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evielmostdefinitely · 4 months

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i love soft!coriolanus. big bad mean man being so sweet?

something where maybe you're sick? nothing major but something where he gets to dote on you?

watch over me |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, you're sick and coriolanus takes care of you.

contains: slightly dark!coriolanus. possessive and manipulative-ish coriolanus and slight paranoia. past mentions of lucy gray. mainly just fluff.

“Is there a reason you decided not to show up to the luncheon today? Left me sitting there like an idiot without you.” Coriolanus was annoyed, beyond annoyed- tone clipped with irritation, stomping through the suite that was just for the two of you.

He didn’t see you in the living room, not lounging on the couch or even in the sun room. His bristling exasperation grew to raging fear. Sickening, haunting what if’s slammed to the front of his mind, painstaking memories of Lucy Gray’s disappearance. History had repeated itself again, he was sure of it as Coriolanus barked out your name, turning the corner furiously.

Your tiny squeak of a response came from the ensuite bathroom, muffled by the closed door and high ceilings of your bedroom. Coriolanus bounded towards the bathroom, yanking the door open with a fury, softening once he saw you, crumbled on the bathroom tile. Your head pressed against the clawfoot tub, stuffy nose sniffles that had him cringing.

“Darling,” Coriolanus watched you carefully. “Are you alright?”

You lifted your head, eyes red rimmed with irritation. You looked pitiful- Coryo cursed the way it made his heart swell and boast with pure adoration. “I think I might have the plague.” You sounded like your nose was clogged, voice scratchy and soft, looking at him helplessly.

Coryo grinned, a small huff of a laugh, walking over to you. “The plague?” He repeated, pressing a hand to your forehead- the skin clammy and hot. “You feel feverish.”

“I am.” You croaked, leaning into his touch. “I had the doctor check on me. I have the flu. I-I meant to call you, but I got really cold and then hot, and-”

“-That’s alright.” Coriolanus shook his head gently, thumbs massaging your temples in a soft way that had you mewling, head lolling into his touch. “I hate that you’re not feeling well, my love. Did the doctor give you anything?”

“A shot.” You rasped, eyes closed, body pressing further and further into him. “I think my fever broke. I got really hot so I decided to lay in here. The tile is cool.”

“I could have brought you ice.” Coryo muttered. “I can have the Avoxes bring you an ice pack for your head.”

“No, I-I’ll be alright. I feel better now.” You were lying, Coryo knew that, but he didn’t correct you. Not now. Not while you felt so ill.

“I’m sorry I missed the luncheon.” Your eyes rounded when they met his gaze.

“None of that. I won’t hear it.” Coriolanus shook his head firmly, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead. Were you too hot? What did too hot feel like? Should he call the doctor back? His own worries mixed with his sinking guilt made him feel uneasy.

“You need to rest.” Coryo said firmly.

“I-I’m alright. Just let me bathe, and I can make it to the dinner-”

“-Don’t be ridiculous.” Coryo scoffed, a hand on your sweat soaked back, pulling you up, holding you firmly to his side as he walked you towards the bed.

You clung to him, walking stiff from the tightness in your joints, a little dizzy from the medicine and the sudden movements. He loved it, pulling you closer to him. How pliant you were, how easily you obeyed and relied on him.

“You are to stay in bed until you feel better, do you understand me?” Coriolanus commanded, flipping the covers back, helping you into your side of the bed.

You fell into your pillows far too easily, no fight left in you, body flooded with fatigue. It was so easy to let Coryo take control of you like this. Let him take care of you, tell you what you should and shouldn’t do- do it for you without asking. You supposed you shuld feel trapped, and maybe at times you did, but at moments like these, your heart filled with nothing but fondness.

“You tell me if you feel anything, anything even the slightest bit off.” Coryo’s hand pressed to your warm cheek, your eyes glazed with fever. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You hummed, eyelids drooping. “I will let you know.”

“What do you need now?” The bed dipped, Coriolanus taking a seat next to you. “What can I get for you?”

“I’m just going to rest, Coryo.” You muttered, settling into the soft pillows.

“I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Coryo, I’m fine.” You grinned sleepily, heart bursting with warmth and adoration for him. “I just need to rest.”

Coriolanus allowed it, commanding his protempore to bring him his work, rescheduling the meetings for the day so he could work at the small desk in the corner of the room. Carefully looking over schedules and statements and militia plans, while also watching you. Every snore, hum, sigh, toss and turn, sound coming from you had his attention peeked, ready at any moment to scream for the doctor. His mind raced still, even with you in front of him, possibilites of horrendous outcomes and terrifying scenarios.

Until you woke up, greeted by a small bowl of soup- one his Grandma’am used to make him and Tigris when they were ill. “I can eat on my own, Coryo.” You shook your head lightly at him, accepting another spoonful of the warm liquid, sighing at how it soothed your aching throat.

Coriolanus didn’t respond, bringing the spoon to your lips instead. And you let him, of course you let him. When he was so gentle like this, fussed over you this way, gave you his undivided attention.

Contentment settled over both of you behind the closed doors of your home. This type of softness never to be seen outside of here. Tomorrow, Coriolanus would order three executions in the Capitol, striking even more fear over the Districts and weeding out the rebels. He’d be merciless and cold and cruel out there, but for you- for now, he’d be gentle.

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l3viat8an · 5 months

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Rooo!!! I have Levi brain rot rn, and I need to share Grand Admiral! Levi thoughts with u :/

As an important figure in the military, Levi has to go out sometimes to check up on the outskirts bases of the Devildom. Make sure that everything is working as they should.

This usually lasts for weeks, and today you had found out how long 2 weeks can feel when your loser gamer boyfriend is out on assignment.

Finding solace in his uncharacteristically empty room, you cuddle up in the bathtub bed, desperate to feel anything that reminded you of your beloved player 1. Using his favorite jacket, watching replays of his old streams, sleeping in his bed, that's slowly losing his scent and feel.

But one day, while curled up in his gaming chair, rewatching his old clips for the thousandth time. Levi comes home. Still in his uniform as he marched into his room, not expecting to find his PC on.

Once you realized he was there, you quickly jumped into his arms, peppering kisses all over him. When you pull away, you expect to see the usual sight; Leviathan a blushing mess, stammering about something you can't quite make out. But now, he wasn't blushing at all. He barely changed his stoic demeanor.

"L-levi...?"

You asked confused, removing yourself from his embrace to look at his attitude. Giving a hurt look as you basically pouted. Throwing a small tantrum that he didn't miss you at all

Unbeknownst to you, Levi was freaking out. After weeks out on field he just wanted to sleep and go back to his shut-in lifestyle. What he didn't know was that what he needed was to see his player 2 dressed in his jacket. Being an adorable tsundere as she pouted.

"On the bed, and strip. Leave the jacket on"

Levi commanded, looking serious as you stood there. Shocked at his words.

"E-excuse me?"

"Did I stutter? Strip, on the bed."

"W-wait–"

Shocked and confused, You stood their unsure of what to do. And why the hell that turned you on so much

It wasn't the first time Levi was in control, but he was usually so sweet and gentle. Not this... demanding. You're not sure if it's the uniform, the attitude, or the fact it was Levi being so assertive. But you followed without hesitation.

And you're so greatful that you did, because the two weeks waiting for him were quickly rewarded. Levi being as merciless with you as he took what he wanted. Leaving you a blushing mess, passed out in his bed, as for the first time in two weeks, you slept with him again on his bed.

The next day, he profusely apologized at how rough he was, while all you could think about was when could you bring that side of him out once more

(AHHH IM SORRY FOR GOING ON FOR SO LONG BUT I NEEDED TO SHARE IT SO BADLYYY 🙏 IDK IF THIS IS SMUT OR FLUFF BUT I JS LOVE HIM AHHHH)

Nsfw!

Looks like fluffy-smut to me- holy shi 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 ‘n idk what happened but my add-on is definitely smut helpjdksj

Levi didn’t actually expected you to obey his command so quickly. He watched as you stripped down, leaving the jacket on like he had ordered. Fuck you look so good It took his breath away and he has to shake his head a bit, collecting himself as you climbed into his bathtub bed.

He quickly joined you, climbing on top of you in the bathtub before pulling you closer and kissing you, moaning softy as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue to tangle with yours.

His hands didn’t stop either, roaming over your body, exploring every inch of it, as if trying to burn it into his memory again.

Honestly there was something about this side of Levi that you couldn't resist. It was as if you were being taken by a completely different person, one who was confident and assertive…the grand admiral....it’s really hot-

You moaned when his fingers finally found their way between your legs, pressing against your already dripping cunt. He thrust two fingers inside you, causing you to moan loudly.

"You- you look so beautiful like this." Levi breathed into your ear, his voice low and husky. "I've been waiting for weeks to feel you again…..and I can’t wait anymore.”

He lines his cock up with your ready pussy, waiting for you to nod before sliding in and letting out a little whine he just can’t stop from slipping out, “S-so, good, messed you so m-much..”

He wanted nothing more than to keep you close, to let you feel how much you meant to him, as he fucked you faster, harder-

It was as if he had been holding back for weeks, waiting for this moment to release all the passion that had built up inside him.

“G-gonna cum soon….need, need you to cum with me.” as he leans down to kiss you, one of his hands slides back down to you clit and his thumb rubs against it roughly. Making Levi moan against your lips as you tighten around him, soon as he feels you orgasm take over your body Levi cums. rutting his hips into yours, riding through your orgasms together.

Panting Levi hides his face in your neck for a moment and he can hear you let out a little giggle, before whispering "I've missed you too, Levi." and Levi laughs, pressing a few soft kisses along your neck~

The next morning you’ll wake up to your, sweet boyfriend acting like his usual self. Looking over your body and apologizing endlessly, he promises he’ll be more gentle next time!! Wait no- he didn’t mean it like that!!- he did-

#:3 anyways-#very normal about him #also late as always so excuse any typos 🚶🏼‍♀️#obey me!#obey me smut #obey me levi x reader #obey me leviathan #obey me leviathan x reader #smut #x reader #levi x reader #leviathan x reader #levi <333 #leviathan smut #leviathan x you #mail!#roro writes

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 12 days

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Mean Mommy Wanda overstimulating you after you begged her all day to play with you. You asked her so many times so this must've been what you wanted...

Omg yesssss!! Especially if she was planning on rewarding you for being patient but you decided to whine and beg even after she reprimanded you...

Here's a lil blurb bc I feel bad that I've waited so long to answer this

"Mommy... please I've been waiting for sooo long."

Wanda shuts her eyes briefly, momentary frustration running through her as she forces herself to calm. This was her own doing, after all. She'd put that damn vibrator in you during lunch as a game, forgetting how desperate and needy you got with the toy.

She hadn't expected her work day to pick up after the meal, but a client had wanted to meet last minute so her and her team were scrambling to get everything ready and there were so many fucking calls and you were always there in her peripheral vision with your wide, watering eyes and pleading voice...

"Mommy!"

Wanda's eyes snap open, a hard look in them.

You immediately stop, knowing you've pushed her too far. Lowering your head, you watch Wanda through your lashes as she slowly shuts her work laptop. Standing, she regards you coldy, and you can't help but feel both shame and arousal coursing through you.

"Bedroom, now." Is all she says, her words short and clipped.

Obeying, you utter a soft, 'Yes, ma'am,' and quickly tiptoe out of her office. Your breaths quicken with each step, your clit throbbing as different scenes run rampant through your mind.

Realistically, you know that Wanda is far too upset to give you any pleasure, so thoughts of her flogger hitting your skin until it's bruised and other punishments flood your thoughts.

As you settle yourself on the bed, kneeling in the center just the way Wanda likes, you're unsurprised to find your panties damp at the thought of punishment. You had only wanted her to ease the painful arousal building within you, but you figured that even though she was mad, any attention would be better than none.

"Tell me," Wanda says, startling you out of your thoughts. You hadn't hear her enter the bedroom, but you look up at her from your submissive pose on the bed. "Why were you being such a fucking brat this afternoon?"

Her green eyes are cold, piercing through you even as the sight of her perfectly sculpted cheekbones send another wave of painful arousal straight to your core. You swallow, breathing deeply and gathering your thoughts.

"I just wanted you to fuck me." You answer truthfully, knowing that Wanda wouldn't appreciate any unnecessary words.

She nods, almost thoughtfully. You see right through it, knowing she had already planned out the rest of the evening.

"And you always get what you want, right darling?" Her tone is filled with sarcasm, and you choose not to respond, simply shaking your head silently.

Wanda doesn't say anything else, pulling out her phone and tapping it a few times. You wonder what she's doing, until you feel the vibrations inside you strengthen, and your eyes widen as Wanda smirks.

"Since you want to sum so bad, I'll make you cum," Wand says, her voice sickeningly sweet. She leans over the bed, gripping your chin with one hand tightly. "But mommy isn't going to touch you."

You want to protest, but know the wouldn't get you anywhere. Instead, you plead with your eyes, watching as Wanda makes her way over to a chair.

As she sits in it, her posture regal as she crosses a single leg over the other, you feel your orgasm building. God, even just the sight of her sends you spiraling into waves of arousal, and now having her full attention on you... you're about to cum.

Wanda raises a single eyebrow, tilting her head as her finger slowly slides the vibrations up from the app on her phone. She watches, green eyes boring into you as you struggle to remain still in your kneeling position.

"Please..." You mutter, your thighs beginning to shake. Wanda doesn't react, her eyes roaming over your body as your breaths deepen.

With a sharp flick of her thumb, the vibrations increase to the maximum setting, and your orgasm crashes over you painfully.

Moaning, you manage to stay upright, your knees spreading as wetness floods your already soaked panties. You can feel your cum running down your inner thighs, and you focus on breathing as the vibrations inside you persist.

Wanda isn't relenting, the vibrator still set to the max setting.

Looking at her, your eyes fill with fear as the stimulation turns slightly painful. You can feel another orgasm rising, even as you ride out the aftershocks of your first one.

"Take it." Is all Wanda says, and you nod.

Feeling tears welling up at the sensation of painful pleasure rising within you, you brace your hands on the bed behind you, keeping your legs spread for Wanda to watch.

Wanda makes a noise of appreciation, her tongue quickly licking her lips, and you cum from the sight.

It's violent, your orgasm taking over every part of your body. Muscles seize and release rapidly, your hips twitching as you cum again. It's too much, and you resist the urge to reach down and pull the vibrator from your aching pussy.

Wanda watches, her gaze unwavering as you cum over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again...

Eventually, you cum for the last time, sobbing into Wanda's shoulder as she holds you up. The only thing keeping you upright is her strong arms around your waist, her words soothing in your ear.

"Good girl, you did so good for me, darling. Mommy had to punish you, and you took it so well. Let's get you all cleaned up, I'm so proud of you."

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celestiaras · 5 months

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ he makes for a great dog ]❜

ft. vox akuma x gn! reader — luxiem, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ vox “i ain’t a bottom” akuma actually makes for a great dog if you put a muzzle on him┊0.8k words

contains: smut!! dom(ish) reader & sub(ish) vox┊established relationship with a side of hate sex if you squint, fighting for dom, pet play (leashes, muzzles, pet names), bratting/brat-taming (?), riding to mating press, unprotected sex, slight edging/teasing, mild pain play, biting & bleeding, breeding, hair-pulling

➤ author's note: would it be too out of character to make him whimper? i started his and completely fell off, who let me write smut┊inspired by (clip) & (clip)

“fucking bitch,” he snarled, his sharp teeth bared behind the muzzle you wrestled onto him with his heavy breathing dampening the metal wires.

“aww, that’s not a nice thing to say to the one who has you on a leash, now is it?” your voice remained surprisingly steady when vox was rutting into you like the feral dog in heat you were treating him as.

“do you think that you can boss me around just because you thought it would be cute to cage my mouth up? you have another thing coming for you.”

you giggled when he choked on his words with a simple roll of your hips, tugging on the leather strip to force him to make eye contact with you, “be a good mutt for your master, okay? i’ll give you a treat if you obey me~”

“shut the hell up,” his tone dripped with venom even though he felt like he was going to lose his mind— trying to nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder but unable to kiss you, to taste you, to run his tongue over every inch of exposed skin, but he couldn’t because of this stupid muzzle.

his inability to use his mouth led to him being rougher with his hands, pressing into your skin harshly enough to leave bruises with small crescent indents being made from his black-painted nails. he was too tempted to just remove the silver cage since his hands were free, but that would be losing this stupid bet he made with you and he was far too proud to admit defeat.

all he had to do was keep it on before he could come, but it was proving to be much more difficult than he thought— especially with how good you felt like his cock was made to fill you up and how sexy you looked with the domineering bedroom eyes, there was rarely anything more fun in the bedroom than having to grapple you in order to protect his reputation of being a top. is being driven to the point of madness from lust really worth making a point out of pride? he so badly needed more stimulation that you just weren’t providing him with the sole purpose of teasing him and you were damn good at it, softly kissing him and being all innocent like you weren’t testing the limits of his patience by keeping that cage on him for as long as you possibly could.

the cold metal pressing into your skin was admittedly uncomfortable, but it was worth it to see the big bad demon reduced to such a needy mess. he was so sure that it would be a simple task that he could handle with ease, saying that he would be your pet and submit to you if he failed this bet. who would have known that he would have overestimated his own abilities against you so wildly?

“how about… how about we take this stupid thing off? it isn’t as fun when you restrain me, right?” he was getting desperate enough to try and compromise with you, trying to convince you that this silly little game wasn’t worth withholding pleasure from the both of you.

