face and hole yourself up in the room. At least he has a foolproof method to make everything better.

He's always quiet at night, but when he's focused on making you feel good he practically goes non-verbal. Slender fingers pull back the blanket, massaging your thighs gently to gauge if you even want his touch. A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth when you spread your legs slightly, sitting up slightly to catch a glimpse of him.

“Relax.” The low voice is accompanied by a squeak of the mattress, the sound echoing through the room as he settles between your legs. “Let me make it up to you.” Choso pulls at your hands as he kisses up the soft skin of your thighs, squeezing them just hard enough to get your attention and placing them on his head. He's gentle yet firm in his actions, kissing and biting at it until your hips buck down towards him.

As if that wasn't enough to remind him just how much you love this position, the way your lacy panties start to dampen gives you away. He presses his lips to your puffy clit through your underwear, teasing you momentarily before pulling them to the side without a care.

Being face to face with your shiny cunt makes him feel dizzy. You smell like his favorite soap, filling his nose with floral sweetness and drawing him in more and more. It doesn't take long for him to commit fully and lean it, pressing sloppy kisses to your cunt.

He's always been a messy eater. Pressing his face into you, spreading your juices over his face without a care, and using his thumb to coax out even more of that sweet nectar. Those skilled hands know just how to make you feel good, thick tongue bullying its way inside of you and bringing you to the edge of orgasm in no time.

Choso clearly feels it too, his hips rolling against the rough mattress for friction and soft moans sending vibrations up your spine. “On my tongue.” He chants quietly, pulling your legs over his shoulder and burying himself against your soft pussy. “Want to taste you.” The precum making a stain in his pants doesn't matter. All he's focused on is when you finally let him hear that distinct whine he's blessed with every time he manages to push you over the edge.

That rough tongue eagerly laps up your cum, not wasting a drop even as you arch off the bed and squeeze his head with your thighs like you're trying to kill him. By the time you manage to catch your breath, Choso looks ruined. He rests his chin on your stomach with his ponytails barely holding up anymore, his face shining with the proof of your love and a pleased look on his face.

There's a moment of silence as you make eye contact, basking in the post-orgasm haze together before he lets his hair down and reorganizes it into a messy bun. His eyes return to your own, giving you a telling grin before he pulls your legs over his shoulders.

He still hasn't finished apologizing to you. It's a good thing the night is still young, isn't it?

・。.・゜✭・.・✫..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: everytime I can talk about this man giving head I will... you don't understand how special he is to me :333 // next fic will be up next week, a fun little multipost ive had on the brain

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #kamo choso #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #pushing the eater choso agenda #i don't think u understand how in depth I've thought about this

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pandoraslxna · 3 months

Text

Lo‘ak x female omatikaya reader x Neteyam

⋆｡° ✮ Minors dni 🔞

⋆｡° ✮ Masterlist

⋆｡° ✮ Warnings: explicit smut, slight cnc warning, restraints, pred/prey play, teacher / student dynamics, in public

⋆｡° ✮ There was almost no way I could think of any other pairing for this prompt than the Sully bros with reader and it’s all thanks to @tallulah477 and her amazing fic "hunting the tawtute" so make sure to give it a read, it’s one of my fav fics 😩🩵

⋆｡° ✮ Translation: sevin = pretty

The distant calls echoing through the forest didn’t belong to either one of them. It belonged to one of the other tsamsiyu [warrior in training] who were participating in todays lesson of hunting down and killing wild prey.

You however, were playing your own game and had moved out of the training area almost immediately, melting into the dense underbrush like a nantang. Because, unlike the others, you weren’t actually hunting. In this special case, it was you that was the prey. You were being hunted.

You'd taken off at a lope, covering distance quickly before slowing and taking care to hide your tracks. You had headed west, remembering a stream they had mentioned to all numeyus [students] the night before, telling you all that this was the border of the training area.

You hadn't seen the slightest sign of either of them and given how long it had been it was likely that they still didn’t know where you were. Better keep it that way, you thought to yourself as you crouched at the base of a tree, making your profile as small as possible. You knew the outcome if they would find you. After all, there was a reason you were their favorite numeyu out of them all and your lessons usually ended just a little differently than it ended for the others. A little more… personal.

For a moment, you were completely still, breathing slowly, silently, listening for anything you could use to pinpoint how close they were. Nothing. You must’ve been so far away from the rest of the group that you couldn’t even hear the other students anymore. So you edged your way through the trees, abandoning the cover of the underbrush in favor of putting even more distance between them. There was a rather thick trunk of a fallen tree ahead, tall enough that you could get a good vantage from the top. You rounded the trunk to get to the other side that was hopefully less covered in moss and easier to climb, and there he was, leaning against it, deceptively causal.

Neteyam.

