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dontbotherwiththepronunciation · 3 months

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This escalated a lot, (which was a good distraction from everything so I'm taking that as a good thing), so now I have to give:

Warnings: Discussions and mentions of all the horrible things we warn for in Theon's Plotline, particularly the ones about depersonhood, sexual violence, casual violence, classism, and so on and so on + a few suicide jokes and links to artistic depictions of the aftermath of rape.

I moved a few weeks ago and haven't been able to unpack because I got injured during the moving and my other arm is also fucked up because of something else that happened this year and today I finally got to clean around and actually do stuff and arrange my room and I started with my book shelf, which obviously means I didn't actually do much because I just started rereading whatever book I hadn't seen in a while got to my hands. And after realising that I certainly have a type for narratives and characters I started thinking about Hannah from Until Dawn and how amazing it was to have a dead female character with little to no characterisation that subverted the "haunt the narrative" thing we see in many of the asoiaf girls from the dead ladies club and yeah I am thinking about Kyra again and that is not a good mentality.

Elia and Lyanna are given a personality and a face through those who loved them, they feel real because the pain of those who mourn them feels real. Even Joanna Lannister gets some of that through what little we find out of her.

Kyra is a dead lady but she’s not a member of the Dead Ladies Club™. She doesn’t get that privilege. The only person who thinks of her is Theon and it is not done lovingly.

Kyra has a personality we are not privy too. She is a satellite character that is mentioned exclusively in relation to Theon, even in the exception of Bran's POV. Her existence is conditioned to Theon.

Jeyne Poole, although often called one, isn't a satellite character. From the very beginning of the story she is already a presence in multiple POV character's lives, even if her role in the story and her characterisation is weak; She is Sansa's friend, Arya's bully, even Catelyn mentions her and in relation to Robb, but we don't ever see her interacting with her father and none of those characters seems very concerned of her well-being. I don't even know if Ned was planning on sending her with Arya & Sansa or if she was supposed to stay with her father. She later ascends a bit by becoming a secondary but fundamental character in Theon's POV and the Northern plot.

Kyra however is a blank page with a name. This isn't meant as something derogatory. I still have flashbacks of my 2016 experience in this fandom and the way the only kyra stan I ever met would wage a war on jeyne p fans. This isn't my intention.

With exception of Theon there are four other characters that are mentioned to have interacted with her.

Bessa, another serving wench who is implied to have participated on a threesome with her and Theon some time before Bran V, AGOT (Oooh she and Theon were bi4bi!)

Wex Pyke, is mentioned to have slept at the foot of Theon's bed, a bed on which Kyra slept as well. (Oooh Dog imagery and the implied possible witnessing of rape!)

Ramsay Snow...not going to write that. We all know what happened.

Ben Bones, "[...] Even if we do escape, Lord Ramsay will hunt us down, him and Ben Bones and the girls." generalised statement by Theon during his escape with Jeyne. Ben Bones isn't mentioned in relation to Kyra and him being caught during their failed escape.

These aren't even brief versions of her connections, I'm reaching out with many of them.

What else do we know about her?

Ok. She is a serving wench and probably works at the Smoking Log (Source: Bran)

She blushes easily and seems to be embarrassed by public talks of her sex life (Source: Theon)

She seems like an eager lover and seemed to be excited when Theon first took her to Winterfell (Source: Theon)

She had never been at the castle before (Source: Theon)

She acted as the big spoon as they slept together (Source: Theon)

She still refers to Theon as "M'lord" during early ACOK, even if the aforementioned positioning of the two would have us believe there might be more emotional intimacy or closeness between the two (Source: Theon)

Theon raped her (Source: Theon)

Ramsay possibly raped her (Source: Ramsay saying he wanted to bed her)

She was taken prisoner with the other women and children who were at Winterfell after Ramsay sacked the castle. (Source: Theon)

At some point she managed to set herself free, stole the keys to Theon's cell, liberated him, asked him to help her back to Winterfell and failed (Source: Theon)

She threw a rock at Ramsay when he caught her and Theon again, and missed by a foot (Source: Theon)

She was mauled to death by hounds (Source: Theon)

Ramsay named a hound meant to kill other women during future hunts after her (Source: Theon)

He had run before. Years ago, it seemed, when he still had some strength in him, when he had still been defiant. That time it had been Kyra with the keys. She told him she had stolen them, that she knew a postern gate that was never guarded. "Take me back to Winterfell, m'lord," she begged, pale-faced and trembling. "I don't know the way. I can't escape alone. Come with me, please." And so he had. The gaoler was dead drunk in a puddle of wine, with his breeches down around his ankles. The dungeon door was open and the postern gate had been unguarded, just as she had said. They waited for the moon to go behind a cloud, then slipped from the castle and splashed across the Weeping Water, stumbling over stones, half-frozen by the icy stream. On the far side, he had kissed her. "You've saved us," he said. Fool. Fool. It had all been a trap, a game, a jape. Lord Ramsay loved the chase and preferred to hunt two-legged prey. All night they ran through the darkling wood, but as the sun came up the sound of a distant horn came faintly through the trees, and they heard the baying of a pack of hounds. "We should split up," he told Kyra as the dogs drew closer. "They cannot track us both." The girl was crazed with fear, though, and refused to leave his side, even when he swore that he would raise a host of ironborn and come back for her if she should be the one they followed. Within the hour, they were taken. One dog knocked him to the ground, and a second bit Kyra on the leg as she scrambled up a hillside. The rest surrounded them, baying and snarling, snapping at them every time they moved, holding them there until Ramsay Snow rode up with his huntsmen. He was still a bastard then, not yet a Bolton. "There you are," he said, smiling down at them from the saddle. "You wound me, wandering off like this. Have you grown tired of my hospitality so soon?" That was when Kyra seized a stone and threw it at his head. It missed by a good foot, and Ramsay smiled. "You must be punished." Reek remembered the desperate, frightened look in Kyra's eyes. She had never looked so young as she did in that moment, still half a girl, but there was nothing he could do. She brought them down on us, he thought. If we had separated as I wanted, one of us might have gotten away. - Reek I, ADWD