“hmm?” you tilted your head at him in mock confusion. “you aren’t having fun? i’m having the time of my life right now, seeing how cute you are as a bottom. who would have thought that all it takes for the great vox akuma to submit was a muzzle?”

something in him snapped when you said that and that was his breaking point, using his demon strength to break off the muzzle with one hand with small bits of metal flying off to the side while he flipped you on your back like you were lighter than air. his action caught you off guard when you suddenly found your legs hanging uselessly over his shoulder while he animalistically rammed into your hole like you were the last souls on earth.

you hissed in pain when you felt him sink his fangs into the flesh of your shoulder then soothing the pain by licking at the fresh wound he inflicted, the metallic taste being sweet on his tongue. you didn’t even feel the knot in your abdomen unravel until it actually happened, leaving you to see white as your lover chased his own long-awaited high while riding out yours until he painted your insides white leaving you feeling sticky and full.

vox finally stilled and panted from loss of breath at the abrupt exertion of energy, but he’d never felt so much relief from so much pent-up frustration. however, his victory was short-lived when he felt your hand snake into his raven locks and pull him off of you, making him groan in response as his eyes rolled back.

you clicked your tongue at him in disappointment even though you knew that this would happen from the very beginning, “what a bad dog you’ve been, i wonder what punishment you should get for disobeying me?”

#📜. her works #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji smut #nijisanji #vox akuma x reader #vox akuma smut #vox akuma #luxiem x reader #luxiem smut #luxiem

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eilidh-eternal · 1 month

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You learn the truth

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist | Ao3 |

Thank you @gemmahale for reading this monstrosity and helping me fine-tune it <3

“Sergeant. How copy?”

Simon looms over Johnny in the team room, sidled up to a sagging couch that’s seen better days, and when he lifts his derelict gaze from the battle-worn photo in his hands he’s met with pinched brows, sloped granite, and folded arms. Worry, in the staid manner he’s come to expect from Simon.

“Solid, Lt,” he answers dutifully, devoid of his usual ebullience, and with a tenor forged from damascus and flint.

Simon rounds with a languid gait to the opposite cushion, stained with something dark, iron-rich and oxidizing in the loose weave, and lowers himself down beside him. Holds out a gloved hand. Johnny obeys his silent command and relinquishes what might just be the most valuable thing he owns. Deposits it gingerly in his waiting palm.

“How’s she doin’?” he asks, smoothing out a crease in the portrait.

“Started school this past year. Whole head taller than last ye saw her. Still carries that damn bear ‘round the house, too.” Takes his tea the same as Simon, according to Isobel.

“Better that than the bloody mask.”

“Aye. Better, that,” he agrees, and a ragged breath saws out of his lungs when he sinks back into the sun-bleached nylon.

“And your pet?” Simon passes the photo back and Johnny tucks it reverently back into his breast pocket, folded neatly and pressed close to his heart—where it belongs.

“Isnae ‘mine’,” he drawls, somnolence roughening his voice despite the afternoon sun pouring in through the concrete window. “Stubborn thing, too. Hasnae been answerin’ her phone.”

“That what’s got you mithered?”

“Worried,” Johnny corrects, and Simon folds his hands across his midsection, settling back alongside him with a throaty grunt and the echo of artillery fire in his bones, popping and cracking beneath the weight of his battle-worn body.

“All the same, innit?”

“Not with her. Not when she…” He toys with a clip on a canvas belt loop, rough fingers tracing the burnished amalgam of iron and carbon, and for a moment, he feels your skin. Metallic beneath his touch, chilled by the wind, precious and perfect in his hands. “You an’ her are cut from the same cloth. Dinnae care much for sharin’.” Even when you should.

You keep him up at night, itinerant thoughts always finding their way through the morass of post-operative lassitude back to you. Wondering what you fill your days with. If you still linger by the window in the placid hours of the morning with a steaming, ceramic mug warming your hands, marking the passage of time by the melting of the ice. If the final snow of spring has laced the wild cherry trees along the row with pearl-drop blossoms and an almond sillage. If you’ve seen the picture he managed to take from the ramp mid-flight, on transport to Laswell’s station, mareel lea of clouds undulating beneath a star-flecked velarium.

Thinking about all the things he said, and the things he didn’t, before he left. Burning with the memory of you, pressed flush against him; soft and warm and safe in the lambent halo of his arms. You felt like his in that moment, and he lies awake, breathing in char and soot from the moreish conflagration ravaging his chest, staining his throat a fuliginous shade of black with each serrated exhale.

He might have told Simon—if the big bastard weren’t rattling the ballistic glass in his sleep.

You’re standing in the pasta aisle, staring at the selection of boxed macaroni, and you’re drifting further and further into an endless, atramentous night.

Funny, you think, when the sun and stars live next door. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. None of it was supposed to be this way. Stars don't fall from the sky. But meteors do. And now… now you have to crawl out of the crater at the bottom of a pitiless ocean, navigate the upheaval of silt and abysmal detritus, and search for the surface without the gilded hand of the sun to guide you.

You should have stayed away.

Isobel would choose the box with the cartoonish bear. Johnny would make a joke about bears liking porridge, not cheesy noodles. You toss it in your basket with the rest of your ready meals, soggy cardboard already weeping condensation, and battle the undertow to the queue at the till.

You should have left them alone.

“Beautiful day, today is.” They don't know that the stars have gone nova. That the ossified remains of the Earth creak and settle in the brumal gloaming, caliginous and desolate. They can’t hear you, pounding on the ice, desperate for apricity in a nuclear winter.

Now you’re the one who’s alone.

“It is,” you lie, and the effluvium of ozone burns your lungs. Cauterizes the hemorrhaging, pulpy mess you call a heart, languishing in the frangible cage of your ribs.

Free divers can hold their breath for 10 minutes at a time. You wonder how long you’ll last trapped beneath a frozen mantle.

It snowed again, the morning Johnny left—pillowed the earth in anticipation of your fall—but several weeks of sleet and freezing rain has turned the pavement into a patchwork of slush and ice that mimics the glacial floes in your veins. Your wellies don’t have the same grip as proper snow boots. Crampons are better suited for the climb ahead. Neither are very practical for a quick trip to Tesco, though. Would look quite odd, standing on ice cleats in the pasta aisle.

The same can’t be said of the car park. With your canvas tote clutched close to your side, you pick your way through fissures of lingering snow. Opt for trickling streams of runoff rather than attempting to balance on the slick pavement. It’s slow going. Tedious. The lingering wind of last week's squall whips at your exposed skin. Lashes and bites, pumping a gelid venom into your veins, and the blackening, gangrenous bits of your mangled heart feel numb. Numb enough that you don’t immediately recognize the car parked next to yours. Twin sets of eyes, stratified ice, rich with moraine, watching from the windows. You don’t realize how the world suddenly feels too bright, staring up through a polynya, until you glimpse an aureate complexion and charcoal hair, silver-streaked with ash and tied up in a loose pony, emerging from the driver's seat.

Fenella MacTavish is a star in her own right. Has a gravity to her that demands to be felt and heard. The pull of your name on her lips drags you through the hole in the ice and dangles you there. Bait for something bigger. Hungrier. And she does it all with a friendly face, a cordon of coronal light woven into a beaming smile—aimed at the fallstreak hole that’s been punched through your sternum.

“Ye’re a fair way from home, lass.” The divisional line of the Baltic and North Sea, from the feel of it. Or maybe somewhere off the coast of Shetland. It doesn’t really matter. Dread still percolates down your spine and you blink against the sudden shock of the sun emerging from the clouds, lurid rays burrowing into your retinas.

“Better prices for produce on this side of town,” you hedge, and she looks pointedly at the sharp protrusions of box corners against canvas, faultline of her brow erupting with skepticism.

“Thought Tesco’s all have the same prices, more or less,” she reasons, and you watch the way she leans against the D pillar, arms folded and braced against a hiemal wind that tousles loose strands of hair about her face. A similar image of Johnny from several weeks ago effervesces to the surface of your memory and you shove it down. Drown it in the brine that spumes on roiling white caps.

You answer with an indolent shrug and make to step around her, slipping your hand in a fleece-lined coat pocket in search of your keys, but like the other MacTavishes you’ve come to know, Fenella has a propensity for prying questions.

“Have ye heard from Joh—”

“No,” you say before she can speak his name, gloved fingers curling around the worn canvas strap across your shoulder like it’s a lifeline. Trying to pull yourself away from the hole in the ice, procellous waves lapping hungrily at your feet where she dangles you from artfully strung words. It’s not technically a lie. Even if there’s a novel's worth of texts from him that have gone unopened and unanswered. “I have—”

“Come have dinner wi’ us,” she volleys back. Guts the wretched desiderium curled at the back of your throat, backed into a corner and hissing at anything that comes near. Coaxes the dolorous, indignant want festering in your chest into the light.

You want Johnny and his ribald jokes. Want him to look at you the way he looks at Isobel when they walk together. To hold your hand inside the pocket of his coat when you both forget your gloves on the way to pick her up from school. Remind you to leave work at the door. Shut your laptop and close the manuscript. Give yourself a break and come watch some mind rotting show with him and Isobel on the couch. Curl up in a tartan blanket, woven with his family's colors, and pretend you aren't falling asleep with your cheek pressed to his shoulder. Want to bake with Isobel and chase Johnny from the kitchen. Read to her on the nights he’s away, out at the pub on Main with friends from work. Be there, sleeping on the couch with Isobel, waiting for him to come home from assignment.

You want, and the teratoid it’s become circles with the porbeagles. Has teeth and a consciousness all it’s own, shredding through sinewy trepidation and tearing through every layer of adamantine flesh that you wear like armor. Stripping you down to the bone and sucking on the treacly marrow.

There’s no reason why you can’t. Johnny’s said as much. Made it patently clear when he all but tucked you into his jacket with him and let the warmth of sun-chapped lips bleed into your algid skin that night on your stoop. But there’s a picture in the livingroom of the townhouse next to yours that clamors each time you pass it. A ghost, bound to this plane by molecules of ink on photo paper, materializing at your back and whispering words of doubt from the umbrage. Telling you to leave. They aren’t yours to have.

You feel rime creeping up your legs, briny sea spray turning denim stiff in the darkening carpark. The sun is sinking, varicolored sky unfurling against the plumage of clouds and an austere snowscape, and it casts shadows across the city, long as the list of reasons you shouldn’t.

“Tomorrow night,” she presses, “roads ‘round here get a tad dodgy after dark wi’ the ice an’ all.” Her eyes drift to the ice surrounding your feet. Stare for a moment, like there are memories trapped there.

You’ve found your keys. Found them several minutes ago, and have been toying with pressing the panic button. Manufacturing some way out of this conversation. Your toes are numb, too. Whether it’s from standing in a river of runoff or Fenella’s snare, swaying precariously and staring down into the gaping maw of repressed desire, you don’t know. But you do know that you can’t stay here. Can’t keep staring at this woman who looks like Johnny and pretend you don’t want to know everything about her. Him. Them. That you don’t want to go to dinner with her and Isobel because you miss them.

“Tomorrow,” you begin, “I have a meeting. Have to stay late.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday,” she counters. “Bell stays up late to watch Still Game wi’ me. Sure she wouldnae mind waitin’ an hour tae have a friend join us fer some stovies.” You can see Isobel in the car behind her, twisted around in her car seat to watch the two of you, and your heart lurches in your chest. Gnashes and snarls at the web of lies you’ve woven around it, glittering trip wires disguised as a safety net.

Don’t get too close. Don’t get attached. They’re not yours. This will never be your family.

‘Go!’ it wails, and her eyes beg you to stay.

When you finally find your footing again, you take a step towards your car. “I’ll think about it.” Move carefully between cracks in the ice. “See if I can get the meeting moved up. Isobel should keep to her schedule.” Keep your eyes up. Don’t look at the monster she’s dragged out of you.

Fenella nods like you’ve agreed. Either chooses to ignore your feeble attempt at a polite refusal or twists your words into reluctant acceptance as she fishes her phone from her vest. Hums as she taps away at the screen, and you feel the echo of it when your own phone vibrates in your pocket beside your keys.

“We’ll see ye tomorrow night, then.” She smiles, wide and machiavellian, before she severs the snare and watches you plummet. Slips into the warmth of her car as you plunge through the hole in the ice and it freezes over once more. Chum in the water.

Staring at Fenella’s address on your phone screen effects a sinking feeling in your stomach. Drags you down to that abyss again, only this time, you aren’t alone. You weren’t alone before—not really. You’d just denied the truth of what was clawing its way through your chest. Couldn’t face what its existence means.

You stare until the screen goes dark, and then stare some more, until the oven timer chimes and you wade through your kitchen to silence it. Produce a hot pad from an adjacent drawer to pull a cardboard tray of lasagne from the rack, and nearly drop it when the chiming starts again.

Your phone vibrates on the table behind you, Johnny’s name lit up across the screen. Calling.

‘Won’t be able to use my phone a lot, but I’ll call when I can.’

The awful thing in your chest shudders in answer.

Every muscle in your body tenses. Aches to open the line. Grab it with both hands and pull. Drag yourself from the depths of your self inflicted misery and bathe in the ardent warmth of his smile. You want to talk to him. Want to hear that gravel rich timbre and your name rolling off the escarpment of his tongue.

But should you?

Should you even try to be something you aren’t? Something you never thought you could be. Would want to be. Should you—?

“Bonnie? Ye there?”

Oh, fuck…

“Yeah… I’m here,” you breathe, and it’s not salt water but kerosene that fills your lungs. Burns with self-loathing and penitence as it commingles with ozone. “Johnny, I—” Your voice pitches, teeters on the precipice of trepidation and want, and crumbles away with the marl.

You’ve been ignoring him. Ignoring how you feel. Absconding yourself in your abnegation and rotting on the ocean floor, too afraid to swim. To look for the light. Afraid of falling even further.

And all of that want comes pouring out of you now. Out of the hole punched through your chest when he left. In a briny deluge down the berm of your cheeks when he shushes you. From puncture wounds, perfect impressions of serrated teeth, sunk to the bone. Not letting go.

“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he soothes, palliating and emollient, but the breath you take scrapes against your throat, coarse with sand and silt. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Johnny.” You thought it would hurt, admitting it. That the jaws would clamp down and you would scream and kick and fight. You were so heavy, full to the brim with want, that you mistook it for that leaden, sinking feeling. Thought it was drowning you.

“Bell said she saw ye today. That ye’re goin’ to visit her tomorrow?” There’s hope in his voice, nestled in the colluvium that tumbles from his lips and settles at your feet.

“Yeah,” you decide then and there. “I am.”

The MacTavish home isn’t what you thought it would be, limewashed stone tucked at the end of a winding, gravel lane, cradled by the tussock and sedge of a heathland and perched on the slope of a shallow vale. Double paned windows cast a genial glow onto the drifts around it, tenuous peaks capped in flakes of gold, and a scintillant lamp floods the walkway, salted cobble, free of the ice your tires struggled to navigate on the narrow streets of Old Kilpatrick. The door is a bathic blue, nearly the same depth as the lacuna between stars on a moonless night, and a boar-head knocker greets you, impeccably polished silver despite its exposure to the elements. Your hand halts halfway to the ring that dangles from gleaming ivory tusks and hangs surprised between yourself and the refulgent star across the threshold. Everything about Fenella and her home is bright.

She ushers you inside, pulling you by a handful of billowing cashmere into the foyer, and promptly defoliates you of the flailing garment and congruent scarf wound around your neck, taking your bag and hanging it from a brass hook beside your coat. “Bell, come an’ look who’s here!” she calls down the passageway, and a brontide reverberates through the hardwood and soles of your shoes. A storm rattling the foliage of a coppice in the thick of Summer.

Isobel shrieks, effusive in the manner of her excitement, when she rounds the corner from the doorway to the left and catches sight of you, teddy forgotten and swiftly discarded in favor of launching herself down the wide hall. You rock back when she connects with your leg, sinking her hands into layers of chiffon, pleated at your waist and cascading to the buckles of your flats around your ankles.

“Ye made it!” She wears a t-shirt many sizes too big, sleeves billowing around her and the hem rolled and tucked up inside with a knot that presses against your shin. The cracked, peeling numerals 141 are barely visible, on her left side just below her breastbone, and her surname is printed just below, peaks and plateau of the M and T rising above the cloud of your skirt bunched up in her arms. Her hair is loose, curls tumbling just over her shoulders in an unruly race to the wide crew-collar of her shirt, and the smile she beams up at you is blinding. Disorienting. Burrowing into your brain in search of a home. Looking for its carbon copy, etched in a memory of Johnny, sitting on a wooden chair in a kitchen that mirrors yours.

A timer chimes, echoing off smooth plaster painted with a whisper of green, sage and seafoam, and an eclectic collection of frames maps a rich family history from the front door down the length of the passageway,

“That’ll be dinner,” Fenella announces, a hand coming to rest between your shoulders and another delving into her granddaughter's curls. “Bell, show ‘er where tae wash up.” She herds you both forward, and your stomach knots with budding nerves.

“Can I help with anything? Setting the table?” you offer, attempt to make yourself useful, and she tuts her disapproval.

“Nae, jus’ wash up wi’ Bell. Dinner’ll be on the table when yer done.” She slips by the two of you, disappearing down the passageway and to the right while Isobel fits her hand into yours and leads you through the door she came from.

There’s a sideboard adjacent to the washroom, and while Isobel scrubs the days mire from her nails you cast your attention to the portraiture above it. Echoes of a convivial home, filled with family during the holidays, outings in the city, and school portraits. Johnny’s service portrait hangs front and center above a shadow box, pin board nearly full with brassy medals and gaudy ribbons. Years younger and clean shaven, he looks boyish and bright-eyed, even with the army drab and neutral expression. But there's a familiar tilt to his mouth, permanently skewed in an inveterate smile, and a whisper of laughter in the gentle slope of his shoulders, not yet filled out with the corded muscle that’s become so familiar. Several inches to the right and many years later, he appears as you know him now. Dark shadow of stubble, interrupted by the stitchwork that created the twisting scar on his chin, and—

The bulk of his body is curled around a young woman, dark cloud of curls concealing her face, buried in the hollow space beneath his jaw, but the swell of her belly is obvious in her profile. Isobel’s mum.

“Yer turn!” Isobel lilts from behind you, but you remain rooted to the polished hardwood, staring at a ghost, and wait for the rebuttal.

They aren’t yours. This isn’t your family.

