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erodasfishtacos · 22 days

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The Stranger & The Thief (roommate!abo)

prompt: YN needs a roommate but has never been around alphas. Harry is the alpha her parents warned her about.

word count: 9.6k+

author’s note: hii guys. enjoy there is currently six more parts up of this series on my patreon which you can join for $3USD!

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YN didn’t mind alphas.

Not at all.

YN had grown up in a solely beta household which meant out of all of her family, she was the only omega.

It was difficult growing up, trying to figure out all the intricacies of her secondary gender when her family had no idea what any of it was or what it meant.

Heat was something that had been tortuous to figure out because she did that completely on her own.

All her parents could do was put food and water outside the locked bedroom door periodically as the heat, the pain, the agony persisted for at least five days before she started to feel relief.

A depression always followed for another week.

Then anxiety would start to consistently hurt her chest in the week leading up to her heat because her body is dreading the impending doom, of being dragged through the cycle with nothing that seemed to soothe the ache for her.

YN logically knew the solution would be an alpha, an alpha would be able to solve the problems that she was able to figure out on her own, in the privacy of her bedroom.

However, she grew up in a community that was mostly consisting of betas and omegas, there were a few alphas but none that would have been an option for YN.

Alphas intimidated her.

They were aggressive, demanding, dominant whereas she grew up around betas and omegas who were nurturing, empathic, patient.

It was two different worlds and though her parents did not speak down on alphas, that had made it clear that they felt like YN should settle for a nice beta.

YN never thought anything of it.

She did not crave an alpha.

Well…only during her heats but outside of that, there was no desire to mate with one.

All of her partners up until this point had been betas, that had been just fine for her, none of them were too serious.

The closest she got to a serious relationship was Tate, a gentle beta who was nice, thoughtful, and everything YN thought that she wanted in a partner.

It had been going strong for a few months when her heat had hit.

Tate had come over to offer assistance like they had previously discussed but it had not worked out well at all.

YN was embarrassed, she knew she had to face her boyfriend sooner or later, and she put it off for two more days after her heat.

They met at the coffee shop that was an even distance between their apartments.

Tate’s demeanor was off from the minute he sat down, he refused to look at YN directly in the eye, and he didn’t reach out to hold her hand across the table like he normally did anytime that they were out together.

He was the one who spoke first, “This isn’t going to work out.”

YN’s eyes widen in utter disbelief, things had been going so well up until her heat, “Tate, you cannot be serious. I…I’m sorry I acted that way but I did not know that was how I was going to react! We…I won’t ask you to help me out again but we don’t have to break up over it.”

Tate laughs without any humor, “I truly never thought you were a knot-snob.”

YN tenses at the derogatory term, it felt venomous coming out of his mouth, “Why would you say that? I’ve never even been interested in an alpha!”

He shakes his head, lips curling upwards in the slightest, “Really? Because I came over to help you, brought groceries, other things to help take care of you, and when I walked into the bedroom, you growled at me like you were feral.”

YN swallows harshly, she remembers, very vaguely and almost through a fog but she knows what he is saying is truthful.

“You demanded I leave because I was a ‘poor excuse of a man’ because I was a beta,” Tate’s anger cracks into something more devastated which made her feel awful because that was never her intention to hurt him, she would never purposely do that, “You said that I must be delusional to think I could satisfy you. Only an alpha could.”

YN knows there’s tears brimming at her eyes, she was aware of how nasty she had been to him, didn’t fully remember everything she had said but she did believe him about what he was repeating because it’s what went through her mind.

She remembers feeling disgust at seeing him, none of that love she normally has for him was present in her mind at the time, just pure anger that a beta thought that they could please her.

“We just don’t have to spend my heat together, Tate,” YN tries, she truly liked him, loved him as a friend, and saw potential in loving him as a partner.

Tate scoffs, self-deprecating as he finally meets her eye, “I will never be enough for you, YN. I know you weren’t in your right headspace when I came over but your nature made it very clear that you would never be satisfied in our relationship.”

He takes a deep breath, “You…You were a whole different person when I came to you. I thought omegas were supposed to be sweet, pliant, and gentle during their heats. You were agitated, aggressive, and hostile in a way that truly frightened me.”

“Tate, please,” YN reaches for his hand but he retracts it instinctually back onto his lap.

“I…I am not doing this because I want it to be like this. I saw a future with you, truly, I did. I…I really think that you should be with an alpha because it’d be unfair for you and the beta if you continue to date them,” Tate sighs as he gathers his coat, he does have that same gentleness when he gives her a soft smile, “I do wish you the best of luck, YN.”

YN had curled in on herself after that, tucked away into a shell, and has been in there ever since.

It’s been about six month since she’d broken up with Tate and she had made the mistake of asking another beta for help during her heat, it was friend who knew what they were in for but she just had to really make sure that it was unsafe for her to be with a beta before she ruled them out of her dating life.

YN was only on the precipice of her heat, hoping that if the beta came while she was still more cognizant that it would go more smoothly.

That turned out to be an absolute mistake.

Trevor was coming with the idea that he may need to leave within a few minutes of being there or he could be staying for the length of her heat depending on how it would go.

She had given him the key to get into her apartment so that he didn’t have to wait around for her to answer the door.

YN unfortunately remembers the events that transpire but even though she was aware during their interaction, she felt out of control of her body as she typically did in heat where she couldn’t stop herself from reacting as her wolf mind wanted her to.

“YN? Are you alright? I’m here,” Trevor calls out, smiling when YN appears in the small hallway of the apartment, “Oh hey, sorry I was late but there was a line at the store -”

YN’s eyes are wild, unfocused, and her hair is already messy from rolling around in her nest that she had spent time meticulously building as she started to fall into her heat, “Get the fuck out.”

“YN, listen we talked about -” Trevor begins easily, undeterred at first by her words.

“What? Do you think that you’re going to help me through this heat?” YN laughs meanly, shaking her head with a sharp, cruel smile, “I can smell you. What a weak fucking scent. A beta comes into my home like they can satisfy my heat. You are a joke to think you could give me what an alpha could.”

Trevor swallowed harshly, trying not to let the words hurt his feelings, his masculinity, the security he typically felt in his secondary gender but YN’s words were meant to gnaw at his insides, make him question himself.

“YN,” Trevor replies firmer, standing a bit straighter despite his hands trembling.

“Beta,” She replies but it rolls off her tongue like an insult, “You are nothing to me. You think I would want pups from a weak fucking beta? I’d rather never have a knot in my life than the little you have to offer me. You will never be my alpha.”

Trevor has to bite back the insulting name he would want to call her, knowing that that wouldn’t be helpful but also that him being here was not going to be helpful nor did he want to stay because he was worried she was about to rip his throat out.

He shakes his head, a sour taste in his mouth at the rejection of the omega, he had already been insecure in comparison to the alphas around him.

However, he had a crush on YN, he was stupid for thinking that she would magically be okay with him supporting her through her heat, and now he was realizing that was an absolute mistake because he felt worse than he ever as has before.

In the moment, that was her goal to make him feel that he was less than and she had succeeded.