A few things:

2) Kyra's own involvement

I've often seen people take Theon's inner thoughts as a fact. Most of us are convinced that this was all something Ramsay planned all along, that any possible escape was frustrated from the very beginning. I have often even seen fan works in which Kyra knows and tells Theon that Ramsay is planning to hunt them, but when looking closer to the text I find it difficult to believe that everything was a set up. In Theon's memories he mentions how the gaoler was drunk and had his breeches down, which I think implies that maybe it was Kyra who deliberately planned this. That maybe it was her who orchestrated him getting frunk and eventually also had sex with him, perhaps to get closer and take the keys. "She knew a poster gate that was never guarded" also implies that she wasn't held prisoner in the same way Theon was, but maybe was set up to become a slave/servant like Arya at Harrenhall and spent enough time roaming "free" to notice such things. If this was the case and it was her plan instead of Ramsay (who might or might not have maybe set up her environment and conditioned her thoughts of escape) then I think we can maybe add some other traits to her characterisation; we can assume she is observant, resilient and very brave.

3) I wanted to name this section "The Kiss" but then Klimt came to mind so we are naming it Frame 00:09:31 and Frame 00:09:38 of Belladonna of Sadness (tw the links for artistic depictions of the aftermath of rape)

There is often speculation going on whether the lack of something textual in these books can be seen as proof for something else. Canon romantic Jon/Sansa and the idea that Dany considers the Dothraki subhuman are often backed up by this sort of thought process (I admittedly don't believe in any of the aforementioned examples) but I don’t think we’ve ever seen it used in cases like that of Kyra, where I personally find it more fitting. Particularly when it comes to that scene and how Theon doesn't describe her response. I have always seen people take this as something reciprocal and sometimes even beautiful, and Theon internally chastising himself as he thinks of it is often attributed to thinking there was a chance of escape, when it could as well be him chastising himself because he kissed her without really considering how frightening the entire situation must have been for her. Her reasoning for setting him free is that he knows how to go back, not that she loves him or has forgive him. She is said to tremble as she pleads for help, her face is pale, and I can't help but wonder if part of her fear also came from having to beg her rapist to accompany her in her escape.

Based on her throwing a stone at Ramsay, who probably raped her in the past, I like to believe that when he kissed her she screamed, bit Theon and pushed him away.

4) The Girl

There are a few things in that text about Theon & Kyra that in hindsight remind me of Theon & Jeyne.

Some of it is relatively obvious and I have mentioned it in the past, such as the

"You've saved us," he said. - Reek I, ADWD

"You saved me," Jeyne had whispered, - Theon I, TWOW

and

"We should split up," he told Kyra as the dogs drew closer. "They cannot track us both." The girl was crazed with fear, though, and refused to leave his side, [...] If we had separated as I wanted, one of us might have gotten away. - Reek I, ADWD

"Stay close to me," Jeyne said. "Don't leave me." "I will be right beside you," Theon promised - Theon I, ADWD

but also

"Take me back to Winterfell, m'lord," she begged, pale-faced and trembling. "I don't know the way. I can't escape alone. Come with me, please." - Reek I, ADWD

He put a finger to her lips. "We can talk about that later. You need to be quiet now. Come with us. With me. We will take you away from here. Away from him." - Theon I, ADWD

and

Reek remembered the desperate, frightened look in Kyra's eyes. She had never looked so young as she did in that moment, still half a girl, but there was nothing he could do. - Reek I, ADWD

The eyes of the bride were brown. Big and brown and full of fear. It was not right that she should look to him for rescue. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Overall my perception of things tells me that there was a drastic change in Theon's character after her death. It is him who this time has comed up with a plan and has to beg/repeatedly ask for someone else to accompany him. Something I find peculiar is how he describes fear being visible through their eyes and the sight of it makes him feel guilt over his lack of agency.

When comparing his behaviour during the failed escape and the flight we see that he no longer plans on leaving Jeyne in order to escape by himself (and we see him prove that during TWOW when he comments on how her ribs broke so HE CARRIED HER jdsfskdjfnsdkjf aren't you supposed to be emaciated???). And while I find that a very noble development, as I consider salvation to be symbiotic, it leads me to wonder:

5) The AU

So many fanworks often depict Theon holding her hand and going ahead as they run, it's a beautiful image but it doesn't follow into what the canon is telling us.

Kyra being the active one in this event, her having to be the one who not only approaches Theon with thoughts of escape but also begs for his help, implying he might have been hesitant at first, she being the one who refuses to leave him although he is set off on their(/his?) chances of a successful escape being higher if they part ways, all this points to him probably not wanting to hold her hand through it, much less lead her through his same path.