Budding nerves blossom in the loamy pit of your stomach, creeping along spiculated vines towards the moldering gaps between your ribs, and your heart stutters in its crumbling cage alongside the starving, pacing creature you call want.

Forget them. Leave.

You wait, and wait, and wait—and it never comes. The ink doesn't wail, the frames don’t rattle, and there is no voice whispering over your shoulder.

There is a darling girl, tugging at the fabric of your skirt and the mess of snarled threads around your heart, picking apart the tangled web you’ve been lost in, and she guides you through the fray to the washroom basin.

“Ah spoke wi’ Johnny this morn’,” Fenella begins, reaching across the table to wipe at the broth dribbling down Isobel’s chin. “Said ye finally had a chance tae talk.”

“Oh. Yes, we did.” You don’t tell her how Johnny did most of the talking, took your sniveled apologies for avoiding his messages and buried them in the colluvium. Caught you, from a world away, and lowered you gently to the earth when you fell apart in your kitchen. “He sounds well.”

“Aye, he does. Havnae heard ‘im like that since Kirsten died.” She leans back in her chair, half-finished bowl of stew all but forgotten. “Those two… och, they were a right pain in my arse. Where one went the other followed, an’ made twice the trouble for their Mam.”

The revelation glues to your brain, tenebrous and viscid.

“Has he told ye about ‘er, his sister?”

“She saw the picture in the passageway,” Isobel chimes in, babbling around a mouthful of roast potato.

Their Mam. The picture in the hall. Johnny’s sister. The ghost next door.

“He’s mentioned her once before.” You drag your spoon through cooling beef and potato, breaking up the congealed, starchy mass, and try to do the same with the memories that tangle themselves together in your head. “He told me about his wife; that she passed two years ago. I— He never said his sister passed as well. I’m so—”

“His wife?” Quicksilver brows fly towards the inky peak of her hairline, bewilderment etched in the incredulous slash of her mouth, lips drawn tight. “Johnny’s ne’er wed, lass.”

Your hand stills but your heart rattles, throwing itself against baleen bars, and the pinpricks of teeth, gnawing at the fallstreak hole in your sternum, threatens to crack your ribs open at the dinner table. “Isobel’s mother—”

“Is his sister,” Fenella finishes for you.

“Then, Johnny… Why didn’t Isobel’s father raise her?”

Fenella casts a furtive glance in Isobels direction and finds cordierite eyes staring back at her over an empty bowl, gleaming with a startling discernment. “Stay here,” she motions towards you, and plucks Isobel from the chair between you, balancing her on a broad hip. “All done, Bell? Let’s get ye settled in the den, hm? With Ghost?” Isobel clutches at her shirt for balance, dips her chin in agreement, and Fenella takes her from the dining room, leaving you alone with the savage things in your chest.

Sister. Never married. Niece.

It percolates through gray matter. Drips from the roof of your mouth, nauseating and saccharine, and when you swallow you feel the drop in your stomach like an iron weight. Wilted petals and desiccated vines withering. A febrile joy laced with bile bubbling up your throat; sickly cocktail of absolution and compunction.

There was never a ghost trapped in a picture frame. No headstone inscribed with the MacTavish name and the words ‘Loving Wife and Mother.’ Every poisonous word whispered in your ear came from the devil on your shoulder, sowing demurral and rooting it in reproval, and the roaring in your chest, thundering pulse in your ears, screams yes.

The muted playing of fanfare from the TV cuts through the cacophony in your head, and Fenella’s voice allays the discordance. “She knows more than she lets on.” A sigh filters through her nose with a ‘hum’ and she slides into the chair Isobel occupied previously. “She misses him. Misses him like a wean misses their Da.” Misses him the same as her Mum. Gone somewhere she can’t follow, a place kept secret from her, with no way to know when he’ll be back. If he’ll come back.

The unpleasant realization of that very real possibility scrapes down your spine, whetted talons screeching against corrugated bone.

“Johnny’s the closest thing Bell’s ever had tae a Da,” she elucidates. “They used tae work together, ‘fore Johnny joined up wi’ the Task Force. Passed selection the same year.”

“She—Kirsten—met him through Johnny?” She nods, smiling, but the curve of her mouth has a mournful edge.

“She did. Johnny brought some lads round for Hogmanay one year. Took his sister out wi’ ‘em tae the pubs. Said she took one look at Aaron MacAndrew handin’ ‘er brother his own arse at darts and knew she’d marry ‘im. Did so, the following year. Hardly made it another ‘fore she told us she was havin’ Bell.” The memory of her daughter brightens Fenella’s eyes. Bottled lightning, bouncing off maldivian blue glass. “We were all excited. ‘Specially Johnny; couldnae wait tae meet his niece. Brought home gifts for Kirsten and the wean from every tour and couldnae go to ASDA wi’out buyin’ another teddy or romper.”

“Did Johnny and Aaron tour together?” She nods solemnly.

“Few weeks after Kirsten had Bell they left. Got their orders a month earlier, an’ Aaron… He didnae let Johnny tell Kirstin ‘til after she had the wean. Didnae want her tae stress.

“They were tae be gone three months, so Kirsten stayed here an’ I helped wi’ Bell. Went a while ‘fore we heard anythin’ from Johnny. Said things got hairy. Had tae go dark. Stay hidden. We didnae know why ‘til he called again an’ said he was comin’ home early, but naw Aaron. Naw ‘til he was the only one tae come off the plane.”

Laughter trickles in from the den, pooling in the hollow silence that yawns between you and Fenella. “I…” you try, but every word you string together with the next frays around the knot in your throat.

“She was angry wi’ him for some time. Aaron had died weeks before he called, an’ he kept it from ‘er. Didnae want tae tell her on the phone. Wanted tae be there when she found out.” She shifts her weight in the chair. Leans forward to fold one arm over the other on the table. “Johnny took it hard, too. Losin’ his mate an’ then his sister. None of us saw her for the better part of a year after he died, an’ Johnny took the blame for it. She wouldnae see him. Didnae come ‘round for holidays. He thought if he made ‘imself scarce she might come out her shell, so when he heard from a Captain he used tae serve under, ‘bout the Task Force an’ the longer assignments that came wi’ it… He packed ‘imself up an’ off he went. Was another year ‘fore they finally saw one another. Never knew what was said between the two of ‘em, but they were close as ever afterwards. Right up ‘til she passed.”

“And she listed Johnny as Isobel's next of kin.” Fenella nods, bottled lightning limned with a silvery tide. “I�� I’m so sorry. About Kirsten, Aaron, bringing it up— I shouldn’t—”

Despite the tears tracking down her cheeks, Fenella shakes her head. Smiles, and reaches across the table to clasp your hand in hers. “Ye dinna need tae apologize, lass. I should be thankin’ ye, really.” You try to pull away but her hand tightens around yours.

“Thank me? I haven’t—”

“Done anythin’? Lass, ye’ve done more than ye know. He talks about ye. Every time we go tae lunch. It’s ye, an’ Bell, an’ how excited she always is tae see ye. How he thinks she might fancy ye even more than he does. And he smiles. You brought that back.”

And fuck, if that isn’t everything you hoped for. To know that he smiles for you. Because of you. It alchemizes the iron in your stomach to lead, bathed in acid and leeching an acrimonious guilt into your bloodstream.

You ignored him.

Pulled away, just like his sister did.

And Fenella is thanking you.

Midnight settles over the MacTavish home in a mantle of crushed velvet and embroidered stars. Fenella insisted that you stay after dinner. Spend some time with Isobel in the den.

That was several hours ago.

Curled in the corner of a chenille couch, you sit with Isobel pressed to your side, head pillowed by the masked bear she clutches in her sleep.

“Someone’s finally tuckered out,” you muse, brushing an errant curl away from her face. “I should head home. Let the two of you rest.” Fenella stands from her chair beside the couch and maneuvers around the coffee table in the dim light of the TV.

“It’s late,” she rebukes. “I’ll naw have ye out at this hour. Stay the night. Ye can take yer rest in Johnny’s old room.” Fenella croons as she peels Isobel out of her cocoon of blankets and hoists her up into the cradle of her arms. “C’mon Bell, let’s show the lass where she’s stayin’ the night.”

“The roads really aren’t that bad, I— I should be able to make the drive just fine,” you insist, but the admonition in the gaze she levels you with quashes any further argument.

You follow, albeit hesitantly, from the den up a narrow flight of stairs, and hope that she can’t hear the tremulous rattling of your breath behind her. She deposits Isobel, teddy and all, in a colorful room, shelves overflowing with picture books and bins piled high with teddies and toys, tucks her snug beneath a hand-sewn quilt and leaves her with a peck on the cheek to guide you into the room across from hers.

She rifles through a chest of drawers, scratched pine and chipped lacquer, stood up against the wall opposite a wrought iron bed, draped in purples and greens that bring thistle to mind. “Ye can wear some of Johnny’s old things. I’d give ye somethin’ of mine but, well… I think ye’d be more comfortable in this.” Tracksuit bottoms and a pullover. She leaves it on the bed as she moves to where you hover near the doorway. “Washroom is just down there, on the right,” she directs, pointing to the far end of the hall. “An’ I’m just across the way if ye need anythin’. See ye at breakfast.”

With you and Isobel settled in your respective rooms, she ambles off to her own, door clicking shut softly behind her, and you’re left staring at Johnny’s clothes. On Johnny’s bed. In the bedroom where he grew up. Wondering how—if at all—you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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songmingisthighs · 3 months

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Wanbelyn

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ch. xxxvii - sugar cube

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

It didn't occurred to you that you had fallen asleep until you felt hands tapping your shoulders gently, slowly waking you up from your slumber.

"Hey, did you fall asleep here?"

Your eyes adjusted for a moment, trying to remember where you were only to feel your lower spine cracking as you shifted in your seat. It was a mistake fallung asleep while sitting on the floor of Hongjoong's bedroom.

Realizing you had let out an involuntary groan that was louder than you intended, your eyes snapped to the boy sleeping in a sprawled out starfish position to make sure that he didn't wake up and thankfully he was still snoring (and drooling) away. "When did you came home?" You croaked out as you tried to stand up in front of Hongjoong who was snickering at you, "Just now. Has Kijoong eaten lunch?" Your head turned to the side to look at the clock that had struck 2.37 so you nodded, "Yeah he ate around an hour ago before I put him down for a nap," you said as you stretched a little while Hongjoong nodded, soon moving to put his work bag by his side of the bed after giving Kijoong a peck on his forehead.

"Hey, you must be hungry. I'll go heat up lunch," before you stepped out of the room, you made sure to turn pn the baby monitor you had put on the bedside table on Kijoong's side before clipping the other on your jeans. As you checked if the monitors were functioning correctly, Hongjoong took notice and furrowed his eyebrows, "Is that his baby monitor??" You spared him a glance and nodded, "Yeah, I've been using it this whole time when I need to do stuff when Kijoong is asleep. I'll go get food ready for you," with that, you left the room.

Hongjoong couldn't help but stare in awe of the way you're taking care of his son with what he could only see as expertise and affection. Though he wasn't that attentive, he noticed the shift in the way you cared for Kijoong. You still held a firm hand but you seem to be more nervous, cautious, even paranoid to leave him all alone. While Hongjoong appreciated you staying at his place to care for Kijoong, he wonderee why you volunteered in the first place. You may have your own reason and he wouldn't dare pry if not needed, but it did made him wonder if this was what Kijoong's own mother do had she been around for this situation. That is... Had she even been around for Kijoong, would he still have pnes?

Trailing behind slowly, Hongjoong watched the way you move around his apartment. Over the course of a month, you had made several changes in his place to the point that it didn't feel like his apartment anymore. It felt like a home. There were more proof of life what with scattered toys that weren't there because Kijoong would usually be at the hospital daycare after school, his stove now have scratches and his pots and pans have scorched bottoms. To add to that, his home smells different. It smells like warmth that spreads through his chest.

"You look like you're deep in thoughts," Hongjoong jumped at the sound of your voice. Though you had your back on him, you talked like you were watching him this whole time. "I'm..." he was trying to come up with an answer but he couldn't think of any. Even when you turned around to place the soup you made on the table, he was still standing there just staring. You walked around the table and pull up the chair he usually sat on, patting it twice, "Come on, sit down, I'll get you some rice," you said and he obeyed.

Once seated, his gaze shifted to the food before him and without thinking, he blurted out, "Is this what having a woman in the house feels like?" Your hand froze mid-scoop of rice, surprised at what he said. "I... I was just wondering about Kijoong's mom," Hongjoong continued. It was the first time he had mentioned Kijoong's mom ever since you started working there.

You were silent when you closed the rice cooker's lid and even as you placed the bowl in front of Hongjoong and sat across him. You were curious, sure, and you've never really had the opportunity to ask him. Thinking about how it was just the two of you and Kijoong was asleep, you decided to ask. "What happened to Kijoong's mom anyways?"

To be frank, you expected him to be taken aback, pausing momentarily, something. But Hongjoong simply chuckled as he reached for a sausage from one of the banchan plates spread in front of him. "Her name was Seo Aejeong and I met her at the hospital by accident the first year I became a resident. She said she was waiting for a friend who's seeing a psychiatrist there and we ended up talking and even exchanging numbers. She mentioned how she wanted to become a doctor too but ended up going against it because she wanted to have a family of her own and being a doctor meant she couldn't dedicate her time to tend to her children even though she had the capabilities. I found that admirable and we started seeing each other outside the knowledge of anyone at the hospital and... Around four months later... Well..." "Even doctors forgot protection, huh?" you teased, causing his face to flare red in embarrassment, "It broke, okay?" he huffed, shoving a rolled omelette in his mouth and chewing aggressively like how Kijoong would when you told him he couldn't have chocolate before dinner.

"We both agreed to have the baby because we were on the same page on most things and after further discussion, we were financially able to anyway. But shit fell apart when I brought her to her first check-up," he sighed and you could tell that what he wanted to say next was more baffling than it is painful. "There, I found out that she wasn't even who she said she was. See, when I met her, she told me that her name was Seo Aejeong, turns out, her name was Kang Minhee and she was the patient of Mingi's Attending and mentor. The life she told me about was half true and half a lie which was made so because she has Borderline Personality Disorder which causes delusion. In this case, she believed that she wasn't Kang Minhee, she believed that she was Seo Aejeong, a girl who went missing in 2002, the same day Kang Minhee got separated from her nanny when they went to a park only to be found at the doorstep of her family's estate 4 days later. Or so people told her because she believed that her rich family paid someone to kidnap Seo Aejeong and pretended like she was Kang Minhee because the real Kang Minhee died. She believed it was so because she had no recollection of her life before that."

You were staring at him with your mouth agape, shocked that this Grey's Anatomy-level drama was part of your life. Hongjoong looked up after taking a sip of his soup, confused by the way you were staring at him, "What?" He asked as if he hadn't just told you what was probably the juiciest story you've ever heard. "I'm sorry, aside from that AMAZING backstory, what actually happened? Where is she now?" Then, that moment, with that question came pain. "I... Well, we did end up having Kijoong and we even lived together. I actually got close to Mingi because of her as he was tasked to keep an eye on Kijoong's mom and he helped me aid her condition because when she gave birth, she got into a rather serious postpartum depression. Her parents wanted to put her in a postpartum care centre not because they thought she needed it, but because they thought the baby would need the attention their daughter wouldn't give them. Nice people they are, Kijoong's other grandparents. They still try to chip in every now and then and while they didn't get to have a relationship with Kijoong, they still send us things. And at first, I thought she was getting better because she did. After a month of being at the postpartum care centre, she came home happier and it even seemed like she was bonding with Kijoong. Until the day Kijoong hit his three-month milestone, I came home after a long shift to find Aejeong... Minhee... She, sitting on the couch with Kijoong in her arms but she was dressed like she had somewhere to go with a paper that signed her parental rights away on the table. She told me that her giving birth to Kijoong was cathartic because, as she said, he allowed her to leave Seo Aejeong behind and move forward as Kang Minhee for her own well-being," he said, smiling bitterly.

You were not one prone to serious violence but at that moment, you really do want to find whoever that Seo Aejeong/Kang Minhee is and beat the living shit out of her. It was one thing to get pregnant accidentally, but it was a whole other thing when she gave birth and realized it was a "cathartic" experience that allowed her to "move on" with her life. Who the fuck does that?

You slammed your hand on the table, effectively causing Hongjoong to choke on his soup, "What the fuck!? She used Kijoong as a therapy tool? I mean I get that she has mental issues but that doesn't excuse anything," you scoffed, crossing your arms on your chest as you glared ahead, making it seem like you were glaring at Hongjoong. After managing to calm his breathing down, Hongjoong waved his hand around, "Okay, it's nothing like that. She didn't use him, the catharsis just happened after she gave birth and I do agree that she needed to get better mentally so... I let her go," he said. You couldn't help but squint your eyes at him curiously, "Is that why you haven't been able to move on from her?" Abashed, Hongjoong averted his gaze, "You don't know how it is to have someone you're so fond of be taken away from you," he muttered.

While you didn't know how it was being him, going through what he went through, you had your own experience.

Leaning back against your chair, you smiled up at him, "Don't you ever wonder why I quit my last nursing job?" Sensing that you were about to tell him something, Hongjoong straightened up in his seat, "I lost a kid and I couldn't handle it," you prefaced, "It was a mistake that should have never happened but it did, it happened because there was a lack of communication happening between the nurses and t was so stupid," you sighed. This intrigued Hongjoong as seen from the way he rested his elbows on the dining table and leaned towards you. You then continued, seeing his interest, "I was assigned a case, a kid with a blood disorder which didn't allow his blood to have a strong flow because they clot too easily so we did a coagulant therapy with heparin. His name was Junhyuk and I think he was around eight years old when I met him. He was the exact opposite of Kijoong but I'm willing to bet he would've liked playing with him," Hongjoong couldn't help but crack a grin at how you affectionately laughed at the memories of Jinhyuk and even including Kijoong in your memories. "Because of his condition, he was prone to having a stroke and he actually came in because he had some clots that could potentially risk a heart attack so he was scheduled for a thrombectomy after seeing that the heparin didn't really do much. The hospital I worked at had a strict morning and night nurse schedule rotation we were in the middle of a restructuring so our night nurses were temps. I left that night after checking up on Jinhyuk and I even made sure to note that he had surgery at 8 am the next day. I should've listed what he could or couldn't have because the temp gave him heparin because it was part of his scheduled medication so when a little mishap happened with the catheter, he bled profusely and because everyone assumed his heparin was stopped, no one suspected that it was the drugs so they opened him up and..." "He bled out on the table," Hongjoong concluded.