“I’m just going to leave,” Trevor tells her as he turns towards the door, his bottom lip was quivering as he hangs his head, trying desperately to rationalize this, this wasn’t the kind, sweet, YN that he normally knew, this was feral at best.

“Good,” YN coos as she stands defensively in the door, her eyes were darker than Trevor had ever seen them and the smile on her face wasn’t one that relayed friendliness, it was like she was about to downright murder him.

Trevor has never moved so fast in his life.

YN was lucid enough during that to understand why Trevor avoided her like the plague after that, never returning her texts, and the one time she ran into him at the gas station, well he acted like he’d never seen her a day in his life.

She held no blame or ill-will, the things she said were nasty, cruel, and unlike her normal character but it wasn’t an excuse.

YN sent him a few long messages detailing how sorry she was, how she regretted putting him in that situation because she valued him as a friend but they all got left on read.

After that, she stopped trying to find anyone to help her with her heat.

She deleted her dating apps and pushed off the idea of finding someone else.

YN also went to the doctor for her erratic behavior during these times.

“Heat-Induced Aggression and Rage Disorder,” The doctor had told her simply, unphased by her explanation of her symptoms, “Most omegas can spend their cycle with any secondary gender, even other omegas. However, the disorder occurs when an omega requires an alpha and will become aggressive when a beta or an omega attempts to help.”

“How do I solve it?” YN asks desperately, this meant that she would never be able to spend her heat with someone and she couldn’t possibly imagine actually being with an alpha, she’d never been around one, really.

YN, of course, came in contact with alphas on the day-to-day, it wasn’t like they were rare.

It was that she didn’t have any friends, coworkers, or connections to alphas because she was in such a densely populated beta area before moving to the city after she graduated college.

“You need to find an alpha who’s willing to spend your heats with you or continue to spend you heats alone,” The doctor shrugs without any better explanation, “Unless you wish to take medication to completely stop your cycle but that has major medical risks that I would advise against, especially if you ever wish to have children.”

That’s where YN is at, with a disorder that doesn’t have a treatment that sounds remotely reasonable to her.

Searching whether in person or online for an alpha partner was extremely unsafe which meant that she had resorted to the fact that she would forever spend her heats alone, in pain.

It made her jealous when her omega friends bragged about how enjoyable, how blissful their heats were spent with their partners.

YN wishes she loved hers but instead, she finds herself thinking death sounds more pleasurable than forever spending five days locked in her bedroom by herself, a slave to her own nature with no help from anyone.

++ a year later ++

YN was going to pull her hair out, it was official because why was it so hard to find someone who appeared somewhat normal to fill the empty bedroom in her apartment?

For the last three years, YN had lived in peaceful harmony with her beta friend, Eileen.

Eileen had started dating her girlfriend, Regina, right after they moved in together.

Two weeks ago, Eileen had let YN know that she was moving out and in with Regina after their recent engagement which meant that she no longer had any income to help her with the rent nor the utilities in less than a month.

YN could technically afford everything on her own, the lease was in her name but it made money tight enough that she had to budget down to the dollar which she despised doing - it was much more manageable when she had someone splitting the bills with her.

And because she would rather not have to cut back on her frivolous spending like her unreasonable expensive smoothies and sure, maybe everytime she sees a pair of socks that look exceptionally comfy she feels the need to buy them.

However, after a third interview with a potential flatmate, YN thought that this may be an impossible task and she should already start her budgeting because there had been issues with all three interviewees.

The first, beta, needed the bathroom from six to nine pm with no explanation as to why.

The second, an omega, stated that she would need to be able to conduct an in-person yoga lesson with six people every other day in their living room.

The third, another beta, demanded that they split the fridge storage fifty-fifty because their last roommate put milk on their shelf of the fridge which they defined as a ‘personal attack’ because they were vegan.

So hopeless is where she found herself after that third beta.

That’s where Niall comes in, her lovely lovely beta friend who sometimes she worries has rocks for brain and other times he’s absolutely the most brilliant being to ever walk the earth, it just honestly depends on the day.

However, she could kiss him when he arrives at her apartment with a bag of chinese takeout and something to solve all of her issues completely, “I have a mate from work who needs a place. He makes good money so I know he’d have no issue paying his part. He’s cool, I trust him enough to recommend him, I’ve worked with him for like six years.”

YN barely even hesitated, she trusted Niall enough to know that he wouldn’t have offered the solution if he didn’t think that it was a good option for her.

He does get sheepish halfway through, “I…I did forget to mention that he’s an alpha.”

YN pauses at that, narrowing her eyes at him because he definitely left that part out in the initial description.

“Niall-” YN begins to huff because it’s not that she totally objected but it was something for her to consider and he had just left that out.

“I know, I know,” Niall puts his hands up, “He’s cool though. He really keeps to himself. I know you’ve never been around alphas, let alone live with one but I really think it would be fine. Don’t you trust me? Plus, he really needs a place to stay.”

YN really should give it more thought.

“He just texted and said he’d be willing to pay three thirds of the rent,” Niall tells her as he looks down at his phone, “If he can move in as soon as possible. Plus he’ll cover internet and electric.”

YN really really should think on it.

She’d never been around an alpha, let alone lived with one, she needs to think about it, weigh the pros and cons.

“Tell him he can move in on Friday,” YN finds herself saying and before she can think better of it, Niall is quickly typing away on his phone and the text alert goes off.

“He said that works for him,” Niall gives her an oblivious thumbs up before picking back up his container of rice and clicking the movie back on like he didn’t just wheel and deal the quickest decision she’s ever made in her life.

She didn’t even ask his name.

YN typically isn’t this dumb.

She actually prided herself on her impulse control and rational thinking but as she flutters around the apartment on Friday evening, trying to make it as spotless as possible for her new flatmate, she really starts to question her own sanity.

YN realizes that she’s going to have to have serious conversations with this alpha about boundaries, what will they do when it comes to their cycles, and the thought that their scents will run rampant because they obviously won’t use neutralizers when they’re at home.

Niall had not given much more information beside the fact that his name was Harry, he was twenty-eight, and had a higher up position in the company than Niall so they didn’t always have much interaction, Niall had actually just overheard a conversation he was having on the phone.

YN finds out that he had lived on his own since college but after his landlord decided he was going to sell the house he was renting, Harry had to find somewhere else quickly, and that resulted in him moving in with a friend from university.

That friend was another alpha, which turned sour very after soon after moving in together.

Niall was a bit hesitant when he told her that the issue was Harry, not the other alpha.

Harry was territorial, more of the pack leader type, and it became apparent within days that Harry simply could not share a space with another virile alpha despite Harry forcing the other alpha to submit to him on multiple occasions, it didn’t matter.

Even though Niall assured her that it wouldn’t be an issue because she was an omega, it didn’t make her feel much better but she has too strong of a conscious to promise a place for Harry to stay to then to pull that away from him.

Of course, Niall, the twat, couldn’t make it over while Harry was moving in because he had to go to a family birthday dinner which meant that it would just be the two of them.

“It will just be time to get to know one another,” Niall chirped easily on the phone, unbothered and oblivious to the tension that was building in YN.

Harry was supposed to be here at six in the evening.

He quite literally knocks on the door at exactly six.

YN hesitates for a moment before opening the door, her heart was beating unusually fast, and when she opens it, it begins to pump even faster.