And then I think of Theon's promise

The girl was crazed with fear, though, and refused to leave his side, even when he swore that he would raise a host of ironborn and come back for her if she should be the one they followed. - Reek I, ADWD

Would he? Would he have returned with a host if ironborn to get her? I don't think he would have. I don't think he was consciously lying to her or that he would just forget of her and leave with no remorse and never think of her again. I think it would have become inconvenient to return and he would have told himself it is impossible and she would haunt him nonetheless, but what consolation is that for her?

If he had miraculously managed to get to his sister or to Dagmer Cleftjaw, had miraculously managed to rapidly heal and regain his strength, would he have been able to get himself a host of loyal ironborn that would follow him far far far into the land, away from the realms of he who dwells beneath the waves, just to save some random girl he used to bed? Ad given how emotionally constipated is, how introverted, how he rarely displays vulnerability, what could he have said in order to change their mind?

Even her physical appearance, something that Theon, a somewhat libidinous young man, might have remarked on, is omitted. She doesn't have thick auburn hair, which could have made some readers use her as "proof" for him being "psychosexually" (another word most people in here don't know how to define but will use regardless) attracted to Robb/Sansa/Cat. The eyes of the girl aren't "big and brown" for me and a few other delusional people to claim as "foreshadowing" for a future romance. There aren't any mentions of her having a sharp nose that could have made us think of her as a semblance of his own family back at the Islands. There is nothing. She is nothing.

Sometimes we readers attempt to give closure to Kyra through fan work; I have seen art depicting her as a ghost "forgiving" Theon, there are fics in which Theon takes care of the hound that was named after her or (I am guilty of this too) him taking care of Jeyne is somehow seen by the narrative as atonement for his past mistreatment of Kyra. None of these works are inherently bad or disrespectful and I can appreciate what they do and I enjoy many of them (@/ghostlyturncloaks has a very beautiful fic involving Theon and Kyra, the hound), but none of them will give Kyra, the actual Kyra who used to breath and was then killed by hounds, closure because that is simply impossible to do given how she is not a real character compared to those who surround her. When people in this fandom talk about "stanning the girls who suffer/are victims" it is often done either in a holier-than-thou light or in a derogative manner but it never refers to Kyra because Kyra isn't allowed to be a person in the text.

Taking care of Jeyne or the hound won't make things right for her and there are no reasons for her to forgive Theon when Theon refuses to even think of the act with indisputable textual remorse. We can read between the lines and realise that Theon feels guilt, the fact she "and her keys" haunt him is already proof of that, but does he feel guilt for her terrible death, for him raping her, for how little he valued her as a person or for all of these together?

And I don't think that Theon is inherently a bad person for not valuing her and not being interested in her as a person, I think such situations are cruelly casual and rarely intentional. I think most people across their life will come to realise that they should have valued someone more. Our feelings aren't reciprocal and that isn't necessarily a sign of vileness. And, to my shame, I admit that part of my obsession with my unlucky trio of Jeyne, Falia and Kyra is somewhat motivated by my own feelings of depersonalisation and overall worthlessness and irrelevance.

It is difficult to explain, at most I can maybe compare it to the way Dany has managed to appeal to so many woc through her journey. Cersei, Dany, Arya and Sansa are all well written, interesting and profound characters that will go down in history both in and out of universe as such. Kyra won’t, neither will Falia, the Jeynes might have but they weren’t enough and were quickly replaced without many mourning that change in the way we mourn Daenerys' popularised end game as a mad queen or Arya's popularised endgame as a badass assassin without any nuisance. And I can understand why! This anger is purely mine!

With Kyra there is a world to explore, but only as long as Theon is no longer there. We can't give her a respectful characterisation if our only source and voice is that of Theon, if we were to that it would probably be highly ooc. But then again we can't even interact with her without Theon being in the picture. What happened to Bessa? Was she killed during the Winterfell sack? Were they friends? I imagine they were close if the two worked together and also had a threesome. Did she feel fear and maybe a pang of jealousy when she saw her being summoned to the castle to never come back to their inn? Did Kyra have a family? Maybe they were working the fields in the late summer/early autumn and were hoping to see her in winter again. I will be arrogant by referring to the images meme I recently made for her but yeah, Nathaniel Russel's fake fliers you will go down in my memory:

Even something as benign and well meaning as giving her a face, be it by a film/show/comic-adaptation or fan art, is somewhat counterproductive to what I think might have been aimed by the writer through her being a faceless pain. A face can make someone become sympathetic or interesting, meanwhile Kyra is pain unbridled and without any mentioned outer or inner beauty to get us to be invested in her. I might have my headcanons for her, with and without Theon, but I am not meant to have them.

The most common Tumblr tag for the sharing of Kyra related posts is "#kyra and her keys" and although this will be perceived by may as a holier than thou attitude I think it speaks on itself that we readers, the few readers who care enough about Kyra to dedicate a post to her, have decided to refer to her with a concept Theon chose for her. We define her through Theon without any real consideration for her own feelings. "#kyra asoiaf" has about three posts last I checked.

#my thesis was mildly related to all this and now that I know it will never see the light of the day + everything + the kyra image meme #I've been having feelings about her and yeah those aren't nice.#Its weird because officially cerse¡ and d@ny are my favourite female characters but I don't think about them nearly as much as I think abou #kyra of winter town #je¥ne p and w and f@lia #speaking #asoiaf #the narrative didn't doom me it just ditched me

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galacticgraffiti · 1 year

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✧⭒・ Liberation (5)・⭒✧

!!! NSFW // 18+ // Minors DNI !!!