"I came to work only to be greeted with the news that Junhyuk had died. I basically had a breakdown and I was given a week off. They did an autopsy on Junhyuk's body and when I found out the cause, I couldn't bring myself to come back to work. I blamed myself for what happened." You had been trying to hide your tears but when Hongjoong slipped tissues into your hands, you realized he was paying every bit of attention to you. "Is that why you were so... Frantic when Kijoong choked on jello? Because you lost a kid?" Hongjoong asked, now finding a new side of you he hadn't taken into account before. "I couldn't let another kid die on my watch," you hiccupped softly. Grabbing your hands, Hongjoong pulled your gaze onto him, "You were not at fault, it was an accident you couldn't have predicted so it's not something you could've prevented. You're only human," he said.

The two of you held hands as you made the realization that you both were not so different after all. You realized why he was so frustrating to you, it was because there was a connection between you two that was amiss for a while.

"Two idiots in a room holding hands, getting emotional over abandonment say what?" you cracked the silence which caused Hongjoong to furrow his eyebrows, "What?" he asked. "What?" you teased. Once he realized what just happened, Hongjoong scoffed, rolled his eyes, and let go of your hands though the grin on his face remained.

The moment was cut short by the sound of soft sobs calling for you from the baby monitor on your hip. "Welp, that's the boss calling," you pushed yourself up and out of your chair, "I'll be back to clean the dishes, you really should consider taking a shower because you smell like cheap coffee and IV drip," you teased, moving past Hongjoong only for him to grab your hand mid-way. You thought he was going to make a snarky remark but your eyes widened slightly at the way he was looking up at you with a soft gaze, "Thank you for taking care of Kijoong and me so well, (y/n). I truly appreciate it," he smiled, causing your heart to automatically skip a beat. Though it was the first time he had ever done that to you, you didn't feel awkward at all. Not even when you squeezed his hand gently, "It's my pleasure, Hongjoong. Really," you smiled back before rushing to tend to Kijoong who had started sniffling and trying to get out of bed to look for you.

It felt nice for Hongjoong to be able to share a person he trusted with Kijoong. For a moment, things felt real. For a moment, it felt like things were where they were supposed to be.

For a moment, he was able to breathe.

network :

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taglist :

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hyunsvngs · 4 months

Text

thinking about mommy minhee mrs claus inspired by miss @cbini

“c’mere, kiddo,” her voice is soft, red velvet dress short. when did santa get so… pretty? sharp nose, long chestnut hair cascading over her back, an evil glint in feline eyes. you’re gawking. “come and sit on mommy’s lap and tell me what you need.”

you obey. how are you meant to disobey, when her voice is so steady and authoritative? you pad over in your fluffy socks, and she beckons you onto her exposed knee with little, slender hands. up close, you can see a freckle on the end of her nose, lips curling into a smirk when she catches you staring. she’s beautiful, and when your eyes travel lower you only feel more out of breath - heaving, large breasts push against the off-shoulder neckline of her dress, milky skin pooling over the fluffy white lining.

“i- mommy, you’re so pretty,” you coo, and she laughs, eyes scrunching up.

“you’re not going to get any bonus points for that, baby,” her fingers go to your thighs, clipped nails scratching fondly at your bare skin. your sleep shorts ride up when you wiggle, and you ache between your legs, hoping she’ll push your legs apart and slide two fingers deep inside of you. “tell me what you want for christmas.”

you blink. “you.”

she hums, tilting her head in question. her eyes trail off to the ceiling as if she’s thinking, and then she smirks. “that tracks. pretty little girl like you doesn’t want a new gaming console or a teddy, right?”

she’s waiting for you to respond, and your lips part. you want to kiss her. her christmas hat tickles your neck. “i- i don’t-“

“no, no,” she shushes you, fingers sliding further up your thigh. “a pretty little girl like you wants to be stretched open on mommy’s strap, treated like a little slut until she squirts everywhere. that’s right, isn’t it?”

her arm wraps around your middle, broad and toned, and she pulls you in and lays backwards. you’re splayed on top of her, tits squished against hers and a crimson blush on your face. she’s not wrong.

you try to respond, but her lips are already trailing wet, sloppy kisses up your neck. “mm- mama, mommy, mrs claus, how did you- how did you know-?”

“magic, baby,” she whispers, nosing at the spit accumulating on your skin. “that, and your messy little cunt was dripping on me as soon as you sat down.”

#juno’s asks ♡#fem!skz #hi #LMFAO

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themidnightcrimson · 11 months

Text

bump, set, spike ࿏ wm

summary: in which your new volleyball coach has a thing for degrading you.

words: 4.7K

warnings: volleyball coach!wanda, f!reader, degradation, I MEAN DEGRADATION, mommy kink, I SAID MOMMY KINK, slight dubcon/non-con, use of cumstrap, breeding kink, authority kink, yes i was a volleyball girl

this post is for 18+ only. minors: dni.

masterlist.

“I heard she’s a total hardass,” your teammate huffed as she bumped the volleyball to herself, staggering around to keep her balance as she bumped it into the air and down, then back up again.

The coach of your volleyball team had left in quite a hurry, leaving your college team without a proper coach for weeks on end. Finally, the university acquired one of the best coaches in the state, and this was your first scheduled practice with the coach whom you had no idea about except for the floating rumors that players were constantly passing out from her hard practices.

The wooden floor squeaked under your tennis shoes as you walked to the side of the gym, volleyball under your arm, to grab your water bottle and drink from it. Your teammates were casually bumping to each other, some lying around on the floor talking to each other as you waited for the new coach to arrive. It wasn’t customary for a coach to be so late to their first practice—your teammates had already set up the net in preparation. You sighed and sat down on the floor to relace your shoes.

Finally, the gym doors squealed open, and, as you sat on the floor with your shoelaces in hand, you glanced over to see your new coach walking in. She was wearing knee-length black tights and a fitted t-shirt that left no room for the imagination. Her brownish blonde hair was short and pinned halfway up, the curl of bangs resting over her brows that were arched in curiosity as she glanced over the room of girls, already analyzing and sorting out her new team at her hands.

“Good morning,” she called confidently, her dark green eyes flickering between the stunned faces of your teammates. She was a young woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, her body fit under her tight clothing and her face beautiful but stern. She seemed to suck up all the air in the large gym, everyone going suddenly silent.

Your fingers fumbled with your laces when her eyes finally landed on you. She stopped walking halfway down the length of the net to stare at you, her eyes boring into you like two sharp arrows. You felt your face getting hot under her viridescent stare, finding her rather formidable even with her obvious beauty.

“Why are you on the floor?” she asked evenly, her tone a sense of eerie calm.

You glanced down to your shoes then back up at her. “Tying my shoes.”

Her dark lips twitched into a half-smile. “What’s your name?”

Your heart started to unreasonably pound in your chest. “Y/n.”

She nodded instantly, as if she didn’t even listen to what you told her your name was, but it surprised you when she repeated it meticulously, “Y/n, are you a starter?”

There were some whispers from the other girls. Of course you were a starter. You were the team’s best hitter, earning them three-fourths of their offensive points every game. You only dumbly nodded, finding that your voice was incapable of escaping your throat.

The new coach hummed, nodding politely before the smile on her face faded. “If you spend one more second wasting practicing by lying around, you will not be a starter anymore.” Her words only had a millisecond to dumbfound you before she snapped, “Get up!”

Your body obeyed her clipped command instantaneously, jumping up to your feet and standing upright like you were in the military. You were thankful that you had just finished tying your laces. She only stared at you for a moment longer, turning slowly before she looked to the rest of the team who also were now all on their feet. “I’m Wanda Maximoff. You will call me Coach Maximoff.” Her hand grazed the net as she walked along it. “I was a little stunned at your statistics when they asked me to step in as coach. You guys hardly win a game.”

She turned around again, eyes dancing on you from across the room before they slipped away. Why were you sweaty all of a sudden?

“I can change that. If you give me respect, diligence, and consistency, I can help you guys out.” She paused, coming to a stop and placing her hands behind her back. “If you don’t, you will run suicides until the first person passes out.”

Some girls in the back giggled—the rumors were true, apparently.

Coach Maximoff smiled tightly, and then she asked for everyone to say their name and their position on the team, and whether they were a starter or not.

That practice was one of the toughest ones you’d ever had. She introduced advanced drills that none of you had ever done before, and every time someone messed up too badly, everyone had to run in a line around the gym for five minutes. Practices were usually only a couple hours long, but this one lasted until well into the afternoon.

You noticed that every time you glanced at Coach Maximoff, she was already looking at you. You must have pissed her off or something, because she called you up first for all the drills to “show them how it’s done,” only to reprimand and correct every single thing you do.

“Alright,” she began after she blew her whistle, looking at your team of sweating, panting, red-faced players from the other side of the net. She swooped under the net easily, looking at the lot of you. “Since you ladies are playing like junior varsity players, we’re going to do a simple practice that surely you can understand.” She took a ball from the stand beside her and held it up. “Bump, set, spike. I want you to get in a line, and I will serve the ball. The first person will bump it back to me. I will set it. The next person will spike it, and so forth. Got it?” There was only a pause of nodding and humming before she suddenly pointed to you. “Y/n. Up first.”

Why was she calling you first for every single drill? It was starting to aggravate you, especially since you were so tired and worn out from all the running and the tough drills. You bit back a groan and went to the first of the forming line, lowering down into receiving position.

Coach Maximoff smirked a little as she watched you lower down, raising the ball up into the air. You took a deep breath—your previous coach was always a soft server, but you didn’t know how Coach Maximoff was yet. Eyes pinned to you, smirk still set on her features, she tossed the ball up with one hand and quickly slapped her other hand over it, sending the ball spiraling quickly at you with a loud slapping sound that echoed in the gym.

It was so fast that you didn’t even see it before it hit you right in the knee and bounced away. There were some whispers from the girls behind you as your face turned red in embarrassment, and it only worsened when you looked up to the coach to see that she was staring at you with an expression of irritation.

“Why didn’t you get it?” she snapped coldly.

You blinked, rubbing your sweaty palms on your knee pads. “I—I don’t know, it came too fast. I wasn’t ready.”

“Wasn’t ready?” she echoed with a huff, amusement on her face. “Well get ready.” She grabbed another ball and you lowered again, hands spread in front of you, ready to receive. She tossed the ball up and hit it harder again, the sound slapping even louder than the last time. You expected it to be a low serve that you had to dig for like the first time, but this time it hurtled straight to your face. Normally, you would know to receive it with a set instead of a bump, but your hands fumbled and just went straight in front of your face, blocking yourself from the ball that slapped your hands and bounced to the floor limply.

Coach Maximoff rubbed her face over her hands and sighed in aggravation. “That’s it. Run.”

You stood there like an idiot, feeling fiery with shame. “Run?”

“Run!” she yelled, throwing her finger around the gym. “Run until I tell you to stop if you want to keep being a starter!” Her voice was like that of a snarl, low and vicious. Heart already pounding, you set off in a stumbly jog, running a lap along the wall of the gym.

Coach Maximoff continued the drill with the other girls, and you went green with jealousy at how easily they were receiving her serves and spikes, so seamlessly and perfectly. She even praised them, and something in your chest tugged.

You thought maybe after a couple laps, she would drag you back to the front of the line to redo the drill, but she never did. You ran for an uncounted amount of time, to the point where your legs were shaking and you were sweating through your shirt and finding it hard to breathe. Finally, she ended the drill and turned to see you jogging exhaustedly across the gym. “That’s enough!” she called, and you instantly fell to your knees, thankful that you had your kneepads on as they hit the floor hard. You bent over, gasping and wheezing loudly, wiping the abundance of sweat from your forehead.

With a blow of her whistle, she dismissed the practice, and you limped over across the gym to collect your things and get the hell out of there. “Practice tomorrow afternoon!” Coach Maximoff called to the team as other girls were already hurrying out the door, prepared to pass out or puke or both. You fell to the floor with a huff and began tugging off your shoes, feeling blisters forming around your feet.

Maximoff walked over to you as the other girls were leaving, and you looked up, seeing that she was standing close to you, towering over you. “I want you stay tomorrow night after practice. I think what you need is some one-on-one coaching.”

Dread filled you. Not only did you already have plans with friends tomorrow night, but you did not want to be around this villainous coach any more than you had to. She obviously had it out for you, and the embarrassment in front of your teammates was enough—you could only imagine how much she would belittle you alone. “Sorry,” you mumbled, still out of breath. “I have plans tomorrow night.”

Wanda’s lips pursed, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in slowly. Placing her hands on her knees, she crouched down in front of you incredibly close, her face only inches from yours. You froze, glancing around to see that everyone else had already left.

“It seems to me that you don’t care one bit about this sport or this team,” she said quietly, her voice rasping in a way that made your ears burn. You could see every shade of green in her eyes from this close, the curve and suppleness of her lips. “If you want to keep your position, you will see me tomorrow night after practice. If you don’t, I will have no choice but to reconsider your role on this team.”

Your eyes widened—was she threatening to kick you off the team?

Her hand reached out suddenly, placing itself on the middle of your thigh. You glanced down, seeing her long, nimble fingertips pressing into your skin. “And make sure you stretch before coming tomorrow. I need you to be flexible.”

A smirk curled at her lips, leaving you dumbfounded with an even redder face. She stood up and walked away, leaving you on the floor.

The hours leading up to the next day’s practice were unbearable. You were nervous about being alone with her, worried you would not meet her expectations and get yourself kicked off the team, but you also could not stop thinking about her hand on your thigh and the words she had said to you in such a low, raspy voice with that damning smirk on her lips. It was etched into your mind like a fire.

The practice went the same as the day before. She called you up first for every drill, which you failed miserably at. Why were you messing up so much around her? Of course, you were nervous, everyone was intimated by her, but no one else was messing up as much as you were. Your knees felt wobbly the whole time, your hands sweaty, your mind too distracted by the way she looked at you, and the way she moved, and her words still circling in your mind like a cyclone.

Practice was finally over, but that didn’t help your nerves one bit, because now you were going to be alone with her. While everyone else flooded out of the gym, some crying because Wanda made them run so many laps around the gym, you stayed sitting on the floor off to the side, rubbing your ankles that were blistered and nearly bleeding.

You watched Coach Maximoff go across the gym and pick up stray volleyballs that didn’t get picked up. She was wearing a pair of thick black sweatpants today and a tiny red shirt that showed her midsection every time she lifted her arm to serve the ball. She was so beautiful and confident, albeit mean, that you couldn’t help but wonder what she was like outside of being a coach, if she was actually a kind, gentle person who had hobbies like reading or art. Part of you thought maybe she ate the hearts of the innocent in her free time with how monstrous and unrelentingly cruel she was in the gym.

When she’d replaced all the balls back to the standing bag, she looked over at you expectantly. Her face lowered, eyes shadowing under the overhead gym lights, and she lifted a finger and curled it towards her.

You found yourself standing up to walk towards her, limping a little from the blisters on your ankles. When you came to a stop, her eyes flickered up and down your body, landing around your hips. “Do you usually wear shorts that short to practice?”

Glancing down, you looked at your tiny spandex shorts and shrugged. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Those are a little revealing, don’t you think?” she murmured, boldly reaching her hand out and running her fingertips under the hem of the tight shorts, tugging on the fabric and then letting it snap against your thigh, making you jump. She smirked and tilted her head, stepping closer to you. “And this shirt…” Her hand took the hem of your tight long-sleeved shirt and tugged at it. “Take it off.”

Heat swelled in your face as you blinked, making sure you heard her right. “What?”

“You’ll get too sweaty in that. You’re wearing a bra, right?” Her tongue peeked out of her mouth and ran across her lower lip. “It’s just us two in here. You can take it off so you won’t get too hot.”

Feeling somehow breathless, you looked down at your shirt and reluctantly took the hem. You had been just fine wearing it all during practice, and most of the girls wore long-sleeved shirts to help protect their arms from so much bumping. You wanted to say that, but her smirk turned into a stone gaze.

“I’m your Coach, y/n. There needs to be a level of trust between us—and respect. That means—” She leaned closer and whispered, “You do what I say.”

Gulping, you only nodded, taking the hem of your shirt in your hands and slowly peeling it over your head, leaving you only in your sports bra and shorts. She bit her lip and let her eyes run down your figure as she finally stepped away. “Good girl.”

Your face grew immeasurably hot. Wanda walked to the standing bag and took out a volleyball, holding it on her hip and pointing to a few feet in front of her. “Come here. We’re going to do bump, set, spike, until you get it.”

You wanted to tell her that was such a simple drill and that normally you would have no problem doing it but found it hard to keep your composure around her, but you didn’t. Instead, you let your voice die in your throat and walked to the spot on the floor, turning to face her.

“Get in position,” she commanded, so you did, bending your knees and spreading your hands. Without warning, she quickly tossed the ball up and spiked it towards you, sending it slapping across your thighs.

“Ow!” you instinctively exclaimed, clapping your hand over the red spot forming on your thigh, but Wanda was already getting another ball and served it to you twice as quick, and this time you had to jump out of the way before it smacked you in the face. “Jesus!”

Wanda gave a mixture between a sigh and a huff as she rubbed her hand over her forehead. Your face burned in shame as she stared at you, trying to think of what to do with you. Finally, she clicked her tongue and said, “You do not know how to receive a serve at all, do you?”

Feeling frustrated, you threw your hands up in the air. “I’m a hitter, not a libero!”