The man standing in front of her was clearly an alpha without her even knowing this information before hand.

It was interwoven into every aspect of his being, in a way that could be seen physically but on the other hand, it was unspoken, she couldn’t quite describe it but he was exactly what she imagined an alpha to be.

All of him was defined, sharp from his jaw to his nose to his arms.

His shoulders were broad enough that YN wondered if he could even fit through the doorway without squeezing them inward.

He was tall, taller than she had imagined him, and that added with his width and the pure heft of his bulky but lean muscles - he was fucking intimidating and could hurt her without a shadow of a doubt, she’d be defensless.

This is a bad idea.

YN should tell him he can’t move in.

Her parents raised her better than to let a six foot something, very capable alpha in her home to share with her without knowing anything about him.

The fact of the matter was, he did not even look friendly.

Some alphas were like golden retrievers, easy going and a bit airheaded.

Harry was the stark opposite end of that.

The type of alpha that people avoid because of how dangerous they can be.

If YN was walking down the sidewalk and he was walking towards her, she would without a doubt cross the road to avoid bumping into him but yet, she was welcoming him into her house and something within her felt like this was a good idea.

Her inner omega that is.

Who we all know craves an alpha like water and air.

She pushes that down, as much as possible when she notices how big his hands are and how they would look holding her hips -

He has a frown on his face, the light wrinkles it causes shows YN that he has that expression quite often as he looks at her with a mixture of boredom and exasperation, he should be so fucking friendly because of how much YN is overextending to help him.

He isn’t.

After a moment, YN realizes she’d been staring at him dumbly and has yet to introduce herself.

“YN?” Harry finally asks and his voice is deep, only like an alpha’s can be, no beta could even imitate the vibrato of that tone.

“Yeah, uh, come in?” YN’s voice is higher pitched than she’d prefer as she steps aside, her greeting coming out much more like a question than a statement.

Harry blinks dully at her, a backpack over his shoulder and a few boxes next to his feet, “If you do not want me to come in, just say it. If me being an alpha or a guy is too much, tell me now before I move all my fuckin’ stuff in. I don’t like playing these back and forth games.”

YN is startled by his attitude, she can’t recall a time when anyone has ever talked to her so bluntly or without politeness which again, inherently an alpha thing but it still had her off kilter a bit as his face doesn’t change.

“No, sorry, yeah. You can bring your stuff in, I haven’t changed my mind,” YN steps further back into the apartment, spreading her arms, “This is it. Sorry, I know it isn’t much but I guess a roof over your head is better than nothing.”

Harry doesn’t even bother to look around, doesn’t compliment the comfy furniture or the cute little decorations, “It’s fine. Where’s my room?”

YN knows her smile falls when she realizes this is going exceptionally worse than she had already been dreading, which means that she leads him around the apartment, showing him the bathroom, laundry, linen closet, and then to his room as he remains completely silent.

When he goes to begin to bring his few boxes in, YN moves to pick one up to help but he stops her abruptly, voice firm and demanding, “No. Put that down.”

YN’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline, “Sorry!” She apologizes for the millionth time in less than thirty minutes, “I was just trying to be helpful.”

Harry snarls his lip in the slightest, “Am I the alpha or are you?”

YN’s swallows harshly, voice small, “You are.”

“Right. I am the alpha, I will move the heavy boxes, I will unpack. It is my job, not yours,” Harry tells her as he brushes past her to deposit the box into his room before coming out for the next one without anything else to say.

YN should probably stand her ground, set those firm boundaries but she doesn’t, instead she hides out in her room with her cat, Beatrice, (who was also hiding from the unknown visitor) and does not plan to come out until tomorrow morning or until he’s asleep.

But no, when it’s nearly ten at night, YN finally gathers enough courage to knock on his bedroom door to set the house rules, the boundaries because she couldn’t make Harry like her but they could at least be civil.

Or so she thought.

Harry answered the door after a minute, his shirt was off and he was just in a pair of joggers, there was stuff all over his room that he was obviously in the midst of organizing but it also looked worse before everything fit perfectly into place.

“What?” He asks impatiently, like he has a timeframe and YN is disrupting something major.

YN’s mind goes completely blank for a moment because for the first time since he came in, probably because it was night time and his morning scent neutralizers had worn off but she can smell his natural scent for the first time.

It was stronger because he didn’t have anything blocking his glands, his chest was heavily tattooed, and unfairly defined, looking as if he never spent a minute outside of the gym with muscles cut in places YN didn’t even know muscle existed.

His scent was…unlike anything that she had ever smelled in her life.

It was rich, deep, and dark.

It made her dizzy, sleepy, like she could fall into a trance of getting lost in it.

Thick, warm waves of it seemed to short-circuit her mind and make it hard for her to even remember what her purpose was of standing in front of him.

She had never reacted so strongly to scent in her life, never even noticed most of the time what others smelled like but this was seeping into her veins and she couldn’t quite get enough of it as she tried to subtly breathe it in as much as possible.

“What do you want?” Harry reiterates, louder and definitely more annoyed as he crosses his arms.

YN has to blink a few times before she’s shaking her head, “Uh, I just wanted to go over like….house rules? Anything you need from me? Boundaries? How can we operate around each other since we’re going to be living together?”

Harry jaw clenches, his nostrils flared, and he looks appalled.

YN realizes then that he must be able to smell her and by his reaction, he must absolutely hate her scent which made shame and mortification run through her body, of being rejected by this alpha was absolutely confidence crushing.

YN swallows down the whine.

Harry’s eyes trace up to her once, “Here’s the house rules, stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. I’m not looking for a friend. I’m only looking for a place to stay. Understood?”

YN’s mouth is dry, her brain is having a hard time focusing on the harshness of his words because his scent is flashing bright sparkles in her eyesight at the same time, “What about your rut? My heat?”

Harry’s eyes narrow, turning a bit predatory, dangerous for a moment before he’s replying, “I’m sure you have help. If you bring another beta or omega here, that will be fine. I will not bother you. Niall told me you do not typically associate with alphas.”

“Um, okay…That works,” YN lies because she really can’t have another omega or beta here but if she has too, maybe she can try again? Maybe if they come over while she’s not yet in her heat? She’ll have to think about that later, “Your rut?”

“I have it handled,” Harry replies defensively, stepping back and putting his hand on the doorknob, “Just give me a heads up beforehand so that I won’t be blindsided by coming home to the scent change but I will also communicate that with you.”

“Okay, that sounds good-”

The door is shut on her without her even being able to finish her sentence.

“Rude ass fucking alpha,” YN mutters under her breath as she shakes her head, when she plops on her bed, she may or may not scream into her pillow for a moment because she just got herself into a worse situation than she could imagine.

But yet it hasn’t once crossed her mind to kick him out.

Why?

She doesn’t have a clue.

YN does not see Harry once during the first two weeks of him living with her.

Not even a glimpse.

And YN would actually wonder if he still even lived here if she wasn’t constantly overwhelmed by his scent.

He must come out of his room once YN is asleep, she does not understand how it is so thick, cloying on every surface of her apartment.

The second you walk in, it hits you, and lets anybody who enters know that an alpha lives here, there would not even be a doubt.