"Shit", you yelped in surprise and immediately turned to run. You knew you couldn’t outrun him over distance, but you were light and agile, could loose him in the trees if only you could get up there, but he was quicker to react. Neteyam kicked your legs out from under you, tackling you to the ground. The fall knocked the air from your lungs and he immediately dropped his weight onto you, twisting one arm behind your back.

"Caught you, my little numeyu." Irritatingly smug.

He leaned close and you could feel his breath on the back of your neck, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear and you knew exactly what was about to follow.

"Come on, Neteyam, please", you squirmed, "Let me go."

Footsteps crunched behind a few bushes and before you knew it, your other karyu (teacher) crouched down next to your face and brushed a strand of stray hair behind your ear.

"Too late for that, baby."

You bared your fangs at Lo‘ak, barely able to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Both of them then flipped you over, before Neteyam placed your hands near the top of your head, pinned your wrists there with his knees while he bound them together. They were still keeping their thoughts to themselves, but Lo‘aks shit-eating grin wasn't hard to interpret. It caused Neteyam to chuckle, brushing his fingertips over your cheek as he shook his head in disappointment, "Poor thing. You really thought you could outrun us. You have so much left to learn."

You rolled your eyes at him, testing the strength of your restraints once more and Lo‘ak grinned even wider. Neteyam then leaned over you, brought his mouth down rough against yours, hot and slick. His tongue pushed into your mouth and you couldn’t help but moan into the kiss. "I think it’s time we claim our prize for hunting such special prey, don’t you agree?" He spoke against your lips, to which you nodded in agreement, already drunk of lust just from a kiss.

The oldest of the two pulled back, the kiss all too brief and flicked his eyes up to his brother who kneeled between your thighs. "Hold her still, bro", Lo‘ak says to him.

You lift your head up as much as you could to look at him. Lo’ak then bent over you, brushing his lips over yours, licking at your mouth, your chin. He caught your lower lip between his sharp teeth, distracting you from the way he harshly yanked your loincloth off of you.

Neteyam reached forward and hooked his hands under your knees, and then Lo‘ak was pushing into you, one long steady drive, splitting you open, nestling himself deep inside you. You whined and he moaned with you, the sound rising to a harsh gasp as he drew back and thrust into you harder, smug grin finally sliding from his face as his mouth went slack with pleasure. The younger brother didn’t keep his movement slow for very long, as Neteyam passed your thighs into his arms so he could use them as leverage to fuck you hard and fast and deep, making you cry out with every thrust.

Your own mouth soon fell open too, just to be filled to the brim seconds later when Neteyam pushed his leaking tip past your spit slicked lips.

"That’s right, sevin", he groaned lowly once you snapped out of your lustful haze and started swirling your tongue around his length as best as you could from your current position. "Just like that, fuck." His hips soon begin to move on their own accord, thrusting into the warm wetness of your mouth while his brother seemed to let loose all that pent up adrenaline from chasing you down.

"Shit, baby", Lo‘ak moans, throwing his head back in bliss as he feels your walls squeeze around his length. When he glances back down at you, he’s met with the sight of your pretty pussy creaming around his cock, making a mess where the two of you are fused together. "You’re so tight. So wet for us. Dirty girl, loves being our prey so much she’s drenching my fucking cock", he chuckles.

You make wet sound around Neteyams cock, slurping the salty pre-cum leaking from his tip as if it’s a reward for your efforts. One of his hands tangles itself into your hair then, helping you move your head over his length as he begins to fuck your mouth at a faster pace. Your eyes remain fixed on his, blinking the tears away even as he repeatedly hit the back of your throat. "I won’t last if you keep that up, sevin", he growled, his breathing heavy. "Will you be a good girl and swallow it all for me?"

You hum your response, the vibrations against his cock sending a shiver up his spine and a moan tumbles from his parted lips, alongside whispered curses. The sight alone makes you clench harder around Lo‘ak, both of them seemingly reaching their peak soon while you were also not very far away from your pleasure high.

What sends you over the edge is Neteyams hand reaching between your thighs and rolling your oversensitive clit between two fingers. You cry out around his cock, Lo‘ak fucking you through your orgasm with precision, aiming to hit that sweet spot deep inside you that he knows will make you see stars. They both guide you through that high together, their hands not leaving your skin for even a second until both men loose themselves inside you, filling you with their seed as soft praises and low groans are being whispered between you and them.

Excitement fills every fiber of your being once you’re untied, redressed and sent off to the rest of the group with teasing claps to your ass and a wink by your teachers. Their filthy promises for tomorrow’s lesson about handling knives makes you clench your thighs in anticipation, and you can’t wait for them to turn this lesson into another very personal experience, just for their special little numeyu.

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buttdumplin · 21 days

Text

The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.