The coach ran her tongue over her teeth and stared at you for a moment. “Fine, since you somehow made it into college volleyball without knowing how to receive, I guess I’ll be the one to teach you.” She started towards you. “Get down into what you think a receiving position is.”

Huffing, you lowered down in the same way you had. Wanda neared you, eyes flickering over your body as she started walking a slow circle around you. You could feel her standing behind you, your heart starting to race.

Suddenly, her foot came and kicked at your ankle, forcing your legs to open wider. You gasped, nearly tripping, until you found you were lowered down even farther with your legs spread wider. “Keep ‘em open,” she murmured behind you, and you didn’t realize how close she had been standing behind you until you heard her lips right behind your ear.

Trying to remember how to breathe, you felt her hands come to rest at your elbows, adjusting your arms to a different position. “You want to keep them closer together,” she whispered, her breath moving strands of your hair. Her hands, once finished moving your arms, slowly slid up them and to your shoulders, tracing down your back. She pressed in at the middle of your back, causing it to arch into a curve. “Your hips…” she trailed, and you felt her hands leave you. It made you feel cold without her touch.

“W-What about them?” you asked in nearly a whisper, feeling like the large gym was suddenly half the size it usually felt like.

“You need to bring them back more,” she said in a husky tone, and then her hands were on your hips, squeezing the bones there before she jerked them backwards. You gasped when your ass pressed right against her crotch, and from the force of it you could tell she had bucked her hips towards you. You were about to start apologizing, but her hands held your hips still.

Then, when she moved her hips a little to get closer to you, you felt it—something hard and large tucked inside her sweatpants, bulging out right against your ass. Sharply, you stood straight, feeling your back hit her chest as you did. Her hands kept hold of your hips, digging herself into your ass and letting out a throaty moan that brought chills up your spine.

“Coach?” you whispered, panting as you felt yourself throbbing within. You could feel her breath on the back of your neck, her lips grazing your spinal cord as she pushed herself closer to you, grinding her hips into the swells of your behind.

“I don’t think you know how to respect your coach,” she husked into your ear, her lips pressing against the skin there. One of her hands left your hip to swerve around your tummy, diving up towards your chest. “Or how to obey.” Her hand grabbed at your breast from over your bra, bringing a sharp gasp of surprise from your throat.

You knew that it was incredibly wrong, letting her touch on you and press against you like that, but the rasp in her voice and the domineer in her hands was turning you on so much that you felt like you were rapidly growing a fever.

Her hand left your chest and dove straight down into your shorts, reaching past your thin pair of panties to grope at you between your legs. Your lips fell open, head falling back against her shoulder as her svelte fingers started to grab at your clit. She smelled like perfume and the rubber scent of volleyball material, her lips pressing against the corner of your jaw before biting there.

“Coach, please,” you groaned as her fingers started to rub hard at your clit, her cock pressing harder against your ass all the while.

“You can call me Mommy,” she whispered into your ear before biting it, inciting a moan from you. “You’re pathetic. All wet and needy for me.” She pulled her hand out of your shorts to show that her fingers were glistening under the gym lights. Reaching up to grab a fistful of your hair, she yanked your head back so that your lips opened, and she dove her fingers inside your mouth. “Suck,” she demanded in a harsh whisper against your ear, so you did, sucking your own juices off her fingers as your face turned bright red, tasting your own arousal and the hint of salty sweat on her fingers.

When her fingers were all clean, she pulled them out and growled before she used her hand in your hair to push you forward so hard that you crumpled to the ground, your kneepads hitting the hard wood as she followed you down, kneeling between your legs.

“You want to be a starter, huh, little whore?” Wanda asked from behind you as her hands started grabbing at your shorts.

Dizzy from the fall and from the neediness throbbing within you, you let out a small, “Uh huh, Mommy.”

“Fuck,” Wanda hissed when you called her that, yanking down your shorts to expose your bare ass and pussy. “Then you will take all of Mommy’s cock so she will let you be a starter, won’t you?”

“Yes,” you moaned, the wooden floor cold against your face. “Yes, Mommy.”

“What a fucking slut,” Wanda murmured as she yanked her sweatpants down a little so she could take out her strap. You couldn’t see it, but you knew it was big when she started to rub the tip up and down your wet folds. “Listen to that, slut.” You could hear the wet sounds that your folds made when her strap parted them. “I didn’t make you out to be such a dirty whore.”

Keeping one hand in your hair, pushing your face onto the floor, she thrust her cock into you all at once, your walls opening for her as she slid through them.

You cried out at her size, grabbing helplessly at the floor as she pulled out before snapping her hips back into you, shoving herself hard inside you. It was so rough, and you felt so dirty lying on the floor as your coach took your pussy from behind, but you loved it, finding yourself lost in a whirlwind of primal pleasure as her grunts and your moans echoed in the loud gym.

“What would someone say if they walked in right now,” Wanda said between her thrusts, and you heard the sound of skin slapping together, “if they saw you lying on the floor getting fucked by your coach like this?” You could tell that she loved the position of power she had over you, both technically and physically. “Offering up your pussy to me so that you’ll be my favorite.” She tugged at your hair, lifting your upper body off the floor and hissing against your ear. “Do you think they’d call you a slut?”

Shame filled you just like it did when she had first seen you and scolded you for sitting on the floor. You could only give a string of unintelligible noises, so she yanked your hair harder, demanding you to speak. “Yes,” you finally gasped. “Yes, they would, Mommy.”

Wanda laughed at how pathetic you were, pushing your face back into the floor. Moving her hand to your ass, she grabbed at your flesh there, letting out an unashamed moan as she thrust her hips harder into you. You could feel your own juices sliding down your inner thighs, your eyes squeezing shut as her strap went deeper and deeper inside you, causing your legs to tremble.

“Fuck, I knew you’d have good pussy,” Wanda breathed, and her words were spinning a coil of pressure in the pit of your tummy, her own voice starting to falter as her thrusts grew wild and unrhythmic. “I wanted to throw you down and put my cock in you when I first saw you yesterday.”

Her words were making you burn so hot you thought you would melt right through the floor.

“You’ll make such a good fleshlight for Mommy—fuck—letting me bend you over just like this everyday after practice, won’t you?”

“Uh huh,” you squealed, mouth falling open as you felt an orgasm impeding upon you.

“That’s right, you will. If you want to be a starter, you have to be Mommy’s fucktoy first—ah!” She hissed, her hips snapping into you harder and sloppier. “Fuck, you gonna take Mommy’s cum?”

You let out a gasp when she hinted that it was a cumstrap she was wearing, and you knew that you were moments away from cumming helplessly all over her strap. “Yes, yes, Mommy,” you whined, feeling her hand tighten its grip in your hair.

Wanda reached down to grab the base of the strap right as her climax reached her, growling loudly and grabbing hard at any spot on you she could grab, squeezing the base and letting her cum squirt deep inside you, painting your inner walls and filling you up so that you came instantly, moaning and bucking your hips backwards against her.

Wanda sighed, grinding her strap slowly inside you as you rode out your own climax, watching some of her cum drip out of you each time she pulled her strap out a little. Grinning, she pulled out and stood, grabbing your shoulder and turning you over on your back. You looked up at her in a daze, legs still trembling as you panted.

“Open up,” she said with a wide grin as she kneeled over your face, her strap glistening with a mixture of juices that dripped from the end and splattered across your chin. Desperately wanting to obey her, you opened your mouth, and she lowered her hips, shoving her cock deep into your mouth. You choked at first, letting out a quiet gagging sound that she laughed at until you caught control of yourself and started dutifully sucking her clean. She looked down at you with her lip caught between her teeth, humming in appreciation at how cute you looked with her strap in her mouth.

Once it was clean, she pulled out of your mouth with a popping sound and pushed her strap back into her thick black sweatpants that easily concealed it. You were burning up and shaking, inebriated with all the degradation she’d poured upon you, feeling your pussy full of her cum that was slowly dripping out of you.

“Good girl,” she whispered as she stared down at you, reaching out and wiping the liquids away from your chin. “Same time tomorrow? Don’t wear underwear this time.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #lgbt #lesbian #wanda maximoff x f!reader #coach!wanda #elizabeth olsen

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her-satanic-wiles · 7 months

Text

October 5th

Collaring, Papa Emeritus III x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 2k

Warnings: Collaring and leashes; established relationship; power play?; dom!Terzo; sub!Reader; piv; vaginal sex; protected sex; clothed man, semi-naked woman; vaginal fingering; masturbation; choking; positive degradation; spanking; cunnilingus; squirting; cumswap (sorry not sorry); nipple play; free use?; body worship;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Terzo was already sat on the bed waiting for you when you entered the room, your frame decorated with black lingerie and harnesses. Terzo, after a long day at the Ministry filled with meetings and stressful actions, was still fully clothed in his suit, albeit missing the jacket. His legs were open as they often were when beginning a scene like this - he liked this posture because it made him feel powerful. In his right hand was a thick, black, leather collar, with a circular ring screwed into the middle of it. He fully intended to put you in that tonight.

“Come here, tesoro.” He requested softly. His voice was deep and smooth as it usually was in the bedroom, and it had you melting. You obeyed him and bent slightly at the knees, allowing him from his seated position to clasp the thick collar around your neck. Following a chaste kiss to your red lips, he then clipped a silver, metal leash to the collar. “On your knees for me.”

You placed yourself in front of him as gracefully as you could, your eyes never breaking the contact with his. You knew better than to make any movements or decisions. Papa was in charge now. Papa would tell you what to do.

“Touch yourself.”

Your hand immediately went down to your clothed clit and began to rub over the black cotton that covered it, teasing yourself for Terzo’s enjoyment. You immediately began bucking your hips in time with your movements chasing as much pleasure as you could from the muted touch. Your noises were soft but genuine, the pleasure was great but not enough to have you screaming. Terzo’s hand grasped onto the other end of the collar tightly, though his eyes were transfixed by your hand, obsessed with the way that it was moving and giving you the pleasure that he asked for.

“Does your hand feel good, tesoro?” Terzo asked, very much affected by your little show.

“Yes, Papa. Fuck! Not as good as yours, though. I l-love the way your fingers feel on me… inside of me.”

“Hmm.”

Your other hand moved from your thigh up to your breast, grasping it and playing with it to put on the extra show for Papa. Your fingers found the erect nipple poking through the delicate lace of the bra and began pinching and playing with it, giving Terzo an extra moan of satisfaction. All the while the pupils of his mismatched eyes were blown out, and staring at you with nothing but lust and adoration. You were pleasing him, you could see by the very prominent bulge under his trousers.

“Papa!” Whimpering his title was a sure fire way of getting him riled up. He wanted to seem powerful today, he wanted to remind himself of his position. Seeing you on your knees at his mercy was a sure fire way of doing that.

As the pleasure became too much you stopped your ministrations on your breast and instead clutched onto the loose chain of the leash, and your hand moved faster and faster over your clit, still trapped under the fabric of your panties. Meanwhile, your hole was clenching around nothing, screaming out for your fingers to fill it. But Papa hadn’t told you to move your panties, or even put your fingers inside you. So your hips continued to buck against the air desperately searching for the friction you craved.

Terzo loosened the leash (though it wasn’t particularly tight to begin with) and wrapped it a little around his hand. That same hand came to caress your cheek, the cold metal of the leash contrasting with the warmth of his touch. His thumb found its way into your mouth, and he watched with carnal interest as you began to suck on it, gliding over its length like you did with his cock. He exhaled deeply and mindlessly spoke, “Just like that.” At this point, his voice was hoarse and gravelly, but that word was so quiet you almost missed it. But you didn’t - and your fingers began to work over your clit even faster as you sucked his thumb.

He pulled his thumb out of your mouth and you gave the tip one final lick before he took his hand away altogether. “Will you cum for Papa, tesoro? Will you show Papa how good you feel being watched by him as you pleasure yourself, hm?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Are you close?”

“Mm-hmm.”

You continued to work yourself into a frenzy, rubbing quickly over your clit and applying more pressure. You looked at Terzo whose eyes were glued to your vulva, obsessively watching you work yourself over. At no point did he touch himself. He just watched. And that was the thought that drove you over the edge, and made you cum for him, stilling as your orgasm washed over you and had moans spilling from your lips.

“Che brava ragazza per tuo Papa. On the bed, tesoro. Ass in the air.”

You crawled across the floor then climbed into position, getting yourself ready for him as he had asked. You arched your back and placed your head onto the bed, allowing the roundness of your ass to really pop, and this earned you an appreciative smack to one of your cheeks.

He hummed admiringly. “My beautiful bitch.”

Another smack. This time, the hit was followed by him groping your offended cheek and pushing them upwards, in turn spreading your labia apart and over the gusset of your panties. “So wet for Papa. What a gift for me, eh? I was blessed by the Dark One, no?” With his hands still pulling your body apart, he dove into your cunt, licking the wet fabric of your panties and playing with your sensitive clit. The gusset was already soaked with the wetness of your previous release, but now it was just drenched. Terzo wasn’t much of a fan of this, and quickly moved your panties to the side, giving him full access to your sodden folds.

His tongue came down on your folds again, but this time there was nothing to dampen the sensation, causing you to cry out in sensitivity. As soon as his tongue was on you, however, it disappeared but soon replaced by two fingers poking at your entrance, sliding in with no resistance and immediately getting to work. Because of your position, his thick fingers curved downwards in order to hit that spot inside you that had you screaming. “Una ragazza di facili costumi, sì? Letting Papa do whatever he wants to you. Are you this much of a slut for my brothers? Or am I the only one who gets the privilege?”

“J-just you, Papa. I spread my legs only for you. Oh fuck, Papa, just like that, please don’t stop!”

“Do my fingers feel that good, tesoro? Good enough to have you wailing like that? Merda! Listen to yourself.” He began to finger you harder in order to make his point, the squelch of your heat getting louder with his roughness. “Acqua empia direct from Sathanas himself.” He bent down to lick and suck at your clit again. “More delicious than any wine.” The way his fingers were moving inside of you and how hard he sucked on your clit, you could feel yourself tipping over the edge. Without moving much, he spoke again. “Cum, tesoro. Bless me.”

After his instruction, you came for a second time biting into the sheets on the bed; your cum squirting from your body and onto his face. You could hear him slurping everything up as though he were drinking from a water fountain, moaning at your taste. He left you briefly to lie in front of you, propping himself up on his elbow. He lifted your head to meet him and kissed you deeply, transferring the cum he collected into your mouth. There was so much of it, it spilled down both of your chins and wiped away what remained of the paint around his mouth. When he pulled away from you, sinfully pink and swollen lips peeked out from behind the dramatic makeup, and had you gasping for air.

“Now it is Papa’s turn, sì?”

He stood and rummaged through his bedside drawer, pulling out a condom. He handed it to you for you to open, and while you removed it from its packaging, he unbuckled and unzipped his pants, freeing his cock from its confines. “Get Papa ready, per favore.”

You placed the rolled condom in your mouth and moved towards his dick, using your lips to unroll it onto him all the way down to the base. He hissed at the feeling. “Puttana.”

He knelt behind you, still fully clothed and ready to go. His hands gripped your hips, gave you one, hard spank, and thrust all the way to the hilt, not waiting for your cunt to adjust to his size. “Take it all.”

He immediately got to work, his hips snapping against yours quickly and hitting that spot right at the back of your pussy making you scream out each time. “Fuck, Papa!” You called. “Use me for your pleasure!”

Terzo always felt so good inside you, he was so thick and long and stretched you out so well. Usually by the time he was done with you, you were an aching, shaky mess on the bed, unable to breathe or even think.

You arched your back for him again, and moved your hips to meet his thrusts, making your ass jiggle more than it usually would. A string of Italian expletives fell from his mouth, each one telling you how much of a whore you were for him and how Hellish your pussy felt.

“A filthy succubus sent from Sathanas to tempt me into sin.”

His hand moved to your side to pick up the leash that lay forgotten on the bed, and he tugged it hard enough to make you rise onto your hands. He tugged once more, a little tighter this time to restrict your airways and make it difficult for you to breathe. He would periodically loosen his grip to let you gasp for air before he tugged it again and choked you.

Your own hand came down to play with your clit one more time.

“Always so tight for me, tesoro.” He watched the cream from your pussy gather at the base of his cock. “Always so wet and pliant.” Release. “I wish you could know how divine you feel. How this cunt gives me new life.” Tug. “I could conquer the world with you hanging off my dick. Fucking shit! Così stretto.” Release. “Perhaps I’ve been worshiping the wrong god all along.” Tug. His thrusting became faster and more erratic. The one hand that remained on your hip held on even tighter than before, like he was too scared to let go or you might disappear and leave him unsatisfied. Release.

“Papa! You - fuck! - You’re gonna make me cum!”

Tug. “Tell me, tesoro! Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“No one could compare, Papa!” Release. “No one could ever make me cum as hard as you. I’m yours! I’m always yours. Fuck, Papa, I’m so close. Please!”

“Cum on my cock, tesoro. Give Papa your pleasure!”

Your cunt tightened around him to an almost suffocating level. It was so difficult for him to move inside you as you hit your third orgasm of the night, choking underneath the collar he put around your neck. More of your sweet nectar spilled out from your cunt and drenched his pants in it, soaking the sheets underneath you. This caused Terzo to thrust one final time inside you before emptying his load into the condom, the very same thing he cursed when he realised he wouldn’t get to see his seed drip out of you the way he wanted to.

When he was spent, he collapsed onto the bed next to you, breathing hard. His lips found yours again and pulled you in for a desperate kiss, tongues rubbing together with need. That was when he finally removed the collar from your neck and replaced it with his hand. The collar was thrown to the floor in disregard and made a loud clunking sound as it made contact with the wood. Terzo didn’t care, he just pulled you into him and held you, his lips still kissing at yours claiming the intimacy you both needed. He was yours, and you were his. And that was how it was to remain.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

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oizysian · 11 months

Note

I'd like to request if you're still taking it

Top! dark! Lizzie x fem reader. Lizzie uses reader to take out her stress

Stressed Out | Elizabeth Olsen

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2900+ Genre: Smut Warnings: slight dubcon, slapping, name calling AN: it’s hard for me to imagine Lizzie as very dark so she’s not as dark as she could be, I’m sorry! Thank you for the request!