YN vaguely finds herself wondering one night as she sits on her couch whether or not Harry had scent marked the apartment, claiming it as his territory.

She had heard alphas do that, especially when they live with their omega to show that their mate has an alpha who protects them and their home.

However, that’s not the case here, and YN is pretty sure that Harry doesn’t even remotely like her, let alone want to live here so why would he want to claim it?

She rules that out as a possibility, mostly, but when she wakes up in the morning and he had already left for the day, well she can’t help but notice as fucking beautiful her house smells.

YN only gets her heat every six months with the suppressant she’s on but the entire month leading up to it, she finds herself starting to get more rooted in her omega tendencies.

Harry had been living with her for fourish months by this point and nothing had changed since the beginning.

He didn’t use the living room, showered early before YN would wake up and was already gone, and stayed out of the kitchen before she would go to bed.

In the four months, the sightings had been few and far between and she realized that he meant it very literally when he said that he’ll stay out of her way if she stays out of his.

In the sparse times they’ve shared space, whether it was in the hallway or kitchen, Harry’s lip would always curl up and his nose twitched which always incited a bit of insecurity about her scent.

She had always gotten compliments on hers, how light and powdery it smelled like clean laundry spritzed with a hint of orange blossom and vanilla.

YN did not understand why it was so unappealing to the alpha but he was in for a rude awakening as the month leading up to her heat began.

Her scent got noticeably stronger, she felt the urge to scentmark more items in her apartment to claim that this was her home and safe space.

As expected, Harry didn’t say anything the day it all started to intensify.

And to be fair, he never said anything to her.

The closest thing she would get was a low grunt of greeting but despite that, she felt safe with him in her home, and never had any worry that she was in danger.

The alpha made her feel an overwhelming sense of security, in fact, that she had never felt with any beta or omega.

It wasn’t necessary that he was mean to her or treated her poorly, he just…was there.

He didn’t bring anyone home with him, never asked if he could have someone spend the night nor has she ever smelled any visitors either.

However, things really start to change in the beginning of October, the month before her heat would crest and peak before the cycle started all over again.

The first major change she would notice was the difficulty sleeping.

Normally, she slept better than most without typically ever having to get up in the middle of the night or any tossing and turning.

When October hit, it felt near impossible for her to fall asleep and then when she was so exhausted that she did end passing out, it wouldn’t be long before she was awake again which made her always feel like she needed a nap.

It was late for a weekday, the clock showing that it was close to midnight, and she had to be up for work at six in the morning but her body did not seem to get the memo because after attempting to sleep since ten, it had not been successful.

YN decided to give it some time before she laid back down again.

YN grabbed a bag of pretzels from the cupboard, gave Beatrice one of the squeeze tubes of tuna-flavored goop, and cuddled up on the couch in the living room.

Of course, nothing sounded good as she flipped through the options, and decided on a romantic comedy that didn’t really interest her but it was her best option to make her sleepy, even if it was from the boredom of a corny film.

YN was about thirty-five minutes in when she realized that the movie wasn’t a helpful tool to fall asleep because she was completely interested in the plot line and she was even more awake than before trying to follow the story.

It made her jump in the slightest when the lock turns in the front door before it’s being opened roughly as Harry walks into the small entryway, shutting the door behind him, and beginning to shuck his coat without even realizing she was sitting there.

She hears him grumpily mumble, “Always leaves the fuckin’ television on.”

Which, yeah, she does forget half the time and the other half she feels like Beatrice likes it on for comfort.

Harry looked worn down, tired, and as beautiful as ever.

He had a duffle over his shoulder that most likely held his work clothes and gym outfit because YN was quite sure that after he was down at his office, he went to the gym which he was at for quite a long time.

She vaguely remembers Niall saying that he boxes occasionally for money and that he trains daily which was a pretty brutal routine of working out before work and after work with no time for relaxation in between.

After he’s lined his shoes up neatly against the wall, (YN notices that he also does the same with her shoes that she had half-haphazardly kicked off when she came home from work), he walks into the living room.

It was obvious that he was going toward the television to shut it off but he lets out the lowest growl of surprise when he spots YN tucked deeply into the corner of the couch with a blanket tucked like a burrito around her.

And YN had never heard, in real life, an alpha growl before.

Instead of being scared, she felt the sudden urge to purr, which scared the absolute shit out of her because why the fuck would she want to purr? She’d only done that when she was a pup and never in her adult life.

Why would she want to do that when this alpha was obviously on edge to the point of growling.

“What are you doing?” Harry grunts, voice sharp and annoyed, nostrils flaring as he must take in her smell.

“I couldn’t sleep,” YN replies hesitantly, eyes darting back up to the screen and then to him because his gaze was so intense and accusatory - it was her house, she could be wherever she wanted when she wanted no matter what time.

“Why?” Harry follows up, his arms crossing over his chest, and making his biceps look unfairly big.

YN grits her teeth, debating on whether she wants to give him a snarky remark to mind his business but then she remembers that she has to live with him and would rather not have them on worse terms then they already seem to be on.

“I always have difficulty sleeping the month of my pre-heat,” YN shrugs, a little embarrassed to be talking about something so intimate with someone who likely did not want to hear anything about her personal life.

“Is that normal?” Harry’s brow furrows, not seeming to like her answer to his question.

YN swipes her tongue across her front teeth nervously, “Um, not really. I…I have a lot of issues regarding my heats and that is one of many. Yeah, I see a doctor but there’s only so much they can do, I guess.”

Harry nods in understanding, doesn’t ask anymore questions or even acknowledge her again as he goes about making himself something to eat before disappearing into his room without another word to her which she was used to by this point.

YN rewinds the movie at bit, she couldn’t really focus when Harry was in the vicinity, and his smell was so fucking overwhelming as he obviously hadn’t showered after the gym and was waiting until he got home.

It wasn’t a bad smell, neither of sweat or filth.

No, it was just that his already delicious smell was stronger, darker, and just encompassing every molecule of the apartment.

It takes her a moment to refocus her attention back on the screen and remember where she had left off, vaguely hearing the shower start to run before he’s shutting the door to his bedroom a little more roughly than a normal.

The plot takes a very unexpectant twist at the end and YN didn’t realize that this rom-com had a sad ending which she really wasn’t used to in most films like this.

After working through all the turmoil and drama that kept popping up for this couple, they finally get it right, and the alpha was about to propose to the omega when he got in a car accident, and ended up passing away.

YN doesn’t not even recognize that she is sobbing like an absolute baby until Harry is standing in front of her with a twitch of irritation in his jaw and only in a pair of joggers, nothing stopping her from seeing the bare, defined muscle of his upper half.

“Why are you crying?” Harry asks as he looks down at her, arms crossed yet again.

YN wipes her face with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie, tears tracks surely making her face puffy as she sits up, “It ha-had a really sad ending I wasn’t expecting,” YN nods up towards where the credit were rolling, “Th-The alpha dies and doesn't get to pro-propose.”

“That’s got you all worked up?” Harry sighs as he moves to grab the remote, flicking off the television and motioning for her to stand up, “You need to try to go to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” YN nearly whines, making tears start again.

Oh, did she mention she gets unreasonably emotional during her pre-heat?