Pairing: Elia Kane x f!reader

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 7.8k CW: Dom/sub undercurrent, Domme!Elia, sub!reader, teasing, finger-sucking, dirty talk, praise, degradation (just a sprinkle she's so mean), edging, fingering (reader receiving), talks of a strap.

A/N: Everyone who has interacted with this fic has meant the world to me, y'all are so nice and so kind, and I appreciate every single incoherent reblog, every kind word and every sweet message in my inbox more than I can say. Huge thanks as always to my lovely beta @baba-fett who has also apparently been left incoherent by this chapter. She'll be back in 3-5 business days, folks.

✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦

༻༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻ ⋆✦⋆ ༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻༺

Chapter 5: The Mercy

Elia Kane does not know mercy.

You should have known - should have known from what is being said about her, from what you have read about her, should have known from the way she looks at you like you are something only for her to devour.

Elia Kane does not know mercy, and you knew that. You just never thought it would apply to you quite in such a direct way.

You beg and plead, you whimper and cry in her lap, and all you get in return is a derogatory look from golden eyes as she teases you without giving you the satisfaction of ever really touching you.

There is a satisfied smirk on her lips when the singular word slips out of your mouth - please - and she pulls her fingers from you. All it does is make you want her even more.

You feel the loss of her deep in your belly, feel the way your pussy still pulses even though you feel empty. It’s overwhelming - you got so close, so fucking close to everything you have ever wanted, only for her to take it away.

Elia’s hand is wrapped loosely around your waist, her eyes heavy-lidded as she regards your writhing form in her lap, your hands clutching at her muscular arms while you desperately try to gain back what you have lost.

You press your lips together so no words will slip out, even when all you want to say is, Gods, Elia, please- I didn’t mean to, I just wanted- no one has ever made me feel so good, please let me come, I promise I’ll be good…

Elia stares at you like she can read your mind, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks under the intensity of her gaze.

“Is there something you want to say?” Her voice is deceptively soft and gentle. It’s a trap and you know it, and still you can’t help but walk into it. She is baiting you, and you will happily let her if it only means she might touch you again.

Your hips are still rocking shallowly against her, though the friction is barely there. It is nothing in comparison to her fingers inside you, it’s not enough compared to the perfect smoothness of her palm pressing against your pulsing clit with every stroke.

You close your eyes and swallow. You take the bait of Elia’s sweet, honey-dripping words.

You whisper, “Please.”

The desperation makes your own voice sound like a stranger’s to your ears. You have never begged for anything like you have begged for her. You have never wanted anything as much as you want her.

Elia’s steel-cold eyes go bright and warm, and for a moment you think she will give you what you want. She raises her fingers from her thigh, your arousal dripping from them as she raises them to your lips. You open up willingly, let her push inside.

Elia smiles at you.

“No,” she says sweetly.

Your heart flutters at her sugary-sweet denial. Elia regards you, her head cocked to the side as she continues to push her fingers in and out of your mouth, curling them in the same way you wish so desperately she would curl them inside you.

“No,” she says again, her voice a little raspier this time, eyes fixed on your mouth. “No, I don’t think begging will be enough this time, angel. I think I want to see you cry from how much you want it. How much you need it- because you do, don’t you? You need me.”

“Fu- mhm.” The sound you produce is filthy, muffled by the heaviness of her fingers on your tongue. Elia smiles, baring her sharp teeth. Her eyes crinkle, and even in your dishevelled state, you can’t help but notice the freckles that are sprinkled across her nose. She is so beautiful your heart wants to burst, and the way she tortures you is so delicious you wish she would never stop. From the way she is looking at you, you might get your wish.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Elia pulls her fingers from your mouth, wiping them carelessly on your bare thigh. You shiver in the cool air and look at her with pleading eyes. Goosebumps spread across your entire body at the look in her eyes.

It’s sheer determination, mixed with something akin to reverence, though you don’t think she would ever say so. Elia has told you many things, but somehow you don’t think she will be quite so open when it comes to her own feelings for you.

The spark in her eyes tells you one thing, though: She will keep her promise. Elia Kane will take you apart until there is nothing left of you, and you will let her. You will thank her on your knees if she allows you to.

Elia’s fingers trace a path across your shoulders, along your collarbones, and your breath hitches. The path slopes down between your breasts, over your belly, before she stops just above your pussy.

“I think you’ll be patient for me this time, won’t you?” she asks. Her fingers twitch with the rise of your belly.

“Yes,” you breathe, your head already halfway in the clouds from the thought of getting to feel her inside you again.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she mumbles. Her fingers dance across your skin, caressing, teasing. Down your thigh and up again, featherlight across your hip bone in a way that reduces you to a dripping wet mess.

Elia laughs quietly at the look on your face, at the way your back arches involuntarily, at the way you buck your hips as if anything you do could make her go any faster. It’s a genuine laugh, not a mean one. It makes her eyes crinkle in the corners, and lets you see the perfect pearl-white of her teeth. You want to make her smile like that every day.

“Someone promised to be patient without knowing what that means,” she grins. “You are making this so much harder for yourself than it needs to be, angel.”

You want to respond, but your voice comes out as a weak whimper when Elia’s fingers slip down to caress your aching pussy. The delight in her golden eyes turns to hunger when she hears the noise - a deep, burning hunger that makes you feel like you are on fire just from the way she looks at you.