•

“Honey, I’ve had a really, really bad day.” Lizzie’s voice was soft and deep as she entered the room, exhaustion and frustration colored her features.

I looked from the television to her, watching as she began to strip out of her clothes, tossing the garments haphazardly around as she came closer to the bed, leaving herself in only her bra and panties.

“I need you to make it better.” She said as she leaned toward me, her hands pressing down into the bed on either side of me.

“How?” I responded quietly, looking from her deep, green eyes to her full breasts that peeked out from beneath her bra.

“Let me use you. Let me just … feel you.”

I blinked at her once, twice, before nodding; a simple motion that brought a smile to her face. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to my own, slipping her tongue into my mouth and claiming me as her own.

Breathlessly, I let her do as she pleased with me, knowing very well that anything she did would be pleasurable.

“Take off your clothes.” She breathed softly and I obeyed, stripping out of my shirt and bra, but struggled with my shorts and panties. “Lemme help.”

She impatiently tugged on my clothes, practically ripping the fabric from my body and throwing it somewhere behind her on the ground.

“Lizzie …” I whimpered softly, turned on and nervous by the way she was acting. I had never seen her act like this before.

“Shh,” she whispered, licking her lips as she stared down at my naked body. “You said I could have you tonight,” She bit her lip and smiled, bringing her head down to just barely brush her lips against mine. “And I’m going to have you.”

I moved to close the space between us but she pulled away, smiling mischievously as she climbed off the bed and headed to the dresser, digging around in the drawer we kept all of our toys.

“You’re gonna look so pretty.” She mused softly as she filled her arms with items.

When she turned back to the bed, my eyes grew wide at all the things she had retrieved. In her arms she had ropes, toys, lube, a gag, a blindfold, and who knows what else - all for me.

“My pretty girl.” Her dark eyes met mine and I shivered. “Lay down.”

I obeyed silently, laying my head down on the pillows and waiting for her next command. She dropped everything on the bed next to me and started sifting through the pile.

The first thing she grabbed was the ropes, wasting no time in tying my hands to the headboard tightly.

“Lizzie,” I whined, struggling against the binds. “They’re too tight.”

“I don’t want you moving.”

“I won’t.” I squirmed and she shook her head.

“You already are.” She slapped my right breast and I cried out, tugging on my restraints. “Look at you,” she propped herself up on her knees, staring down at me. “Already disobeying me.”

“I’m not.” I said defiantly and she raised her eyebrow at me.

“Oh, no? Say my name.”

“Lizzie.”

She slapped my left breast even harder than she slapped the right.

“Lizzie!” I cried, not understanding what I did wrong.

“What is my name?” She said as she slapped my right breast again, the stinging pain bringing tears to my eyes.

“Liz …” and then it came to me. “Mommy! Mommy!”

She hummed softly, rubbing and gently twisting my right nipple, bringing it to a hardened bud.

“That’s my good girl.”

She reached behind her and I could hear the soft clinking of metal, but couldn’t raise my head to see. She turned back towards me, nipple clamps in her hand.

“Because you decided to be good, I’ll reward you.”

She clipped them onto my abused nipples and I hissed, squirming as she pulled on the chain they were connected to.

“This isn’t a reward.” I moaned softly, biting back all the choice words I would rather say to her at the moment.

“Now you’re ungrateful?” She clicked her tongue, tugging the clamps more forcefully.

I tried to raise my body towards her, but I was held down by the ropes. Hot tears sprung to my eyes from arousal, embarrassment, frustration and pain, and I wasn’t sure which was the dominant feeling.

“I’m sorry.” I bit out through clenched teeth, trying not to focus too much on the pain.

“Say it like you mean it.”

She pulled hard and I cried, my body squirming in a feeble attempt to escape.

“I’m sorry, mommy!”

Satisfied with my response, she dropped the chain, the cool metal landing on my tummy with a soft clang and turned back towards the pile.

“I don’t like your mouth tonight.” She said as she sifted through all of the stuff she collected.

I breathed heavily, chest heaving as I tried to calm down. She had barely even touched me and I was panting, soaking wet, aroused beyond belief. Who knew Lizzie treating me like this would turn me on so much?

She brought herself back towards me, gag in hand.

“No, Lizzie, I’m sorry, please!”

“Lizzie?” She paused, giving me a chance to correct myself.

“Mommy! Please, I’ll be good!”

“I know you will, sweetheart.” She said as she put the gag in my mouth, securing it around my head.

I attempted to plead with her, tears falling from my eyes as she let my head fall back onto the pillows, the ball gag tight in my mouth.

“Let’s see …” she pretended to think for a minute before spreading my legs, peeking between them. “Soaked. You’re absolutely glistening, sweet thing.”

My cheeks reddened at her words, drool already slipping past the gag and falling down my chin. She smiled down at me, pleased with the state I was in. She was happy with what she was able to do to me.

I pressed my knees together and she gave me a glaring, warning look. I was embarrassed.

“Open those legs for me, pretty baby. Don’t make me ask you again.”

The seriousness of her voice made me relent, opening my legs for her to settle between them, her head going straight for my center. I let out a low moan as she licked up my slick. She was actively avoiding my clit, which drove me mad, my mind swimming with arousal and no end in sight.

“Stay still or you won’t cum tonight.” She said against my slit and I did my best to control my breathing so my legs would stop shaking.

She grabbed onto my thighs and hummed against my pussy, the vibrations going straight to my core, a new wave of my juices leaking out onto her waiting tongue.

Satisfied with herself and my reaction to her, she pulled away, making a show of licking her lips as she sat back up. A muffled plea of letting me cum tried to slip past the gag, but I wasn’t understood and she clearly wasn’t ready for me to come undone yet.

“You look so pretty.” She said as she admired the mess she had made of me.

I swallowed roughly, the urge to close my legs in bratty defiance strong, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to push her in the current mood she was in. She ran her fingers along my inner thigh, causing goosebumps to follow in their wake.

“I wanna suck on your nipples so badly,” she bit her lip, digging her nails slightly into my thigh. “But, you don’t deserve it.”

I let out a low groan and she smiled sweetly, her fingers making their way back up to my pussy and carefully dipping into my heat. I raised my hips towards her and she pulled out, bringing her fingers up to her mouth and sucking on them loudly.

“Not only are you pretty, but you taste good too.” She said as she finished cleaning her fingers.

I tugged on the ropes, my desire to touch her or touch myself becoming too much for me to handle. My nipples ached painfully and every time I moved it sent a jolt of arousal to my core.

“Give me one reason to not put this on you.” She held up the blindfold and I shook my head, my words coming out muffled. “Oh, that’s right.” She smiled. “You can’t.”

She leaned over me and covered my eyes with the blindfold. I struggled against her, trying to shake the blindfold off.

I heard the slap before I felt it, my body jerking upwards once I felt the stinging pain on my pussy. A muffled “oh fuck” spilled from my lips, but was ignored.

I could hear the pop of a pen cap and smelt the scent of a sharpie. I didn’t even bother hiding my confusion, my brows furrowing and my head tilting towards the sound of Lizzie moving around.

“Don’t move.” She warned me and I braced myself for whatever she had planned.

My stomach tensed as I felt something press against it, and then I realized she was drawing on me. My breathing quickened, but I tried my hardest to stay still.

“There. Mommy’s cum slut. That’s what you are.”

Lizzie had written on me. I let out a shaky breath as she continued to doodle on my body. I wanted so badly to see what she was doing, what she was writing, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. It was on me and it wouldn’t be coming off for a while.

“Do you deserve kisses?” Her voice was quiet and soft next to my ear.

I nodded and I felt her lips against my neck, kissing languidly, leaving wet trails as she made her way down my body. She stopped at my breast, sinking her teeth into the swell of it. I cursed at her, but thankfully she couldn’t understand me. She sucked on the hurt, no doubt leaving a giant hickey in her wake.

She released my abused skin and blew cold air onto my sensitive nipples, causing me to shiver and squirm under her. She giggled deviously, her tongue sneaking out to swirl around my areola, purposefully avoiding the clamps and my nipples.

“I’m gonna fuck that pretty pussy of yours.” She whispered against my skin and I let out a cry of relief and desperation. She was finally gonna fuck me.

I felt the bed shift as she got up and I could hear her moving around, but it drove me insane that all I could see was darkness. I had to rely on my hearing to tell me where she was and what she was doing.

It was a few moments of silence before I felt the bed dip as she got back on it, crawling up and positioning herself between my legs.

I felt her lifting my legs, pressing them to my chest, brushing against my hard and abused nipples. I let out a cry from behind the gag and she shushed me softly. I could feel her hardness between my legs and I thrust up against her slightly, trying to get the slightest bit of friction against my clit.

“Just wait, baby,” she cooed, rubbing herself against me. “I’ll take care of you.”

She slapped the dildo against my mound teasingly, knowing I would do just about anything at this moment to feel her inside me. At my pathetic moans, she inched her way inside me, pushing past any resistance she met as she bottomed out.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” I knew she was looking at my pussy as she fucked me, watching as her cock stretched me out.

I let out a whimper, trying desperately to beg her for release as she slowly slid in and out of me. I could hear myself telling her to go faster, to fuck me harder, but it came out as more moans, and she laughed at the noises I made.

“Take my cock, yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. Fucking take it.”

Drool cascaded down my chin as she began to pound into me, the chain on my chest clinking as my tits bounced from the force of her thrusts. I could feel myself getting closer, the coil in my belly tightening as she fucked the brattiness out of me.

She pressed herself against me, reaching underneath my head to undo the gag in my mouth.

“I want to hear you.”

I took a deep breath and let out a whimpering gasp.

“Mommy.” I panted softly.

“That’s right, mommy’s right here.”

She pressed her lips to mine and I moaned into her waiting mouth, happy to finally be able to taste her. I kissed her back desperately despite the aching in my jaw and the straining in my neck. I felt her hand snake up my body to rest at my throat, her fingers tightening, choking me.

“M-mommy.” I breathed, desperately wishing to see her. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Are you, baby? Are you close?” Her fingers tightened around my neck and I squeezed my eyes tight, the blindfold soaking up my tears.

“Yes!” I choked out, her roughness turning me on further. “Yes, mommy!”

My pussy throbbed and pulsated around her thick cock, so close to release, when she pulled out of me, but continued to kiss me.

“No, mommy, please!” I begged between kisses.

I could feel her smiling against my lips and it drove me insane, but I knew better than to speak against her. She kept kissing me, tiny, teasing kisses all along my lips and cheeks.

“Please,” I cried. “Mommy, please.”

Before I could register what she was doing, I could see her again. Her eyes were a deep green, dark with lust and desire. Her mouth was agape, her breaths coming out in small puffs.

“Keep begging.” She smiled down at me and bit her lip.

“Mommy, please fuck me.”

“Since you’ve been such a good girl …”

With a smirk, she was inside me again and I was seeing stars. It was so big, I couldn’t believe I was able to take her so easily. She was pounding into me hard, and it was almost beginning to hurt with how deep she was inside me.

“Mommy … it hurts.”

“You wanted this.” She said as she continued to fuck me. “You can take it.”

I moaned pathetically, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as she braced herself, her thrusts powerful and deep. As much as it hurt, it also felt fucking fantastic, and I was going to cum on her whether she wanted me to or not.

I raised my hips to meet her thrusts, the base of the dildo rubbing against my clit, giving me the extra friction I needed to cum.

“Oh, fuck yes, mommy!” I cried as I came against her, my pussy squeezing and milking the cock inside of me.

She rested her forehead against mine, panting, her hips moving ever so slightly against me.

“Did I say you could cum?” She whispered against my lips, her eyes looking into my own.

“No.” I whispered back, my eyes shifting from hers.

She pulled out of me and sighed, reaching up and untying me from the headboard. I grabbed at my wrists, rubbing them now that they were free. She got up from the bed and gestured for me to follow her, which I did without comment. She sat on the edge of the bed and laid me across her lap, rubbing her hand across the swell of my ass cheeks.

“Count for me.”

“W-what?” I asked and she slapped my ass.

I cried out, reaching back to shield my bottom, but she held my arm in place and swung again.

“Count.”

“One!” I cried.

Slap.

“Two!”

Slap.

“Three! Mommy, please!”

It went on for what felt like hours, and she would restart if I lost count - which I did. When we finally made it to ten, I was soaked and throbbing again, crying like a baby.

She pulled me to my feet and shushed me, wrapping me up in her arms and cradling me, doing her best to avoid touching my sore ass.

“You did so good, sweet girl.”

I sniffled, burying my face in the crook of her neck.

“Do you feel better now, mommy?”

She nodded against me and kissed my forehead. She brought her hand up to my breasts and unclasped the clamps on my nipples, finally freeing them. I hissed as she gently rolled my nipple between her fingers, alternating between them.

I looked down at my belly to see all the things she wrote on me; Mommy’s little cumslut, mutt, whore …

She ran her fingers over the words and kissed me, her hand drifting from my stomach to between my legs where I was dripping wet again.

“Can you give mommy another orgasm?” She asked as she played with my clit.

My eyes heavy with exhaustion, I nodded, not wanting to disappoint her.

“Such a good girl.” She whispered against my hair, her fingers swirling around my throbbing clit.

I gripped at her arms as she played with me, close to orgasm already. Honestly, anything Lizzie did to me instantly got me wet, and her spanking me was no exception.

I breathed heavily against her throat as she slipped her fingers inside me, curling them upward as she continued to rub my clit.

My legs shook as I came around her strong fingers, crying out pathetically as I did so. She held me close as I came down from my high, pressing her lips to my head as I relaxed in her arms.

“You did so good for me, my good girl.”

#elizabeth olsen fanfic #elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen smut #elizabeth olsen x you #pure smut #lizzie olsen x reader #lizzie olsen x you #elizabeth olsen #mommy wanda #wanda maximilf

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sweetracha · 7 months

Note

Hi sweet peach! It’s 🧋 from your other account! I hope you’re resting after working hard! Here’s a soft and smutty thought for you!

Just Felix helping you unwind after a hard day. He puts your favorite kitten collar on you before letting you hump his pillow all while praising you before getting behind you to join the humping. You both rock your hips and bounce on the soft surface til you both spoil his pillow.

He’s just so sweet to you 💜

okay okay okay...god this has been on my mind since you sent it. Everyday I think about it at least once...thats not a joke.

Ive been wanting to write a longer fic with it, hence why it has been sitting so long. Today is my last day of freedom so I knew I wanted to get this idea out there to the world.

Don't be surprised if a longer Felix fic uses this plot.

Pillow Talk

Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (SMUT!), Sugary Sweet (Fluff)

Allergy Warning: Switch! Felix (Dom lean), Switch! Reader (Sub lean), Pet Play (Outfit and nicknames), Pillow Riding, Praise, Felix Watches, Dry Humping?, Soft Smut with Felix

Felix knew today was going to be a rough one for you. With your recent promotion to manager, and then lack of training for the position, he knew the pressure the company was putting on you. When you texted him on your break you explained how you were about to break down from it all. Then on your lunch when you called he could hear the sniffles from a post-sob session. Felix couldn't fix it right now, as much as he wanted to. However, he could make your night as enjoyable as possible.

You stumbled through the front door. Your outfit was disheveled in stark comparison to how you left this morning. The cry that left you once you removed your shoes alerted Felix that you were home.

"Is that my pretty kitty?" The sunshine smile appeared around the corner and out of the hallway.

"It's something anyways," you remarked back. The stern glare you got in return surprised you.

Felix and you were known to play around in your free time. Trying every kink at least once. He was quick to learn you leaned a bit more towards the submissive side, especially after a hard day. Kitten was his power move. One or two mentions of the nickname and you were a puddle at his feet.

"You know I don't like it when you say stuff like that" Felix tilted your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. "Now what are you?"

"A pretty kitty"

"A who's are you?" You searched his eyes for the dynamic of tonight before answering.

"I am master's" Felix's low hum approved of your choices.

He led you into the shared bedroom where he helped you change out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. This being one of his long tee shirts and a pair of you panties that made him go crazy. Felix sat you down at the edge of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Once he was back you saw the brush and make-up wipes he was holding.

"Close your eyes, kitten. Good girl" He gently removed your make-up before fixing your hair.

Your eyes began to part open but the action was quickly stopped.

"Eyes closed. Don't make me say it again. Obey what your owner tells you, kitten. You know the rules." Usually, his voice held a level of scary authority when he reprimanded you but something about this was different. It was soft, almost like a gentle reminder if nothing else.

Soon enough you felt something clip into your hair, then another. The jingling sound is what put it all together. It wrapped around your throat just tight enough that you felt some pressure. A warm feeling ran through your body as you slipped deeper into the comforting fuzz. You already knew what it all was.

"Open your eyes kitten"

You opened them to see your reflection in the mirror. Perfectly shaped cat ears were nestled into your hair, and the blue bows at the base matched the ones on your panties. It complimented nicely with your baby blue collar. A single bell hung from the bow in the middle along with a tag that had Felix's name and contact information.

"Sweet kitten, look at you" the rumble in his tone almost mimicked a purr. "So soft baby, my tiny little thing. You look so precious, but you know that right? You know you are my favorite pet. Now let your owner treat you, you've been so good after all."

Felix propped up his pillow on the bed after folding it in half. He made quick work of your panties, but instead of tossing them somewhere random, he stashed them away for later. He picked you up with ease and placed you right on the fold. The crease of the pillow met your clit and made you moan instantly.

"My kitten is already purring. She must be so sensitive today" Felix soothed you as he took a seat just across from where you were. From here he had a perfect view of your face, but also of your ass in the vanity.

"Go on baby. Be a good kitten and hump master's pillow"

And so you did. Back and forth your hips rocked against the silk covering. You squeezed your thighs closer together to try and gain more friction. The speed you set was desperate and wild. Usually, sex with Felix was graceful and methodical, like his dancing. Tonight, however, you acted on instinct.