“Try,” Harry insists and he gently grabs her wrist, pulling her to her feet, “For both of our sakes, please just try to get some rest.”

YN frowns at that, why does it matter to him?

She hates that she feels disappointed when he lets go of her.

“Okay,” YN agrees as she shuffles her feet towards her bedroom, despising that despite how unfriendly the alpha is, she finds herself wanting comfort from him which…it just doesn’t make any sense and she pushes those thoughts to the very back of her mind.

YN veers off towards the bathroom first and by the time she turns to say goodnight, Harry’s already back in his room with the door shut, and she just ends up sighing before shutting the door of the bathroom to use it before she tries to sleep again.

As she sits down, she notices a pile of fabric in the corner near the sink, and out of curiosity once she’s done, she plucks it up and holds it out.

It was the shirt that Harry had been wearing when he came home, the one he worked out in, and it was absolutely drenched in that smell that made YN weak at the knees.

Harry was meticulously clean.

He never even left behind as much as a crumb of a sandwich and so seeing a shirt of his was unusual because it had never happened before.

YN has no excuse for her behavior, doesn’t really even consciously realize that she’s doing it until she’s back in her room with his shirt tucked up into her hoodie.

She pulls it out and pathetically enough, brings it to her nose where it just smells of alpha, comfort, security, and everything she could ever imagine

It feels wrong, invasive to his privacy almost, and she has never done anything like this in her life.

There was something that outweighed all those negative feelings because she finds that as soon as she lays down and tucks the shirt around her pillow to lay her face into, her eyes instantly become droopy and in no time, she’s out like a light.

YN tries to push the whole shirt incident out of her mind the next day, blaming it on her pre-heat haziness, and absolutely nothing else.

Logically, she knows she should return his shirt to him, at least tossing it in his hamper but his scent lingered for days afterwards and there was a direct correlation to how much better she had been sleeping since.

When the scent was completely gone, it was like clockwork that YN began to not be able to fall asleep.

It leads her to another night on the couch, another night of Harry coming in late, and being irritated that she was still awake.

“You were fine the last few nights,” Harry notes as his greeting, no ‘hello’ or ‘how was your day’.

YN bites the corner of her lip, lowering the volume a tad on the television, “I know.”

“So why are you up right now?” Harry questions and god, are all alphas this blunt and impersonal or was it just this alpha in particular.

“Because I couldn’t sleep,” YN replies like it’s obvious.

Harry bares his teeth slightly, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I told you, my pre-heat,” YN realizes that she’s getting a bit defensive because the real answer is much more mortifying and something she would never actually share with him.

He steps in, dropping his duffle unceremoniously, and walks closer to her.

Harry starts to speak slowly, precisely like he’s trying to get YN to understand, “I am not stupid. I understand that. I am asking you, what made you sleep the last few nights? You slept like a rock when I check-, when I walked past your room.”

YN shouldn’t react the way she does but she feels in a way that all the tension between them bubbles up.

Not to mention, it’s incredibly irritating to her how drawn her omega is to him, his scent, his presence, and she fucking hates it because he’s a dickhead.

“I don’t fuckin know, okay? Leave it alone. I’m allowed to be in my living room at whatever hour of the night I please without a fucking interregation,” YN snaps at him angrily, cursing when tears start to drip down her cheeks, and these hormones just sucked, amplifying every emotion she has ten-fold.

Harry lets out a low growl at that, just like the other night, and it doesn’t scare YN once again.

No, for some reason it makes her anger ebb just the slightest.

“Stop the attitude,” Harry replies evenly but his voice was deeper, “I was just checking in on you.”

Anyone else telling her to stop her attitude?

It would have escalated into a nasty fight.

YN instead just deflates, curling up further into her blanket, and covering her face because she just couldn’t get in control of the tears that were streaming down.

He must think she’s a lunatic.

Harry leaves her once again to go shower.

YN’s absolutely praying that he leaves a shirt rumbled on the floor again, despite how guilty that thought makes her feel.

She just wants sleep and for her hormones to even out.

YN feels a bit like a criminal when she goes to the bathroom, soon after Harry had went back out to make himself something for dinner, and there’s a massive disappointment in her stomach when the bathroom is as spotless as always.

She is craving the scent, she knows she can get another fix of it but it would definitely be in his hamper, in his room, and it’s such an invasion of privacy for her to go in there but then again, he’s frying something on the stovetop and he wouldn’t know…

YN’s never stolen in her life, not even gum or nail polish when she was younger, and it’s not even really stealing because she’ll give it back as soon as the scent wears off (but that’s not really true because she hasn’t returned his other shirt and has no intention of it).

She’s already opened his door, quickly scoping out the space, and realizing that his bedroom was the absolute fucking motherload of everything she could ever dream of.

If she thought their whole apartment smelled like him, his bedroom was if you bottled it in a jar, it was thicker, more cloying than ever, and she noticed a purring in her chest before she realized she was doing it and stopped.

If she was completely insane, she would try to grab as much as possible, until her arms are overflowing and she can’t carry out anything else without it falling.

But she’s not that far off the deep end that she did that, she felt creepy enough as she tiptoed over to his laundry hamper and snatched the shirt that was lying on top, the one that Harry had walked in the apartment wearing early.

YN wishes she could loiter a bit longer but that meant a higher chance that she was going to get caught.

She is surprisingly successful as she sneaks back into her room, proud that she now has two shirts to add to her nest.

YN always had a nest, it provided her comfort and security but she absolutely loved that she could intertwine the fabric together with her soft blankets.

This meant she was guaranteed a few more good night sleeps.

YN was running incredibly behind for work the next.

She had slept so well that she must have turned off her alarm instead of snoozing iit.

Because when she finally cracks her eyes open, the sun is breaking through her blinds, and her body knows that it is much later than six in the morning.

Her phone confirms that when she clicks on the screen she sees that it is seven-thirty-five.

Any other day, it really wouldn’t be that big of a deal because besides meetings she could make her own schedule.

Of course, of course, she sleeps on the day of an important presentation that she was the head presenter on.

It started at nine which didn’t give her much wiggle room because the commute takes a decent amount of time and that’s if there’s no hectic traffic.

“Shit, shit, shit,” YN chants to herself when rolls out of bed, glaring judgmentally at Beatrice, and muttering, “You wake me up every other morning for breakfast, but not today, of all days?”

Beatrice blinks slowly at her before she lifts her paw pointedly and nibbles on it.

There’s no time for a shower or the makeup she wanted to do.

The only luck that was on her side was that she laid her outfit out last night after being incredibly indecisive about what she wanted to wear in front of the board of higher ups.

She had tugged her hair up into a loose ponytail that actually passed for the messy updo style, and put on her best push-up bra right after.

YN figured that while she was tugging on her trousers that she could go out to feed Beatrice, the button was being finicky as it always tending to be so she was looking down as she begin down the hall, and nearly fell backwards when she runs into something hard, warm, and delicious smelling.

Harry’s big hands reach out and wrap around her bare arms, keeping her upright as she yelps in surprise, pants going unbuttoned for a moment as she grips Harry’s forearms for stability and looks at him with wide eyes.