Elia barely touches you at first - it’s anticipation and excitement more than it is actual touch, it’s the mere idea of her feeling how wet you are, the soft ache it will be when she pushes inside you again.

You bite your lip, letting your head fall back as you close your eyes and try to prolong the sensation of her hands teasing you. There is a rustle, then Elia’s soft hair tickles your chin, and before you can move, her teeth scrape at the vulnerable spot of your throat at the same time she sinks her fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck- oh gods, fuck- Elia-”

The movement of her fingers inside you is languid and deep. She barely moves, but it’s enough to make your toes curl. Her lips are now soft on your throat, like nothing ever happened, but you can feel the threat - the promise - of her sharp teeth sinking into your skin if you make even one wrong move.

You let yourself fall. There is nothing you can do, nothing you could say to persuade her, so you let yourself turn malleable under her hands, docile and desperate to be good for her so she might give you what you need.

“‘Atta girl,” she murmurs into the softness of your throat. You can feel her warm lips gliding along your skin as she speaks. “Relax for me, sweetheart. I’ll take care of everything for you, all you need to do is be good for me. Be perfect for me, then you can have your reward… Let me use you, let me take you- take all you have to give.”

There is a beat in which you can only hear the pounding of your own heart, only feel your body where Elia is touching you, as you process her words. And then you understand. She is asking for permission, in her own, strange way. You are more than willing to give it to her.

“Take it,” you exhale, rolling your hips in a desperate attempt to feel her even deeper inside you. “Take me- anything you want, you can have it, anything for you- please, Elia-”

Her fingers curl at a different angle, and it’s right against that spot that makes you see stars. The sensation is new, a sudden burst of bliss from your core, and you welcome the pleasure. It’s perfect - she’s perfect, like she knows you inside and out, and was holding on for your permission before she let herself show you. You choke on your own moan when Elia hits the spot again. And again, and again, each stroke of her fingers inside you perfectly controlled.

It’s pure ecstasy. It feels like spice being injected right into your veins, like nothing you have ever felt before. Elia’s head moves, her lips roaming down the side of your neck. She kisses you before you can feel the sting of her sharp teeth. She doesn’t break the skin, too careful not to hurt you, but you can feel the veiled threat in your entire body. The sensation of her teeth raking across your throat, followed by her soft lips kissing the spot makes your whole body shiver. Your hips start to grind down harder, begging to meet her strokes each time. Elia presses her face into the crook of your neck, sucking on that sweet spot below your jaw that makes you moan her name.

There is the edge you have been missing- balancing the line between pleasure and pain, and you can feel your core clench. Your pulse rises through your chest and into your head, echoing in your heart as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to release. Elia’s fingers make an absolutely filthy sound gliding in and out of your soaking cunt, and you can’t even find it in you to be ashamed of it.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” Elia mumbles, pausing her mission of marking your neck for a tiny moment. “Hear how wet you are for me? Feel how perfectly I can fit inside you- so willing, so eager, I bet you really wanna come for me, hm? But this time you know not to beg, come on angel, just a little longer, hold on for me, be good for me…”

Her lips descend onto your burning skin again, and you feel the sharp ache when she sucks another lovebite into your skin. Elia’s fingers never stop moving, curling in that perfect way that makes your core feel so deliciously tight. It’s nearly enough to get you there, nearly enough to let you tumble over the peak if only she-

She stops.

Elia stops moving her fingers all of a sudden, completely stilling inside you. Her lips pull back from your neck.

Your mouth makes an indignant sound - a mix of a plea, disappointment, and rage.

“No,” you whine, the word barely more than a breath. Elia hears you anyway. She clicks her tongue.

“Again,” she says. At first, you think she is scolding you for complaining again, but when you finally gain enough control over your body again to open your eyes and actually look at her, you see the desire that darkens her eyes.

“....what?” you ask weakly.

“This is what I want,” she explains calmly, matter-of-factly, as if she is not currently knuckle-deep inside you. “I want to see you on the brink of having everything you need, again and again. You will push yourself there for me over and over, and you will stop yourself every time. Do you understand me?”

Her dark eyes burn into yours and you shiver, your pussy clenching around her. Elia smiles her sharp smile.

“You will not come unless I tell you to. No matter how close you are, no matter how much you want it. You will stop yourself. Every. Fucking. Time. Is that clear?”

Her voice is like the edge of a knife, but the harshness is softened by the look in her eyes: An affection you did not expect to see, and she didn’t mean to show. You swallow thickly.

“I understand.”

Elia regards you pensively. Her fingers stay still, but you can feel them nonetheless, perfectly filling you. Your pulse is slowing down little by little, but the desire deep inside your belly only grows.

She smiles again, this time a little meaner, and the gentleness of her voice is deceptive when Elia asks you, “If you want to come, what do you say?”

You bite your lip. It’s a trap. You turn the words over in your mind, taking your time to respond, hoping your answer will be what she wants to hear.

“That doesn’t matter,” you answer eventually, carefully choosing your words. Your pussy flutters in excitement at the next words you say. “What I want doesn’t matter. Only what you want. I’ll get to come when you let me.”

Elia bares her teeth in a dangerous smirk that makes your heart stumble.

“Good girl.”

Your body betrays you, your walls tightening around her long fingers that are still so neatly fitted inside you. A smile plays around the corners of her eyes.

“Gonna have to use my praise sparingly with you,” she muses. “You’re so easy- so wet for me, your perfect little cunt so tight around my fingers. Wouldn’t wanna make you come by accident. Not before you work for it.”