It has been over 30 minutes and you could feel yourself getting closer. You were right on the edge of sweet relief but you couldn't quite get there. You wailed out in hopelessness. When you opened your eyes to beg Felix for something more he was gone.

Then the sound of a zipper was heard behind you, along with the removal of his boxers. A hand cupped your face before a body could be felt behind you. Felix straddled the pillow and spooned himself up to you.

"Hips up kitten" Felix commanded with a few taps to your exposed skin. Once up, you felt some shifting behind you. Felix lowered your hips once more. But instead of feeling silk, you felt skin.

Felix had his bare cock slotted under you, trapping it between your pussy and the pillow. The cool silk and your hot skin sent Felix into a dizzying spiral.

"Hump, Kitten" Was all he said before his hands helped you move again.

This is what you needed to be pushed over the edge. The head of his cock slammed repeatedly into your clit. Soon enough the stimulation took over your body as you shook violently.

Felix wasn't doing much better. After about 3 rotations he was ready to cum, already staining his cover with pre-cum. He tried to keep his Dom composer but the whines that left his throat were failing him. His nails dug into your hips as he tried to hold on for dear life. Once he felt your thighs quake it was over.

Both of you came with a crying moan, one high-pitched and the other low. You slumped back into Felix as his chest breathed unsteady breaths. A gentle kiss is placed on the back of your head.

"My sweet kitten"

The Sweetest Batch: @goblinracha, @xx3rachaslutxx, @j-onedrabbles, @lixiesweetbrownie, @marrivmel,@lyramundana , @raaaaaaahhhh , @the-geese-shall-dominate

#🍑 answers #🧋anon #stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee felix #felix smut

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hotreadingwitch · 1 year

Text

Daemon x Reader - Flea Bottom

Content Warnings/Kinks: incest (consensual relationship between a niece and uncle), imprisonment/abuse of women mentioned briefly (in the context of war), hickeys, finger sucking, praise kink, degradation, oral sex (reciprocal), rough oral (male receiving)/light face fucking, cum swallowing, creampie, rough sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Flea Bottom

Meet me outside the dragon pit

The note had said. Y/n walked through the underground halls, tracing the stones with her hand as she went until she reached the right area. Standing at the darkened entrance was a cloaked figure. She approached, her breath hitching when he removed his hood, revealing her uncle's short blonde hair, that bold Targaryen colour, the same as her own.

"Princess" Daemon greeted.

"Uncle" she returned.

He approached her carefully, caressing her cheek with the softest touch before placing a loose, woollen hat on her head, covering her long blond hair. He then grabbed her hand, intertwining his callused fingers with her delicate ones. As they walked, soon leaving the palace grounds, heading toward Flea Bottom, Y/n whispered:

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see" he responded, a small smile teasing his lips.

As they wound their way through the streets of King's Landing, Y/n noticed everything from the fire-eating street performers to the poor children begging for loose change. The twisty cobblestone streets and looming stone buildings intrigued her as she'd only ever seen the city through the windows of the palace carriages.

Soon, they reached a rickety, wooden door. Daemon knocked gently and an older woman quickly appeared, showing them inside. Y/n had never been in an establishment like this one. There was a bar and some tables in the central part of the room but there were also many hallways that led off to smaller rooms that Y/n assumed were for the various other pleasures being offered by the staff.

Daemon waved his hand as they sat down at a wooden table in the corner, signalling to the barkeep for two drinks. Once they arrived Y/n drank hers greedily, taking the opportunity to drink the wines her father prohibited her from having in court. She chatted easily with Daemon, first recounting his victory in the Stepstones.

"Did you take any women in your spoils of war?" Y/n questioned.

"No" Daemon grunted, smirking at her, before lowering his voice, adopting a more serious tone, "You should know I am not that kind of soldier princess"

"But do you take any women to bed beside your wife?"

"I take as many women as I please"

"Then why don't you take me?" She questioned, her voice slightly slurred from the wine which was going to her head.

Daemon stood, taking an aggressive stance.

"Come with me" he clipped harshly.

He then grabbed her wrist, dragging her from the main area of the building to a back room that's entrance was covered by various draped silks and cloths. He pushed her forward so that she stumbled toward the wall, towering before her, his lust palpable.

"There's nothing more that I want than to take you as mine" he whispered as he came closer to her, his tall frame towering over her menacingly, "I want to fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck your stupid little cunt until you can barely breathe"

"Then take me" she whispered back, her voice harsh, "I do not fear you as the others do Daemon...I am yours if you wish"

Daemon's lips crashed onto hers and in a single second, she was kissing him back with fervour. Y/n moaned at Daemon's roaming hands as they gripped her sides, her breasts, and her ass cheeks. Listlessly, she pulled at the hem of his shirt, encouraging him to strip. He obeyed silently, removing his clothing until he stood naked before her. Immediately, as if her body was working according to its own devices, she fell to her knees in front of him.

"You're sure princess?" He cocked his head, looking down at her.

"Yes," she whispered back.

Daemon reached forward, caressing her face gently, taking in her beauty. His callused fingers made their way from her jaw to her chin to her lips.

"Open" he commanded.

She complied, opening her mouth, her pussy becoming slicker and slicker due to his dominant tone. He slid two fingers into her mouth which she immediately sucked on, being careful not to bite down.

"That's it" he praised, his cock hardening at the sight, "You want my cock in your mouth?"

Y/n nodded, opening her mouth even more, and looking up at him with wide, lust-filled eyes. He thrust himself slowly in and out of her mouth, tangling his fingers in her hair, encouraging her as he did,

"Yes, just like that, so good for me getting my cock wet, such a good little slut"

She moaned onto him, the vibrations sending a chill up his spine. After bobbing on his cock, and picking up speed, she detached from him, taking a second to spit on her hands before rubbing them together and beginning to please the base of his shaft. She then returned her mouth to his tip, sucking lightly on it as she stroked his length.

"Mmm," he groaned, impressed with her skill.

She picked up her pace, bobbing on the tip of his cock while stroking him with her hands, pleasing him until his breathing was almost ragged. His hands, which were tightly tangled in her hair, guided her up and down his shaft, causing her to gag.

"Such a good girl" he groaned, "keep gagging for me"

Saliva trickled out of the side of Y/n's mouth and tears began to form in her eyes, threatening to spill onto her face. Daemon slid a hand out of her hair and wiped at them before they even fell. In a second, he heaved and Y/n could tell he was close.

"Gods you're good—so good princess" he groaned as he came, ropes of white cum coating Y/n's throat.

When he had calmed Y/n stood, his hungry eyes watching her, and appeased him by swallowing his cum, her eyes rolling back at the taste. She then brought her lips gently to his; Daemon's were soft and they almost bruised her own with their intensity. As they kissed, their tongues engaged in some sort of dance. Daemon walked her back to the bed that was in the corner, easily lifting her up onto the silky sheets.

Still in her clothes, Y/n lay waiting for his next move and surely enough his kisses moved slowly down to the crook of her neck, making her moan, while his hands busied themselves removing her shirt and pants. His mouth parted from her only once when he needed to get the fabric over her head.

"Daemon" she breathed, her voice soft and full of need.

"I know darling" he huffed, the air blowing a tuft of his blonde hair that had curled in front of his face, "I know"

She leaned back and sunk into the mattress and its many cushions, allowing Daemon to crawl before her.

"Let me see" he commanded with a hint of desperation.

Y/n spread her legs wide, gasping as she felt Daemon's cold, strong hands on her legs. He caressed her skin, warming her up, causing her to sigh.

Knowing she had his attention, Y/n dipped her fingers low until she reached her hole which was already wet with desire. Daemon's pupils dilated at the sight of her slipping her fingers up and down her folds and into her pussy. His cock was hard already but nothing could've prepared him for the sight of Y/n taking her pussy-slicked fingers and sucking on them. She grinned, delighted by how much he seemed to enjoy watching her play with herself.

"Darling" he groaned, "I need to taste your cunt...please let me taste you"

He licked his lips, kissing her jaw harshly before repeating,

"Please"

Y/n nodded, pulling him toward her by gripping his short blonde curls. Daemon kissed down her chest and stomach until he reached her pussy, desperately needing to taste her himself.

She gasped as his mouth connected with her. She was already wet which caused Daemon to groan as he licked a stripe up from her hole to her clit, finally tasting her. She squirmed when he began, using his tongue to flick gently at her clit. But he quickly transitioned, roughly sucking at both her lips and at her clit, causing her hips to start bucking upward, meeting his skilled tongue.

"Daemon" she moaned, her voice breathy.

His hands caressed the outer sides of her thighs as his tongue licked and licked her. She reached down, her hands brushing his before intertwining with them, gripping them for support. His tongue was bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

She groaned, feeling even more pleasure than before when he slipped a long finger up into her pussy. With it, he brushed again and again against that desperate spot within her. Wet sounds filled the room as her pussy practically gushed around him.

"Daemon" she whined, repeating his name, this time with more need than ever.

The combined feeling of her clit being sucked at and her hole being pleased was too much for her body to take.

"Yes, yes" she moaned as her body began to convulse.

Y/n's orgasm washed over her, filling her with indescribable pleasure. She whimpered, her moans quiet and breathy as the feeling calmed down, leaving her desperate for him in a different way.

Daemon looked up at Y/n from where he was, his chin covered in her sticky cum. He licked his lips, the lust still present in his eyes causing her to whine.

"You want it?" He questioned, his voice a deep rumble.

Y/n nodded. Daemon smirked before kissing his way up her body, the feeling of his soft lips on her cold skin making her shiver and her nipples harden. He paused for a second at her breasts, kneading one in his left hand and sucking roughly on the other with his wet mouth.

"Mmm—Daemon—mm" she groaned at the feeling, squirming under his touch.

As he kissed her, she gripped his bare hips, pulling him closer to her, moving his cock so that it ground against her clit each time he moved.

"You like that princess?" He questioned cheekily, breaking away from her breasts for a moment before attacking her neck, "I'm going to leave so many marks on you...I want everyone to wonder who you belong to...who's fucking you so good like this"

"Daemon please" she begged, scratching at his back, needing to feel him inside of her.

Daemon grunted as he gripped her hips before flipping her around so that she was on all fours, her ass bare, pussy exposed to him. They both moaned as he slipped into her tight hole but nothing compared to the string of profanities that came out of Y/n when he started thrusting in and out of her...it was like nothing she'd ever felt before.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" she whined, gripping the sheets tightly, her pussy squeezing around Daemon.

He leaned down, pushing back the strands of her long blonde hair and placing a needy kiss on her neck, "Such a dirty mouth princess...such a perfect fucking cunt"

She smiled to herself while pushing her hips back to meet every one of Daemon's strong thrusts. Y/n was breathing heavily, her body already overwhelmed by how much pleasure she was feeling. A shiver went up her spine as she heard Daemon's low voice in her ear again.

"I need you to do something for me darling" he started, his breath hot, "I need you to take those pretty little fingers and rub your clit"

She nodded lazily, her head bobbing simply in response to his command. When she slicked her fingers and made contact with her already aroused clit, she whined loudly. Daemon continued pounding his cock in and out of her pussy, groaning at how she was tightening up around him.

"Turn around" he then ordered.

Y/n let herself be flipped back around, her back sinking into the mattress below. Daemon immediately slid back into her. As he fucked her Y/n continued to rub herself, chasing her own pleasure while adding to his. She was so wet and he was fucking her so good that the air quickly filled with the wet noises of skin slapping against skin.

"Oh yes" she moaned, "Oh Gods that's good"

Daemon leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers as he thrust deeply into her.

"Fuck" he groaned, "That's it darling"

Soon, the feeling surged forward, overwhelming her completely.

"Please" she begged breathily, "don't stop"

"I won't darling" he grunted as he ground down into her with his perfectly curved cock, "I won't"

Y/n's back lifted up off of the mattress, her stomach shaking as she came, the waves of her orgasm making her clit throb and her insides pulse around his cock.

"Ahh," she cried, her moans full of pleasure.

"That's it darling" he returned as his breath hitched and he began to cum in her.

Her pussy throbbed and throbbed, feeling fuller than ever. Panting heavily she looked at him and smiled, taking his face in her hands, pulling him close, and kissing him gently as if to say thank you, both their cum dripping onto the mattress below.

"Daemon" she whimpered as she calmed down.

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, kissing the sensitive skin there before placing a single kiss on her pillowy, raw lips.

"Ao issi ñuhon, dōrī forget bona ao sytilībagon naejot issa" he said, his voice husky. You are mine, never forget that you belong to me.

"Dōrī" she agreed. Never

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x reader

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luna-dove · 1 month

Note

can you

write

sex in the woods with satan from obey me

pls

The woods are the perfect place to try some primal play! Fun time!!

Plot: You(afab) think Satan is just taking you out for a nice date, but when you open up the picnic basket, you learn it's not what you think..

It was a perfect day for a picnic date in the woods. No clouds, warm temperature, and your amazing boyfriend, Satan, taking you to the forest. You could barely hold back your excitement.

"Go get the basket, darling, and don't look inside til I tell you." Satan would order you softly as he parked the car, getting out and heading off to find the two of you a spot. You got the basket, following behind him. You tried to listen to his orders exactly, but your curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn't help but open up the basket.

At first all you saw was your favorite sandwiches and some potato chips. Nothing out of the ordinary. You couldn't even tell why he didn't look you wanting in here..that is, until you looked just a little further. You found rope. Your collar. A vibrator. Even more as you continued looking through the basket. Jeez, just what was he planning..?

You were so caught up in looking through the basket, you didn't catching him noticing you. Beginning to scowl. Sneaking up behind you and putting his arm around your throat.

"I thought I told you not to look through that basket. Can you even follow my fucking simple instructions anymore?" His voice was a growl, choking you just a bit harder so you couldn't defend yourself. "Well. I was planning on having a fun date, and maybe having some fun with that stuff later. But you had to ruin it. So you see that forest over there?" He would let go of your throat . "Run."

You immediately bolted, not knowing what he was going to do. Fear, adrenaline and arousal were the only thing keeping your legs going once you got deep in the forest. Once you couldn't see Satan anywhere, you had to sit down. Catch your breath. But you didn't know he had been tracking you. Listening to your breathing. He could hear you, see you. And now was his time to strike.

He would tackle you, shoving his fingers in your mouth to keep you from screaming as he ripped off your shirt and panties off, slamming into you without any prep. Not like you needed it, you were soaked the moment you were tackled.

"You like this, huh? You like what disobedient little sluts like you get when you can't fucking listen?" He would put your collar around your neck with his hand that wasn't in your mouth, clipping your leash to it as he took his fingers out of your mouth, making your back arch as he slammed into you even harder, the sounds of your choked moans echoing through the woods.

He would finish inside you with a groan, sending you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as your walls clenched around him, your legs trembling. He would pull out of you slowly, letting you slide onto the ground, struggling to catch your breath. You thought it was over, but as you rolled over, you saw him getting rope..

"Oh, you thought this was over, darling? Oh No, no no no. You disobeyed me. You pissed me off. And now you're gonna pay the price. Roll over, face down, ass up."

#obey me female mc #obey me smut #nsft concept #fanfic #they gave me the idea

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belphies-cowgirl · 2 years

Text

obey me headcanons pt. 3

word count: 800+

Lucifer sometimes drinks a bit too much demonus while he's out with Diavolo, so he ends up ranting about his brothers and how much he appreciates you for helping him take care of them. he's gets a little jealous when you baby his brothers more than you do him, but his pride won't let him admit that.

Mammon wishes you would show up after his photo shoots, to beg for autographs and fawn over him as his fans do. but he forgets that crowds make you nervous, so that's why you don't show up. so he saves copies of his magazines and signs them in gold sharpie for you and slips them under your door.

Levi likes to design stickers of your favorite anime characters for your laptop or water bottle, and claims he found them on Akuzon (he would simply pass away from embarrassment if you found out he was the original creator)

Satan likes to read to you (obviously), not just because he enjoys your company or the fact that you always listen to him. but because sometimes if he talks for too long, you'll curl up beside him or rest your head on his shoulder and fall asleep. by then he has temporarily lost interest in his book because he's leaning his head against yours or wrapping his arms around you to sleep as well.

Asmo is a self-care king, and will 100% take care of you when you are going through a rough patch and don't feel like leaving your room. he will paint your nails, style your hair, show you his ideas for his next fashion show (he loves when you give him feedback about his designs) and will 100% praise you and lift your mood. Asmo loves to worship you, so expect many compliments and massages. don't have the energy for all that? then he will simply hold you in his arms and let you vent to him.

Beel enjoys building you pillow forts. he'll push the beds together, and fill the fort with pillows, blankets (oops Belphie was wrapped up in one of those), and of course snacks! he really enjoys being able to spend quiet time with you and Belphie (with the exception of him making happy munching noises) without his brothers bothering them. just the simple intimacy of being able to hold you and eat food with you is enough to make his entire week.

Belphie will often let you or Asmo brush and style his hair in the mornings before heading off to RAD. sometimes if he's too sleepy, you can get away with sneaking cute little clips into his hair. he'll also let you pluck his eyebrows, but only if he can lay in your lap while you do it (the thought of Asmo with tweezers is terrifying to him)

Diavolo finds it so entertaining when you talk about the human world or rant about anything. he'll have a look of pure adoration and fascination the whole time. he loves it because he's able to take in the details of your face, hear your sweet voice, and finds it so cute when you talk with your hands (just don't corrupt him too much, Barbatos will get a headache)

Barbatos keeps the charm bracelet you made him hidden under his glove so it doesn't get messed up. you're able to feel it brush against your wrist when he's holding your hand. his favorite charms are the silver tea cup, teal heart, and black bat that you gave him for his birthday (you had to keep him out of the kitchen so you could make a birthday cake for him, he really tried to plan his own party-)

Simeon enjoys making flower crowns with you. he always finds them to be more beautiful and meaningful than his own halo, and will proudly wear them for the entire day. he saves them and hangs them on his bed posts. he places a soft kiss on your cheek as a silent thank you, he's already blushing madly, so he doesn't want to fumble on his own words too.