This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!

CW: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's

Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.

"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"

John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.

"Yours was good too, I trust?"

"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."

"I... will keep an eye out, dove."

"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."

He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.

Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.

"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"

"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.

"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."

"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.

"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"

Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."

John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.

"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.

They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.

"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."

Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.

You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."

You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.

"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."

"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.

"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.

You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.

"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"

Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.

"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."

Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"

"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.

His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.

"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.

You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"

A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.

"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."

"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"

Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."

And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.

Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.

You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."

There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.

"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."

He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.

By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.

"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"

He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"

"The boys?"

"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."

You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"

With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.

"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"

A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."

A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.

He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.

Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"

When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.

You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"

"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."

He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.

"Where did this come from?"

"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."

"Honey--"

"Please, just once."

"But I--"

"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."

"You don't--"

"I promise I'll be good for it."

Oh.

Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.

Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.

Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"

Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.

You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.

#poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x latine reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough #this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao #honestly this is just precious moments with each of them #i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader #prepare to be fucking sick of me #frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again #also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments

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throneofsapphics · 5 months

Text

yes or no

Rhyzriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel walks in to give Rhys a report.

Warnings: this is actually PURE smut, soft!dom Rhys, kind of switch az, d/s dynamics, voyeurism, wingplay, minors dni!

A/N: apparently I was in a mood today, here’s some absolute (soft?) filth

Rhys wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you back to rest against his chest. At first, it began sweet - gentle even. You relaxed back into his chest, closing your eyes and sighing. Strong legs caging you in, pinning you in place. His hand slipped under your top, thumb running back and forth over the soft skin of your stomach, idle and lazy strokes.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”

You huffed a small laugh, “yes, you have.”

His knees slipped under your legs, casually hooking yours - spreading you open for him.

“Rhys,” you murmured.

He curved to place a kiss on your neck. “Yes?” The smooth voice echoed in your mind.

“What are you doing?” You replied aloud.

“Enjoying time with my mate, of course.” More like playing with you. His favorite pastime.

“It is.”

One arm tightened around your stomach, holding you closer. His hand trailed lower, fingering the band of your pants, popping one button open.

“Rhys,” you sighed, even as your body began to relax in him, eager to feel his touch.

“Something wrong?” He sounded amused.

“No.”

“Then be quiet.”

Your mouth slammed shut at the order, at the underlying hint of dominance in it, especially as made his way further, back and forth strokes, slowly making his way down to where you wanted him. An involuntary moan left your lips as his fingers finally grazed your clit, hips jolting into his hand.

“Do I need to gag you?” A rapid shake of your head, but really … you wouldn’t quite mind it.

As always, keeping your mental walls lowered for him, he heard that particular thought and his hand withdrew. From the corner of your eyes, a small piece of cloth, black and smooth, appeared in his hand. Other hand withdrawing, he hooked a thumb between your lips, gently opening your jaw.

The cloth doubled over, before slipping between your teeth, tied snugly behind your head. Immediately, your mouth began to water and you ran your tongue over the foreign material. Smooth against your tongue, thick enough for your teeth to bite into.

Another thought from him, and your clothes disappeared. You had been wondering how long that would take. Dragging his nails up the inside of your thighs, your breath caught as you watched him get closer and closer, before pushing your legs further apart. Two fingers gathered your arousal, nearly dripping down your thighs now.

“All this for me?” Another nod, mumbling something incoherent. “It better be,” he breathed.

Hips rolling back, he hardened beneath you, a groan leaving his throat. Gentle but firm lips pressed kisses against your neck, sucking just enough to leave a faint bruise. You tilted your head, opening for him. Surrendering to him. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You arched into him, embracing his touch, reaching your arm back to touch him - it froze mid air, a midnight swirl of magic catching it before lowering it down to your thigh. You whined in disappointment. It was only him who could get you into this state - the state where you’d whine for anything. Rhys loved this game, the control he had over you and your body. At least in this bedroom.

“I do love it.” You rolled your eyes, a slap to your core cut that off. “We have a guest,” he warned and your breath caught. Hands tried to cover you, but he pried them back down with his own. A shadow creeping under the door was your warning, and it swung open without hesitation.

Your body flushed, embarrassment at being caught in this situation. You were tempted to slide those mental shields back up, so he couldn’t hear your - “Don’t you dare.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

A half smirk came over the shadowsinger’s face as he saw you, the position you’d been caught in.

“A bit caught up?” His smooth and cool voice seemed to echo through the room.

“No,” Rhys answered. You couldn’t answer.