You make an undefinable little noise in the back of your throat and Elia laughs quietly.

“Always so eager,” she mumbles.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her fingers start to move again. You keep your eyes trained on her forearm, watching the muscles flex with her movement. Feeling her fingertips grind against your walls feels like equally so much and not enough.

You are enthralled by the smoothness of her movement, by the way her expression barely changes. Elia is fully focused on you, taking in every gasp, every breath of air and every stifled moan.

Sweat starts to bead on your forehead as the minutes tick by. Elia seems unmoved, unbothered by the steady motion of her arm. She never wavers for a second, keeping her rhythm strong and steady as she fucks you slow and deep.

Your thighs start to shake from exhaustion of holding yourself upright in her lap. Elia raises an eyebrow but says nothing, instead just continuing with that delicious curl of her fingers inside you. Your hands dig into her shoulders as you try to keep yourself steady, but she does not flinch.

A wave starts to build inside your belly once again. It grows higher with every stroke of her fingers, the shake in your thighs now not from exhaustion alone anymore. It’s a ripple inside your belly, taking over your arms, your legs, making your heart beat faster until you feel it in your throat. Sweat drips down your chest as you try to keep the pleasure contained inside yourself, though you can’t help moaning her name.

Elia smirks.

“Mhh, are you getting close again, angel?”

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, your mouth producing words without you meaning to. “Yes- fuck, gods you’re way too good at this, it’s not fair, ‘s not fair- f-fuck, you feel so good, wish I could keep you inside me forever, wanna feel you- never wanna feel anything else but this again…”

“-be my little plaything forever?” Elia cuts you off. She looks at you like a predator looks at its prey, eyes roaming over your heaving chest, over the beat of your heart in your throat, following the bead of sweat that slowly trickles down between your breasts. Her eyes are so full of desire that you have to look away. “Mhh, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? No work, no need to think, just there for me to use whenever I wanted to. You’d be so perfect like that for me, my pretty angel, only mine.”

You shudder and cry out, the coil in your belly so very nearly ready to snap- it’s her words that almost do you in, her words and the look in her eyes. But Elia knows you too well already, she can feel it even when your brain goes too empty to form words.

She pulls her fingers from you once more, and you shiver.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Don’t-”

“Ah-ah,” she interrupts you. “You don’t give the orders here, sweetheart. Don’t make it any worse for yourself than it already is.”

Without waiting for your response, her hands, still wet with your arousal, guide your legs to wrap around her waist again. When she is sure you are securely hanging on to her, Elia pushes herself up from the chair, carrying you over to the bed with a few quick steps. You are only barely keeping yourself from going limp, your muscles feeling like jelly in your body.

The way she lays you down is surprisingly gentle. Then, her hands slide up the backs of your thighs, pushing you up the bed until your head touches the headrest. Elia stuffs a pillow underneath your hips, then impatiently pushes your legs apart, sighing with satisfaction at the way your body melts under her touch.

Her eyes light up at the sight of your glistening pussy bared and spread before her. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light.

“Beautiful,” she mutters, so quietly you could have dreamed it.

Her hands glide up your thighs, steady and strong. With one hand, she holds down your hips, while the other slips between your thighs. Her long fingers play with your pussy, but this time, she doesn’t push inside. Two of her fingers circle your clit instead, the pressure so light you could barely feel it if you weren’t so turned on.

You moan and buck your hips, but she is merciless. She takes her time exploring you, her touches featherlight at first. Your thighs twitch when she increases the pressure, slow and steady, until you are a writhing, sweaty mess beneath her, your words and pleas barely coherent.

She laughs at you and teases you through it.

“That’s my desperate girl, listen to you- moaning for me like a whore, you need it bad, don’t you, sweetheart? Yeah? Mhh, don’t buck your hips, pretty girl, keep them still for me- take what I give you, don’t get greedy now, that’ll only make it worse. But you know that, don’t you? Even with your little head so empty, you remember that you’re mine, that this is for me… Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart, you’ll get your reward… eventually.”

Elia is patient, so patient, as she strokes you, denying you one, then two, three, four orgasms like this. She switches hands in between, though you never see any other sign of her getting tired.

You are sweating, your whole body feeling like liquid fire every time she brings you so close to the edge only to pull you back from it forcefully and without mercy.

Time loses all meaning. There is only her, and what she gives you, and what she denies you. There is only her hands, and her lips on your thighs, and the pleasure that she allows you to feel. There are only her words - mean and degrading, and then soft and sweet, coaxing one moan after another from your lips.

You lose count of the times you held yourself back. Elia is careful, learning the signs of your approaching release inside and out, and she always pulls back in time. The intervals of rest you need between your near-orgasms grow longer and longer, but Elia’s patience never wavers. At some point, you need more than a few minutes of rest only for her to take mere seconds to bring you right to the edge again, and leave you hanging on by a thread.

The only thing keeping you from letting go is the memory of her deliciously raspy voice. You will not come unless I tell you to.

Producing sound becomes nearly impossible. Your throat has grown dry from pleading, from moaning and crying her name as if it had any influence.

When Elia pulls away from you again, the wave of your near-orgasm making your whole body shake, you finally break.

You take a few steadying breaths, trying to will your body to calm down, trying to make yourself stop shaking.

“Water,” you croak eventually. “Elia, please- I need water, I’m so thirsty.”