His nostrils are flaring viciously, an irritated growling rumbling through his chest, and he keeps his eyes on her the full time.

They never once darted down to her chest, that not only was just covered by her bra but was also sheer enough that her nipples were completely visible through the nude fabric.

YN is confused by her own desire to just curl into his chest and feel his shirtless chest against her barely clothed one, and what the fuck.

“Wha-“ YN stammers in confusion, why is he home?

“Why aren’t you at work?” Harry asks pointedly, his jaw was clenched tightly enough that it must be aching with soreness.

“I-I overslept,” She replies shakily, his hands still gripping her arms, fingertips pressing in, “I need to feed Beatrice.”

“No, what you need to do is get yourself dressed. Do you walk around half-naked with every alpha you know? S’indecent,” He’s scolding her like a child as he finally steps back.

YN has been so nice up until this point, despite how wonky her hormones have been.

She’s typically never a nasty person.

She rarely ever gets angry either.

However, today was the wrong day to fuck with her.

“Fuck you,” YN snaps back out of her stupor, much to Harry’s surprise, “I told I was late and I didn’t think you’d be home because you’re always at work by now. I’m sorry I’ve offended you with my body, prick.”

YN turns on her heel, storming back to her room, and snatching up her phone to check the time to see an email notification from her work.

Good morning,

We hope this email finds you well. Our office has to be unfortunately shut down for the next few days due to a major power outage after flooding in the basement of the building. We are estimating a three to four day shutdown. To show our gratitude for your patience, these days will be marked as paid time off. Stay tuned for more information and updates.

Thank you,

Evergreen Financial Accounting

YN feels a huge weight lifted off her chest because not only does she get a few days to relax but now she isn’t going to be late to her important presentation .

However, she does not feel completely relieved because the anger chewing at her over her housemate is just as heavy, even more prominent, and has triggered her inner hormonal omega.

YN fees a flash of defiance which is never a good sign as she usually never tries to rock the boat or cause a stir, prefers to fly under the radar.

No, not today.

YN storms back out of her room because she was going to feed Beatrice in her bra and unbuttoned work slacks if she wanted to.

Harry was sat on the living room couch which was an uncommon sight, a protein drink in a shaker cup, and his eyes on his phone in the opposite hand.

YN goes back into the kitchen, deciding she might as well make herself a breakfast sandwich while she’s at it after she fills Beatrice’s bowl.

She can feel his eyes on her, intense and if it could, his gaze would be burning a hole in her back with how directed and annoyed it was.

YN moves slowly, now that she’s in no rush at all, and she feels stupid for being surprised when Harry lets out a snarl loud enough to echo in the space.

YN doesn’t turn around.

It feels dangerous, she’d learned over and over again growing up to never ever antagonize an alpha, and here she was.

When she doesn’t respond to the noise, it gets louder and makes her ears ring just the slightest, he’s trying to force her attention on him.

Bossy, ill-mannered alpha.

His voice is closer when he speaks, she never even hears him get up.

“Go get some fuckin’ clothes on,” Harry orders, his voice deeper, raspier than she had ever heard it.

But it also sent a very unpleasant spark of nervousness up her spine because the alpha in front of her was past the point of being annoyed, he was furious.

His shoulders were as broad as they could go, his teeth flashing at her, and his scent was richer, thicker, tinged with a sharp pine.

The playful, brattiness dissipates from her body as his growls stay loud, demanding, deafening.

YN doesn’t realize at first what a bad decision it is to flip her hair over her shoulder, putting her bare bond spot right on display in front of an agitated alpha.

To her utter dismay, he steps forward and their chests are nearly touching, his eyes were now completely focused on the curve of her neck.

When he reaches up, cupping the side of her neck, and curiously thumbs over the spot, YN cannot control the whine that leaves her throat.

His eyes move directly back up to hers, the noise drags him for his daze, and back into reality.

He actually does look her up and down this time, eyes lingering on her chest for a minute before he’s hissing at her once again, “Go get a fucking shirt on.”

With that, he’s turning and grabbing his duffle before storming out the front door, shutting it hard enough it vibrates but then she still hears him take the time to lock it.

Stupid fucking alpha.

+++++++++

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic

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bloodycassian · 2 months

Text

To be Wed -

Azriel x Reader x Rhysand - NSFW/MDNI 18+ 18+ 18+

Plot - Reader is caught stealing and is being punished in town square when Rhys comes in. He however has another motive, aside from being a sympathetic high lord.

THEMES/WARNINGS - knotting/different shaped Illyrian dicks. Breeding kink (kind of - not mentioned in scene.). ‘Forced’ sex due to circumstance. Voyeur. Cuckholding. Shadow play. Slight anal. Rough sex. Bondage. Public humiliation(slightly). Multiple POV. P IN V. Oral. Body worship. Possible themes of CNC?

Please do not read if you are easily triggered by any of these themes or anything remotely close - make good choices :) skip to ++++++++ for just the naughty bits.

NSFW - 18+ , MDNI

This is my Court. Rhys told himself that over, and over again. He had to be stable to rule. His people relied upon it. Azriel had even noticed his wavering anger and had suggested this. This was for his court.

This was for his pleasure, as well. He fucked into the mouth of the whore he’d hired, and tossed her aside when he couldn’t finish. He needed more, something to get his mind away from the demands of politics and what an open ended rule he had. Something to get his mind off the words Azriel had said.

“A king without heir is what every opponent wishes for. Perhaps it is time-”

Azriel had shut his mouth after Rhys’s snarl. He wouldn’t go about impregnating females just for his lineage. Just to remain in control of his Court. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he could have children. After more than a few mishandled one night stands, there’d never been a bastard born prince.

But had Azriel been right? Was it time to try for an heir? Even if it wasn’t with a mate or even a dedicated partner? He’d house the female and take good care of her, surely. His heir would need to be strong, after all. The idea entertained him for longer than he’d like, as he paid the female and dismissed her. His cock was barely hard, still covered in her saliva. He grimaced.

On his walk back to his townhome, Rhys passed the shops, hiding his face from passersby. Some still noticed him. One of them, the punisher on the corner. He tried to slide away, but the male caught him before he could disappear into the crowd.

“Ah, the high lord himself, here to make an example of those whos intentions are against his Court!” The male announced, earning applause from the surrounding crowd.

Rhys lifted his gaze, waving with a pressed smile. When he spied the male on the raised platform, then looked towards the headstalls to his side, Rhys breath was knocked from him.

His cock surged immediately. A perfect, gorgeous body lay trapped here, craning her neck to look at him. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks rosy and bitten from the cold. Her dress was not nearly long enough for this weather, and a part of Rhys roared at that. In both arousal, and outrage that this male would have her up there-

He was at the podium before he realized, rage lacing his words. “Release her. Now.” His command was final, and the round male only gave him a confused look.

He gestured to her with a paddle. “She was caught stealing-”

“You defy your high lord?” Rhys’s mind-voice broke through the thin walls of his shields, and the male flinched, startled.

She was unbound from the headstock in just a few seconds. He took her by the elbow, and brought her before the crowd. “There’s been a misunderstanding. She was merely acting as a thief, so we could be sure our loyal city guards were following their orders.” He announced, smiling brightly towards the male with the paddle. The urge to rip into his flesh was astounding.