Before you could frown, his hand swept back down, the other wrapping around your stomach and pinning your arms in place. Head falling back against his shoulder, your eyes rolled back, grinding your hips into him, a small snarl and nip against your neck stopped that. You didn’t care about the audience anymore, it felt like every part of you narrowed down to him, to the feeling of his fingers on you, the hard planes of his body behind you, legs spreading you wide. Teeth nipped at your neck, and the moan you let out wasn’t stifled by the gag.

Rhys stilled, and you blinked your heavy eyes open. Azriel was still speaking, giving a report about something, but his eyes were on you. On where Rhys’s hand connected to your body, on the swell of your breasts. Slowly, you raised one hand up your body. Rhys let out an amused chuckle, and allowed it.

Keeping your eyes on Azriel, you trailed your fingers up, running a knuckle along the curve of your breasts, pinching your nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

“Do you want him to come over here, darling?” Hesitation. You didn’t want anything that would make Rhys uncomfortable. “It wouldn’t. I’ve had a long time to think about this.”

Fuck.

“You have a dirty mouth.”

“I didn’t say anything. I can’t say anything”

“A dirty mind,” he corrected. “Yes or no?”

“If you want to, if he wants to”

“That’s not what I asked,” his tone changed, firmer - demanding an answer.

“Yes,” even in your mind, you thought your voice sounded breathy. You turned your head to watch Rhys, his eyes glazed over, telling something to Azriel. You heard Azriel moving, and you tried to turn, but Rhys gripped the back of your head and held you in place. You were keenly aware your body was still exposed.

“What’s your safeword?”

You swallowed, “Spring.”

Seconds later, your vision was obscured, another fabric tying tightly over your eyes. You couldn’t see anything, complete darkness. The rest of your senses heightened. The bed shifted, someone was moving - you were moving, kneeling, knees pressing into the soft sheets, hands rested on your thighs.

“Are you ready?” Rhys wasn’t asking you.

“Yes,” Azriel’s strained voice came.

Then, hands were lifting you. Rhys gripped your hips - his hands were familiar, pushing you forwards, but Azriel’s hands, rougher, gripped each of your thighs, spreading your legs out. They worked your body easily, the two of them seeming to know exactly what to do.

“Breathe,” was Rhys’s only warning, as Azriel - it had to be him, pressed against your entrance. Hands slammed you down, and you yelped - muffled by the gag, a painful stretch as you were fully seated.

Too much. It was too much, you were too full.

“You can take it,” Rhys encouraged - this time speaking out loud, he pressed against your upper back, and your hands naturally found their way to his shoulders. You’d never … never been on top of Rhys, at least. Well, not in a while. Rough hands found your hips, encouraging you to move.

It took you a minute to get your balance, to find a rhythm, but the gentle rocking of your hips, the slight movements, made his heart rate increase, his breaths quickened. Soft, but effective apparently. Gently, his hands ran up and down your sides, brushing over each of your curves, stopping to sweep underneath your breasts.

Rhys was still behind you, “that’s it,” he murmured into your ear, “you’re doing so well.”

The little bit of encouragement was what you needed, what you needed to grow bolder. As you did, you were rewarded, and both the gag and blindfold disappeared.

“Az wants to hear you,” Rhys said with a hint of amusement.

Az, currently beneath you, watching you with glazed eyes. Faster, you moved faster, starting to push your hips up and down. He groaned as your nails dug into your shoulder, and you had an idea. Not something you could do without permission or asking, that was likely to get you killed at worst, maimed at best. Instead, you eyed the curve of his wing, knowing his shadows would track. You wanted him to invite you, for him to make that choice.

“You can touch them,” he seemed shy - maybe even hesitant. You could feel Rhys’s surprise behind you. “Just don’t stop moving,” he groaned.

“Be gentle, love,” Rhys spoke to your mind this time.

Carefully, avoiding any of your nails, you ran a finger over the curve of his left wing, gauging his reaction. He stiffened, eyes closing. Good. Repeating the motions, Rhys grabbed your hips, helping you keep a steady rhythm as Azriel’s eyes stayed closed.

You liked this, liked that you were both working to bring him here, to give him this kind of pleasure.

It didn’t take long before Azriel’s fingers were digging into your thighs, stopping you. Sensing it, Rhys pulled you off, just in time for Azriel to finish - all over your stomach.

Rhys disappeared, probably to grab a washcloth, and you moved, trying to give him some kind of space. It wasn’t hard to pick up that was his first time having someone touch his wings - in that way, and you realized the vulnerability in it. Instead, his arm darted out, wrapping around your waist to tug you closer. You let your head rest on his chest, running your hand up and down his arm, listening as his heart settled back to normal.

This, you wanted to do again.

“We will.”

#azriel x y/n x rhys #azriel x reader x rhys #acotar drabble #rhys x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar imagine #rhys x y/n #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhys x azriel x reader #rhyzriel x reader #rhyzriel x y/n #acotar smut

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