You can feel your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth even from those few words. She cocks her head and contemplates your request. Then, Elia leans over you. She kisses you, her tongue slipping into your mouth with ease.

Her lips ghost across your cheek, over to the shell of your ear.

“If you drink, it’ll be from my mouth only,” she mutters. “You’ll take what I give you, won’t you, angel?”

You try to respond with a yes, but your voice is too hoarse to make a sound. Elia laughs at you, then quickly gets up from the bed. You close your eyes and let yourself rest. It’s the longest break from her delicious torture you have had in quite a while, and you savour the chilly night air cooling your hot skin.

You can hear the tap running for a second, and only moments later, the mattress dips when Elia sits down next to you, putting a full glass on the bedside table. You stretch out your hand, your body feeling too weak and boneless to sit up properly, and Elia slaps your wrist lightly.

“Don’t forget your manners,” she warns you. “I told you, if you drink, it’ll be from my mouth.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. Her words don’t seem to make sense, but maybe you are just too far gone.

Elia straddles you, one thick thigh on either side of your hips. Her hands glide up your chest, caressing your breasts for a moment before she pulls back. She takes the water from the nightstand and takes a sip. Mesmerised, you watch a drop fall from her lip and run down her sharp jaw, following the tendons in her throat, kissing her clavicle before it soaks the hem of her breastband.

Elia swallows. Her hand slips up your neck to close around your jaw.

“Open up, angel,” she commands sweetly. You follow the order without thinking, opening your mouth wide.

You expect her fingers to slip inside your mouth. What you don’t expect is Elia taking another sip of water before carefully setting the glass back down. She leans forward and presses her lips to your open mouth. Water trickles from her mouth into yours, and you nearly choke on your surprised gasp.

Fuck.

This has no right to be as hot as it is.

Elia feeds you the water slowly, so slowly. You drink from her mouth eagerly, savouring the taste of her and the sweet, sweet hydration. She gives you just enough - not too much, just enough to make your cracked lips fill out again, enough to take away the soreness of your throat.

When she finally pulls back completely, you look at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Elia smiles.

“You’ve been good for me. And you are going to need your strength. After all, I want to make you scream.”

You nearly cry when she touches you again. Every inch of you is so overstimulated, and yet there is nothing you crave more than her hands on you.

Elia smirks as she runs her fingers down your arm. You are shivering, arching your back to meet her touches, trying to mould yourself around her.

“Mhh, you’re desperate now, aren’t you, angel?” she mutters. “Just look at you- you were being so good for me, but you nearly didn’t make it, did you? It would be pathetic how much you want me if it wasn’t so sweet.”

You open your mouth to protest - what exactly you want to say, you don’t know. Because Elia is right: You are pathetic. Already fucked out without even one orgasm, begging for her, pleading and whining, so desperate that you would do anything she asked if only it meant you would get to come around her perfect, long fingers stuffing you full.

“Aww.” Elia laughs, and it’s a sound much too sweet to be coming from her mouth. Her finger strokes your cheek. “Speechless, are you? That pretty head is so empty, just how we like it.”

You reach for her, close your fingers around hers in a desperate attempt. You are clinging to her like you are drowning and she is the rock that lifts you up to breathe.

Her fingers glide over your warm body, her nails too short to leave any marks. You nearly mourn the fact - you would bear her marks proudly, show them off even. Scream into the skies that you belong to her, because you do. You have from the moment you saw her, and anything different was just wishful thinking.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, and - at the raise of her brow- you hastily add, “please.”

The corner of her mouth quirks up, and Elia bends down.

Her lips are touching yours when she mumbles, “Now, when you ask like that…”

It’s not a soft kiss. It’s a hungry one - Elia’s mouth devouring you, her tongue gliding against yours. You are both panting, her clothed chest rubbing against your bare tits, and the friction feels so fucking good.

You don’t resist when Elia gathers your wrists in one of her strong hands and pulls them above your head, holding them down. No, you don’t resist - you happily let her have her way with you, because this is the best you have ever felt in… possibly all your life.

“So obedient,” she praises, her voice husky with desire. “I think that deserves some appreciation, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Your lips are swollen from her kisses, and your brain is so empty you can barely form words. Your skin is tingling with anticipation, and you can feel your heartbeat in your damn pussy every time Elia looks at you.

“If that’s what you want,” you whisper.

“And why’s that?” Her voice demands an answer, and you are scraping together your last remaining braincells to form a response.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” you finally manage to press out, gasping when she presses kisses along your jaw, her nose nudging you. “Only- fuck- only what you want. This is for you, only you.”

“That’s right.” She kisses your neck and you lose a little more of your mind right then and there. “This is all for me. Just like you. You are all for me, aren’t you, angel? All mine?”

“Yes!” Your voice turns into a moan when Elia bites down, sharp teeth digging into the tender skin of your neck until she very nearly draws blood. “Yes, gods, of course- course I am, I’m all yours. I belong to you, Elia, only you.”

Her tongue is soothing the sharp pain as you speak, and you are so distracted by the sensation that ripples through you that you don’t notice her hand slipping down and down, following your curves.

Her other hand is still holding your wrists above your head, and you quietly hope her rough grip might leave marks on you.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Elia’s voice is barely audible, a strained whisper against your throat. “Open your legs for me, pretty girl. Let me feel how wet you are for me- let me feel what’s mine.”