“Thanks to our watchful security, we’re keeping Velaris safe. Thank you all!” He called, waving for a moment longer. He dared a glance to the red faced female at his side, noting her shimmering eyes and the way she stared at him. Gods those lips, the mouth half open in utter befuddlement - he tore them away into a shadow before the crowd could notice the growing bulge in his trousers.

She fell onto the floor the moment they landed in his townhome, gasping for breath and steadying herself before standing. “What- the-” She panted, pushing herself to her hands and knees.

Rhys barely resisted the urge to fold that dress over and take a long look at what he’d brought into his home. To taste what he had imagined on that stage. His hands balled into fists for a moment, his nails biting into the flesh before he helped her up.

“This is the wife you find yourself, Rhys?” Az made his presence known in the doorway, earning a low growl from Rhys.

“Wife?!” She squeaked, her voice breaking slightly. She stepped away, knocking into the couch and nearly stumbling over again.

“Forgive him. Im sorry-” Rhys glared towards Azriel, then took her hand. The shadowsinger grinned, and chewed on another piece of apple while he watched the exchange. “I- my mind is a bit lost at the moment.”

“Clearly.” She snorted. “A high lord’s wife wouldn’t be strung up in the center of town for stealing. Your type are called Rulers for that. Royals.”

Azriel laughed, loud and surprised. “Maybe you should propose, Rhys. She’ll set you straight.”

“We try not to rule in that way.” Rhys muttered. “What were you stealing?”

“Clothes.”

“Do you need clothes?” Rhys took another glance at the exquisite dress she wore, wanting to admire it at the same time as rip it off of her.

She shied, her hands going to cross over her chest. “I dont see why that’s important.” She answered.

“Because he’s looking for a surrogate, of sorts. Someone to birth his children.” Azriel answered quickly, ignoring the deathly look Rhys shot at him.

She flinched, and unfolded her arms, revealing a sliver of a knife in her hand.

“You’d be well paid. Taken care of. You and the child both, for the rest of your days.” Azriel barreled on, pushing off the wall and going to join Rhys. He bumped the male with his shoulder, and took a breath, scenting her. “And, if you’d like-” Azriel lowered his voice, stepping closer to her, despite the knife. He leaned in, closer and closer until he hovered just over her ear.

“You’d be able to have more than just him.”

Her breath hitched. The knife clattered to the floor, and Azriel’s huff of a laugh ghosted over her ear.

++++++++++++

“Is there a contract for this or is it just your word?” You asked skeptically.

Rhys reluctantly looked to Azriel, assuming the male had this planned for much longer than Rhys realized. The male snapped and a pen and paper appeared on the desk you sat adjacent to. Rhys groaned.

Azriel had had this planned for much, much longer than Rhys had given him credit for.

“This agreement will span your lifetime, and the lifetime of the potential heir should they remain loyal to the Court. Should you or the child abandon the Night Court, it will be nullified.” Azriel explained briefly.

You weighed the words, bewildered still at how quickly your day had turned around.

“You don’t have to make a choice now.” Rhys said. But if you denied them, where would that leave you? To be begging and making your money on the streets again? Stealing had been a fine trade, but now because of the High Lord’s announcement, there would be no way any other smugglers or traders would make business with you again.

“I’ll do it.”

“Thank the Mother-” Azriel blew out in a breath.

“I think you should think about this more.” Rhys argued at the same time.

“There’s nothing to think about. I bare your children and I receive a life that I’ve been struggling for since I was a child. I am ready for that life to begin.”

You didn’t care if it was reckless or stupid or outright dangerous. You’d done worse for less. Having a guaranteed way to wealth and power with bearing a High Lord’s heir was the gift you’d been waiting for over two centuries for.

You picked up the quill and signed your name. A dull throbbing erupted along your collarbone, and you pulled back the thin part of your dress to see whirling ink there. “A deal made in truth.” Rhys nodded slowly, and stood from the end of the bed. Azriel seemed to melt into the background as the high lord of the night court approached you, heat flaring from him as he neared. Was he sick? Your eyes darted to his hands, where they rolled into fists at his sides.

Slowly, a tingling in stomach grew stronger. Searing down from your collarbone, into the pit of your stomach, it grew. You rubbed your thighs together in your seat, embarrassed of the scent that you knew was rolling off of you in waves.

As soon as he was close enough to smell it, Rhys was on his knees before you. He gripped your knees and pulled them apart, sending sparks up your spine and forcing your arousal to a nearly painful peak. You panted, curling inward trying to protect yourself from the male you hardly knew.

His hand pressed against your chest, gently holding you back as his other hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers dragging over the wetness he found there. A low growl reverberated in his throat. “A deal has been struck.” He said, lifting his chin to watch you as he flicked a finger over your clit.

A jolt of hot, spiked pleasure had you rolling your hips into his hand, wishing you had some kind of power here. Some way to manipulate him just as he was doing to you. You glanced to Azriel, who’d practically made himself invisible in a corner.

Rhys caught the look, and followed your eyes. “Is that what you want?” He hummed, his finger circling you slowly, before dipping down to your entrance, prodding there lightly. You couldn’t help but nod, your throat suddenly dry.

Rhys hummed again, and withdrew his hand from your dress. He hauled you up from the chair by your elbow, and brought you to the edge of the bed where he’d been sitting. He knocked your knees apart and guided you lean over, so your chest and head were supported by the bed. So vulnerable like this, so… deliciously at his will. He must have sensed your spike in arousal, because there was a weight that covered your wrists and neck then - just like the pillory in the courtyard had been like.

“Is that why you picked me?” You questioned, voice rough with dryness.

He stepped away, and you half expected him to bring a paddle down on you. A new rush of desire coursed through your cunt, making you a quivering, wet mess. The anticipation for it, for anything had you arching, wanting - needing so badly. The coldness made your body ache for someone to touch. You nearly pushed yourself up from the bed, but then there was a set of hands on your lower back, tender hands grazing over you there.

Then Rhysand appeared before you on the bed. Your stomach dipped and rolled, surprise rippling through you. Azriel’s cold shadows licked up your shins, wrapped around your immobilized forearms and locked them in place. “Fuck-” You panted, shooting Rhysand a curious - and likely, panicked - look as he watched, eyes dark and hooded while Azriel knelt behind you.

His tongue was immaculate. Your legs nearly gave out at the first stroke, but you resorted to arching, rocking back as much as you could to get him just as you wanted him. He gripped your ass tight in his palms, leaving red marks when he occasionally slapped there. You hadn’t been so fucking desprate for something before. So aching for something inside of you.

All the while, Rhysand watched. He flexed, gripping his cock tight and watched, nearly unblinking as Azriel feasted upon you from behind. The tip of him grew wet quickly, and he used it to wetten the rest of his shaft, from the soft pointed tip to the slight bump near the base where the tie was.

You’d never been fucked by an Illyrian before, let alone two. Your mind went fuzzy at thought of it. There’d always been rumors about how good of a fuck an Illyrian was, but to see the size of them in person… A delicious shudder rolled through you.