Solomon has successfully convinced Barbatos to give him cooking lessons at least twice a month (food poisoning is not romantic) he wants to be able to cook for you, and not have to hold your hair back after every time you eat his food (you still eat it because you love him so much) but he takes such good care of you when your sick, regardless of the reason, and he'll even hold back from teasing you. he has pepto and forehead kisses on standby.

Luke always asks for you to come shopping with him for baking supplies. he holds your hand so he doesn't get lost, it's happened before- he about gave you a heart attack. make animal-shaped cookies for him and he'll tell you you're his best friend the whole time he's eating them (you and Simeon are his only best friends, so when you give him gifts he tears up because he's so happy) will hold your hand in front of Lucifer and his brothers just to spite them.

✄ ——————————————————————

feel free to comment, reblog, shoot me a message, or an ask <3

please do not use my work as your own!

m.list

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Portrait: V

Masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The final portrait session is heated and emotional

Warnings: mild dom/sub tones in places, masturbation, dirty talk, vaginal sex, woman on top. All sorts of emotions and a proposal for the future.

Word Count: 3.7 k

Authors Note: Well, these two idiots just can't resist each other, and yes, I'm as surprised by the emotions, particularly the ending, as you are <3 And thanks to @colettebronte who waded thru a messy draft of this.

The following morning you practically skip down the street to Benedict’s home, barely able to contain your excitement to reunite with this man who gave you the world yesterday—steadfastly refusing to dwell on the fact that this might be the last time you spend together privately. You just want to live in the moment for the next hour or so. Whatever lies beyond that, you will face when the time comes.

When you arrive, he is at the door, letting you in with a gracious nod - a perfectly acceptable greeting for any prying eyes. But the minute the door shuts, he crowds you against it, hoisting you up, kissing you as your spine presses into the wooden panels.

“I fear an hour will definitely not be enough again, my sweet,” he breathes into your kiss.

“Mmm, I tend to concur. Perhaps we should send word back to my family?” you suggest, raising an eyebrow. “They did not appreciate it yesterday. So perhaps forewarning would be prudent?”

He lets you back to your feet and calls out for his valet. However, as the man appears, he does not release his hold on you.

“Ah, Mr Smith. Please send a messenger to the y/l/n household with a note saying that I am running very late for my portrait session yet again and Miss y/l/n will need to stay longer. Please include humblest apologies, but state she is safe and waiting with my sister.”

Mr Smith raises an eyebrow as you attempt to muffle your giggle into Benedict’s shoulder and look the other way.

“Certainly, sir”, the valet replies dryly, “and will that be all?”

“Some wine, perhaps? You can leave it outside the door of my studio. It may be best that our painting not be disturbed,” his barely contained smirk makes it obvious that is not what will be transpiring shortly.

“As you wish,” is the seasoned reply as he leaves the hallway.

“That poor man,” you chuckle.

“Oh please,” Benedict dismisses, “Smith used to work for my brother Anthony; he has seen it all.”

Then he grabs both of your hands in his, walking backwards and smiling, leading you to the studio.

“Today, my sweet, I want to paint your other portrait,” he rumbles as he closes the door behind you.

You smirk, and your hands go to the bow at your side. You undo it as he stares at you covetously, whipping open your dress and dropping it to the floor. Completely nude beneath it.

“I am ready, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease and squeal in delight as he advances on you and picks you up effortlessly.

“Call me Benedict,” he smiles into a kiss.

“But I like calling you Mr Bridgerton sometimes. It seems so commanding somehow,” you sigh, feeling so at home in his arms.

“Would you like me to be commanding? Telling you what to do?” His ask is dusky.

“Maybe,” you volley back playfully, “try it.” Even though it was only yesterday that this man took your innocence, you trust him implicitly to lead you into new experiences and adventures.

He places you back on your feet and grabs your chin.

“Go lay on that chaise. Right now.” His tone suddenly clipped and utterly authoritative.

You scurry to obey, your skin prickling hot. As you do so, he sits in a nearby leather armchair, a sketchpad already there. You meet his gaze and then lay as you did the night you first stripped for him, with your left arm behind your head.

“Good girl.”

His dulcet voice is dark and sonorous, and the praise makes you inhale sharply, instantly aroused to a painful degree. God, you will do anything for him if he calls you that.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he murmurs, eyes glittering.

“Yes,” you stutter.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, and your mouth falls open in surprise. “Go ahead,” he adds and begins sketching.

You let your right hand fall to your stomach, and with a nod from him, you allow your fingers to sink lower, slipping between your legs.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “give yourself pleasure. I want to sketch your face in the throes of ecstasy.”

“Benedict,” you gasp as you feel your body stirring, “instruct me.” You know what to do, but you want to hear him talking to you as you touch yourself, knowing it will make you burn so much hotter.

“Little circles with your finger,” he lectures, “right on that little button. Play with it until you feel it grow under your fingers. It should swell a little more. Although it doesn’t take much with you, does it? You were so aroused yesterday, your nub swollen and pulsing with need before I even so much as had it under my tongue. Does it feel swollen now?”

You are panting at the words he uses, speaking so matter-of-fact about something so private. It’s captivating. And indeed, he is right. Even as he talks, your clit engorges and feels harder under your touch.

“Yessss,” you respond, fingers slipping over it easily.

“Mmm, good. Don’t stop. Curl your fingers up and under it…” he pauses to ensure you are doing as he says. “Good girl. Feel around for a motion that is good for you. Usually, one side is more sensitive than the other, although no one quite knows why,” he chuckles, his eyes pinging between his sketchpad and your hand.

You hit a very sensitive spot, your leg kicks out, and your body convulses, eyes fluttering shut as you push up off the chaise, your head bumping the cushioned sloped end.

“Oh yes, that’s it, isn’t it?” he practically purrs, “now you’ve got it.”

You cry his name again, arching your back, writhing, longing for his large hands on your body.

“I need you,” you call out breathily.

“I’m right here.”

“I need you to touch me, Benedict,” you implore, your eyes blinking open to look over at him.

“That’s it! That’s the look,” he says triumphantly, “don’t you dare look away from me,” he orders.

And you do as bidden, staring him down, biting your lip, writhing on your own fingers as your body notches higher and higher. So very desperate for his touch.

“You can do this, my good girl,” he encourages. “This is what you will do every night when you are married. I want you to touch yourself and think of me, telling you what to do.”

You groan loudly and move faster, honeying over your own hand. “May I think of you fucking me?” you ask.

He growls. “Yes, do that. Think of me inside you, above you, making you feel like you need to scream. Do you need to scream right now, my good girl?” His voice is ragged, and his knuckles are white, gripping his sketchpad as he watches you.

You nod vigorously, biting your lip so hard, pleading silently with your eyes for him to give you that push you need. Skating the edge of a precipice, every inch of your body tense like it’s waiting to snap, blood boiling in your veins.

“Do it. Let go. Scream for me,” he commands gruffly, and you do.

Throwing your head back and vocalising loudly, uncaring who may hear as your body spasms, your pussy quivering, wishing he was inside you, bliss flooding your senses as you tense and release, your mind wiping out in sheer pleasure.

You slump back, breathing hard, eyes screwed shut, a dew over your body from the exertion.

“Oh my sweet, that was a masterpiece,” he says softly as you recover, back to his usual self.

“I… I can’t believe I did that,” you confess, still winded but sated.

“It makes the most arresting picture,” he assures. “One I will treasure forever.” He looks down again, concentrating on completing a few lines on his sketch.

You look over at him as he works and want to crawl to him and make him feel as good as you do. Before you know it, you are climbing to your feet, your legs a little unsteady as you first stand, and you go to him.

He seems to startle when you are right before him naked, the apex of your thighs in his eye line. His eyes trail up your body to your face, and with an insolent raise of an eyebrow, you pluck the sketchpad and charcoal from him and drop it aside. Climbing into his lap wordlessly but with a confident smile. He looks spellbound by your sudden boldness and groans when you reach down and rub a hand harshly over the bulge in his trousers.

“What are you…?” He begins, but you hush him with a bruising kiss.

While you tease him with your tongue lathing his, you wrench open the buttons of his trousers, not stopping until you can roughly pull down the front. And then your fingers are questing to his cock as it springs free. His moan is so loud as you fist him, as you learned yesterday, and move your hand up and down over his shaft, slowly teasing at first and then becoming more insistent.

He breaks the kiss and stares up at you wildly.

“Innocent no more, my sweet,” he pants, impressed.

You feel powerful and alluring, your smile victorious as you experiment with new angles and pressure with your hand, using his wonderfully expressive face as your guide. He moans as you find a slight twisting rhythm. You breathe his name, goading him to push up into your grip.

You have an all-consuming need to shuffle forward from where you sit perched on his thighs and take him into your body. You have no idea if the act can be done in this position, but you can see yourself perhaps bouncing in his lap. So you do so. Shuffling forward and his face is a picture as he realises what you are doing, lining up his cock and sinking so his tip is captured by your body.

He sounds wrecked, babbling words like my sweet and my darling girl while his hands grasp the arms of the chair, almost as if he is afraid to touch you as if it would break the spell.

The invasion is just as overwhelming as yesterday, but with no sense of apprehension or fear of discomfort—just sheer pleasure. You move to grasp his shoulders as you slowly reach your hilt, him feeling so deep inside you.

“Look at you climbing in my lap and crawling onto my cock like this. My god, you are a wonder,” he sounds utterly enthralled, awed even. “You insatiable little sweet wonder, I took your innocence only yesterday and here you are now, sitting speared open on me. What is next, my sweet? Will you ride me? Take what you want from me?”

“Yes,” you whisper, loving how he is so complimentary about your actions, not shaming you for following your instincts, urging you to take pleasure from him. “Show me how Benedict?” you ask.

Large hands crest your hipbones. “Rise up, my sweet,” he lilts against your temple. You do so, feeling him withdraw from your body; just as his tip is nearly out of your body, he speaks again. “Now sink back down,” and you follow his teaching.

Both of you groan at the feel as he surges back into you so very deep. Glancing over a spot that makes you gyrate your hips as you are fully seated on him, addicted to the spike of pleasure it causes.

“Perfect,” he praises through slightly clenched teeth, obviously holding back from taking control and pushing up into you. “Now, keep doing just that.”

So you do. Begin a rhythm of rising using your thighs as leverage and sinking back down. You grab his face and draw him into a sloppy, almost artless breathy kiss as you adjust to the motions and the feeling in your body. Still a little mindblown from your orgasm, you feel so decadent and powerful as you grip his shoulders and ride him in his oversized chair, sunlight dancing warmly on your skin from the window behind you.

His hands sweep up over your back and encourage you to lean away a little, and when you do, curving backwards over his legs, he buries his face into your chest, his lips finding your nipple and biting down gently. It makes your whole body pulse, and you cry out his name. He growls encouragements, telling you not to stop; that you are a goddess, a wonder; teeming words of praise that make you move faster, ride him harder as he pushes his hips up to meet you now, breathing rapidly, muscles aching from the exertion, body slick with sweat and arousal.

As you move together, so much of the world makes sense; why people say intimate relations are a bedrock of marriage. You feel a bittersweet wave at the injustice that this man, who feels so right when inside you, is not the one you will get to spend your future with. It seems so unfair. You bite your lip and press your cheek to his, burying your hands into his hair as you both climb higher, the poignancy lending an air of desperation to your movements, chasing the most sublime feeling you have ever had.

He pulls back slightly and touches your face reverentially as if needing a moment of connection where your gaze locks. You are certain your eyes are glassy, but his seem the same, a sheen over them that dances in the sunlight, the intense rays catching the warm chestnut tint in his hair and reflecting the lightness of his teeth as he smiles up at you. You are smiling back, and your hand slips from his hair to cup his jaw. This doesn’t feel like something only physical, a means to an end; it feels like a connection, a meeting of kindred spirits.

“You are a work of art,” he murmurs, his tone worshipful.

It feels dangerously close to something so fundamental. To what you can only describe as love… love like you have read about in books. All that elegant prose and poetry making so much more profound sense now you feel it, see it mirrored in his face. Even though you have only spent a few hours in his company, you can see your future with this man as clearly as day. Watching him paint, standing proudly by his side as his work fills galleries, bearing his children, a loving family in a little cottage out in the peace and quiet of the country. Tending a garden of flowers and foods, reading books, educating your children. And every night, laying by his side, talking, laughing together, making love and growing old together. Always together. Tears prickle hot in the corner of your eyes at the thought that this vision, so clear, so utterly beguiling, will not be your future.

“Come for me, my sweet, my beautiful muse,” he appeals, sotto voce, as if intuiting you need a physical release to soothe your turbulent mind.

You wrap yourself around him tightly, his heated forehead pressed into your throat as you do just as he asked. Press your pelvis hard into him, tilting your hips so you catch your clit on his body as you rise and fall, pushing yourself towards completion. Every fibre of your being alive with light and exhilaration. His name trembles across your lips as you start to fracture around him, feeling so filled as you convulse deep inside. He is moaning, his hands seemingly everywhere, mapping your body with his touch, passion in his movements, as if he cannot hold enough of you at once. You float far away as your senses blot out, riding a wave so strong, so utterly singular, it feels like you have died a little and come back resurrected, rearranged, altered in some elemental way by this interlude you have shared.

As you go pliant in his arms, you feel him forcibly withdraw, and a warmth splashes on your inner thigh as he reaches his peak too. And yet you do not want to move; you want to stay with him, surrounded by him. He also senses it, wrapping his arms tighter around your body, pulling you closer into him, your tacky skin melding together as you recover, resting upon his shoulder. A silence that feels at once evocative and comforting, only punctured by your joined ragged breathing. His lips drop delicate kisses along your shoulder as you curl tighter, not wanting this moment to be over.

The faint chime of the hour on the mantel clock pulls you from your trance.

“Oh gosh! What of my official portrait?” you suddenly sit up in his lap, startled. “This is supposed to be our last session! Benedict, we are already overtime!”

“Calm down, my sweet,” he pulls you back into his arms and nuzzles your cheek. “I finished it last night if you must know, from memory.”

“You did what?” you gasp, moving to observe his face.

“I did not need you here, my muse, to complete your portrait. You are clear as day in my mind. As if you are always with me.” he smiles softly.

“Benedict… I….” Words fail as you fall forward and claim his lips briefly. “Show me?” your ask is timid.

“You wish to see?”

“Of course I do! If you will allow me.”

With a grin, he helps you out of his lap and hands you your chemise, which you throw on as he climbs back into his trousers, then walks to the other side of the room. It’s only now you notice his easel is draped in fabric, concealing what is on it. He turns the structure to face you and then slowly pulls off the cloth.

You are speechless.

Utterly speechless.

It is the most exquisitely rendered version of you that you have ever seen and better than you could possibly have imagined. Your skin glows, and your expression looks alive and filled with wonder. This painting, and there is no other expression you can think of, feels like a love letter—to you. And you don't want anyone else to own it but him.

“Oh, Benedict….,” tears prickle the corner of your eyes yet again, emotion bubbling over with every second that ticks away. “It's… it's wonderful.”

“I just paint what I see,” he shrugs, a modest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “With you, all I see is beauty, goodness and light.” Poetic words just fall out of him as easily as breathing.

You can't help it; you run to him, throwing yourself into his arms. He laughs happily and hauls you up, your chemise riding up around your hips as you twine your limbs around him like a vine, chanting thank yous into his neck and squeezing him with all your might.

“Benedict I… I love you,” you confess into his ear, unable to stop your mouth from running away with itself or to hide your true feelings.

“Oh my sweet, my love,” he pulls you away to look into your eyes, his face a picture of surprise and devotion. “I love you too.”

You are soaring at his declaration and trembling as he places you gently onto your feet and sinks to his knees before you, clutching your waist.

“It has only taken five hours to know you are the only person in this world for me,” he admits, and you start to cry before he continues. “Please, do not marry that other man. I know he is your intended. But he is not worthy of you. I’m not sure anyone is, including me. But, please, just do not.….”

“I could not… not now,” you vow, grabbing his face, blurred through your tears, his hands moving to encircle your forearms tenderly as your thumbs swipe his cheeks.

“...would you do me one last favour instead?” he asks, his voice tremulant.

“Anything, I would do anything for you, Benedict,” you whisper fervently, honestly.

The moment seems both teeming with desperation and sentiment but also something light, like hope, even though these are to be your last private minutes together. He takes your hands from cupping his jaw and holds both of them in his, looking up at you with adoration in his glassy eyes.

“Would you please do me the honour of being my wife?”

His proposal is simple, heartfelt, improvised, a total surprise, but everything you could hope for. It makes your heart leap; leap out of your chest, into your throat, and then beyond, flying to him.

“Yes, oh god, yes, yes, yes!!!!” you squeal and haul him back up to his feet so you can be in his arms again—melting into his lips.

You stand for what seems like ages, wrapped together, coiled around each other—a little cocoon of soft teary smiles and endless kisses. Your heart singing with the idea that all those visions of a future with this man could perhaps come true.

“I…. I have a ring,” he admits as your mouths part.

“You do?” You grin in surprise.

“I saw it in the window of a little jeweller the day we met, and it made me think of you. So I went back yesterday after we, well….” You smile at his sudden modesty. “I heard you yesterday. After I closed the front door, I heard what you said. And I had to buy it. Even if you had said no, it would have been my parting gift to you, a reminder of what we shared, even if only for a few days. But I always held out hope it could be a betrothal ring.”

You are teary again as he reaches for the shelf of the easel and, right there, is a tiny navy blue box. He flicks it open to reveal the most exquisite small sapphire stone surrounded by a halo of tiny pearls.

“Oh, it is beautiful,” you gasp and hold out your hand shakily as he delicately pushes it onto your ring finger.

It's a perfect fit for you—just as he is.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory

Portrait-only taglist: @mysticwitchcraftco

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