Her words make your pussy clench and your breath stutter. With some effort, you manage to gain enough control over your muscles to spread your trembling legs. Elia shifts over you, now straddling only one of your thighs. Her golden eyes are fixed on your bare pussy.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and there is an undefinable note of admiration in her voice. “Oh, look at you. My desperate girl, you’re dripping for me. Gods, I bet if I got my strap right now I could fuck you with no preparation at all- look at that, look how you writhe when I say that. Would you like that, sweetheart? You want me to fuck you?”

“Y-yes,” you gasp, your voice more an approximation of a whisper than an actual noise. “Fuck- only thing I want- just you-”

“Good girl.” Elia’s hand slips between your thighs, long fingers barely ghosting over your swollen clit, but it’s enough to make you cry out. “Before we get to that, I think I’d like to make you come around my fingers though. Wanna feel it, bet your pretty little pussy squeezes so tight when you’re coming, mh?”

Her smooth fingers glide through your pussy without any friction - you are so wet you can feel yourself dripping onto the mattress.

You watch Elia watching you: How her eyes light up at the sight of her fingers disappearing inside you, at the way her lips part just a little when you arch your back to take her deeper. You can feel how Elia’s hips start to grind down against your thigh, rolling in an unhurried movement while her fingers fuck you deep and slow.

Tears gather in the corners of your eyes - finally- you may get what you want-

“Can you take another for me, angel? I think you can, don’t you? Gonna have to make sure my cock fits inside you, you’re already so full…”

The thought of Elia decked out in a harness that hugs her hips tight, of her hands continuing to hold you down while she pounds into you until you beg her to stop makes you moan. Elia simply swallows the desperate noise in a kiss.

“That a yes, angel? Say it for me,” she commands.

“Yes,” you stumble over the words in your hurry to get them out. “Yes, I can take more- please let me, please- I wanna feel you, want you to fuck me, wanna come for you- be good for you- be perfect for you-“

“That’s right, you’ll be perfect for me.” Elia pulls her fingers nearly all the way out of you and you impatiently arch up your hips, pressing the pads of your feet into the mattress for leverage. She laughs quietly at your eager response, but when her fingers sink inside you again, you’re suddenly so full that all other sensation seems to fade away.

She fits perfectly inside you like this, fucking you at just the right pace, her three fingers pulling the filthiest sounds from your soaking cunt every time.

You can feel it coming from a mile away - that coil in your belly ready to spring.

“Elia-“ The sound of your own voice is unfamiliar to you in its desperation. “Elia, baby- fuck- fuck, I’m gonna come, I can’t-“

“Come for me, then,” she coaxes, her fingers hitting the perfect sweet spot inside you every time. Your eyes meet with hers, and she never looks away. She holds your gaze as she repeats herself. “Come for me, angel. Let me see you, hear you- scream my name, because it’s all for me, it’s all mine, you’re all mine-“

And that is it.

You wail when your orgasm finally pulls you under, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it- the buildup of a dozen denied highs spreading through you like wildfire. You cry out her name, over and over, because it’s the only thing that still makes sense - her, and nothing else.

Elia.

You can feel everything- every slow curl of her fingers as she fucks you through it. You can hear her words of surprisingly encouraging praise as though from far away, and you can feel those honey-golden eyes on you, making you her own in a way only she ever could.

Your entire body is still trembling even as you start to come down from your high.

“Fuck me,” is the first thing your brain comes up with once you regain some coherency, unclenching your fists from the sheets you have bunched up just to have something to hold onto.

“Oh, you ready for another round already?” Elia grins with those too sharp teeth, and your heart wants to fall out of your chest.

A thin sheen of sweat covers both you and her, but neither of you minds.

“Gimme- gimme a second,” you murmur, trying to sit up on your elbows. You wince when the angle of Elia’s fingers inside you changes with the movement - every little stimulation too much, every touch a small explosion of overload.

“Mmhm.” Elia hums. She lets go of your wrists to hold herself up as she slowly, so slowly, pulls her fingers from you. You dig your fingers into her biceps.

“Fuck, your pussy doesn’t want to let go, hm?” she chuckles. “Pulling me in like a fucking- There, there, sweetheart. Relax for me.”

“‘s where you belong,” you mumble, your brain still foggy. Elia makes an odd noise at that, but before you can inquire, her fingers suddenly slip out of you all at once, and you’re left with an overwhelmingly empty feeling in your lower belly.

“Oh fuck, look at that.” Elia’s voice is the perfect smoky rasp that makes you feel like you can taste it on your tongue. “Look at you angel, coming all over my fingers like that. Maker, this is…”

“Sorry,” you mutter. What you’re apologising for, you don’t rightly know.

“No, no,” she smiles in response. “This is a mess that I’m gonna enjoy cleaning up.”

You watch, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as Elia licks each of her fingers clean with military neatness. She smirks at you.

“You want a taste?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice, and are surprised when, instead of letting you suck on her fingers, Elia bends down to kiss you. The taste of yourself on her tongue is intimate in a way you can’t quite grasp.

“Thank you,” you whisper when she finally pulls back.

Elia cocks her head.

“Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart. I’m not done with you.”

༻༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻ ⋆✦⋆ ༺༻⋆༺༻⋆༺༻༺

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Elia owns my entire pussy. Enjoy - y'all mean the world to me.

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#here have more lesbianism for free #god i love her she's so awful #elia kane #elia kane x reader #elia kane x you #elia kane x f!reader #gala writes #wlw smut #sapphic smut #gala being gay 🏳️‍🌈

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