A finger dipped inside of you with brutal efficiency, curling and drawing the breath from you. Rhys’s chin tipped up, and he bit his lip. His eyes were keenly focused on Azriel, on the way the male move and lapped at you while he stretched you open with another finger.

You moaned, and moaned as the shadowsinger brought you to near completion, then stopped. You nearly stomped your feet. Your body arched and practically pleaded for him to continue. He removed his fingers gently, then slapped his soaked hand across your ass. “Nice and fucking ready.” He hummed, voice husky and filled with the promise of brutal pleasure.

Rhys pulled the shadow of night over himself, and was behind her in an instant. Azriel had done good, better than Rhys would have done if he’d had the job. He wouldn’t have been able to last as long without delving into his own needs.

His hands ghosted over the perfect ass before him, admiring for a moment. Then Azriel was gripping his cock, pumping a few times. Rhys’s hands bit into her skin, earning a delectable cry that had his cock twitching in Az’s hand. A lick of his fingers and Azriel had his cock soaked with saliva, all the way to the base where the bulging roundness was growing quickly.

“Eager.” Azriel said with a grin.

Rhys didn’t have a moment to bear his teeth at the male. He was gone, then appeared again, fully nude on the bed where Rhys had been. The sight of the shadowsinger’s own reddened, growing knot was enough to send another spurt of precum from the high lord.

He slid in with ease, groaning at the heat, the grip that surrounded him. His toes curled, popping loudly. He tugged on the back of the dress, using it as a handle of sorts to pull her back onto him. Quick, efficient thrusts have him bottoming out, her slickened entrance coating the start of his knot already. His mouth waters at the sight of your bodies slamming together. The sound it makes. He stared down at the way your lips gripped him, enjoying the look of the wetness from both your bodies there.

He panted, nearly ashamed at how much he needed this. He spared a glance to Azriel, at the way the male’s smug gaze took in the entire scene before him. As if to say ‘tell me I’m right.’ in challenge to the pleasure coursing through Rhys’s veins.

His knot was beginning to catch, and he leaned forward, taking a breast into her hand and pulling. He’d have to work her open more, and quickly. He wouldn’t last much longer. He swore at himself, then vowed to make the next time last. He put a foot up near her head, arching over her to get the angle that would have him hammering into her. The moans grew louder, almost frantic. Her muscles flexed and he nearly came at the intense squeezing that her pussy gave him.

“Not yet-” He grunted, placing wet kisses at her ear. He fucked into her quickly, thrusting hard and fast until he felt his knot beginning to catch more, then he nearly stilled. He drew a calming breath, and pressed - more and more until a hiss came from her lips. He pulled out, then pressed in again, and again until the sweet, all consuming heat covered his knot.

“Fuck-” He ground out in a long breath. She was silent, eyes wide and gasping, hands grabbing for the sheets - for anything as her muscles began to quiver. A deep satisfaction took him, made him prideful that he had such a gorgeous female coming on him. He rolled his hips forward, inching in more and more - filling and stretching the pussy that clamped down on him.

Then he was cumming, spilling deep inside her. Her walls milked him, her own orgasm making her legs tremble and nearly collapse. The pull on his cock made the weakness known, and he helped hold her up by the hips. He shuddered and panted, pressing kisses to her shoulder, her hair - anywhere he could reach.

The swelling of his knot was exquisite. The tapered bulge of it fitting easily into your body, as if you were molded for him. And your desire had turned from molten and eating you alive, into a manageable flame with him bottoming out inside you. More than that alone, it was something sent from a god. Intoxicating. Mind blowing. It was a stretch that made words impossible, that made your orgasm nearly instant from the pressure of it. You weren’t sure how many times you’d cum around him by the time he was pulling out.

Wetness dripped from your hole. It dripped down your thighs and to the floor, and embarrassment would have coated you, if it weren’t for the desire still thrumming hot in your veins. With Rhysand pulling free from your grip, your body was at a loss. Greedy for more.

“She’s ready.” Rhys said, voice raspy. Your mind was slow to pick up on the fact that the two Illyrians had traded places once again.

“I thought-” You began, voice hoarse from dryness and moaning.

“You don’t want more?” Azriel asked, and he sounded genuinely confused.

A strange sound came from your throat, and your body arched back to him. “I do.. But the contract..”

His cock was inside you in the next breath, forcing any of your questions out of your mind. All that was left was the need, the overpowering heat that roared inside you. You pushed back to it, eager to take the male.

“An Heir of the night court, and anyone else you’d desire.” Azriel panted in your ear, taking you with slower, more grinding thrusts than Rhysand had. With the slickness of Rhysand’s cum and your own juices already coating you, he slipped into the pace he desired easily. “From how fucking soaked you are for me I’d say you desire me as well.”

Denying it would have been an outright lie. How could anyone not want the shadowsinger? You hummed, spreading your feet farther apart. Azriel was slightly shorter than the high lord, but not by much. The size difference was mostly in their cocks. Even with Rhysand fucking you first, breaking you open, Azriel was still a stretch. His cock rammed into that spot inside you with ease, flicking over it with every thrust.

Your hands clawed at the foot of the bed - not sure if you should cum or not, because he was getting you there quickly. His easy pace was offset with the roughness of each stroke, of how much more solid he seemed than the high lord.

The high lord who now groaned as a shadow pleasured him. Your eyes fluttered closed, trying your hardest not to come undone. Azriel’s laugh at your ear had you tightening on him, earning wet sounds from where your bodies connected. “You like that, how I play with these?” His shadows drifted up your ankles and shins, crawling extra slowly up your thighs until they reached the point where he connected with you.

“They serve you, too. Just as I do.” He said it in a voice that would have you wet instantly, in any other situation. But it was laced with deeper meaning. To serve you. To serve you as what, exactly? As your own pleasure-keeper?

A shocked gasp left you as one of the tendrils of shadow circled your other hole. Your body went taut, arching back and nearly knocking him from your pussy. “Easy-” He crooned, his voice sweet in your ear. The sensitivity was outrageous, an entirely new experience for you. It had brought you back though, to a height where you weren’t nearly on the precipice of orgasm. Your eyes watered with the stimulation, with how much pleasure the shadow brought. He slipped back inside you with ease, pressing in deep - letting you feel the way his tie was growing. The bulb there much larger than Rhysand’s had been.

The shadow circling your ass did not relent, but your body grew accustomed to it’s pressure in time with Azriel’s thrusts. You could tell it was growing larger though, from a small finger’s size to the blunt end of a smaller cock, it nudged at you. You were practically purring, content with the easy way your pleasure grew with each thrust when he pressed deep, pushing his growing knot inside you a few times.

A hum of approval rang from Rhys, who now you noticed was bound by the shadows just as much as you were. His hands were locked to his ankles behind him while he was propped on his knees, that shadow making a mess of him while he dribbled pre come and watched Azriel fuck you. The sight of him - of the high lord bound to Azriel’s wishes made something deep in the pit of your stomach turn from content to ravenous.

Your walls squeezed him, urging him to fuck you faster, deeper - whatever he wanted - whatever he wanted.

Gods, that was what he wanted. He wanted Rhysand like that, to urge you on. To not only see something he liked watching, but to see if you also liked it. Pleasure-keeper indeed.

You rolled back to Azriel as much as you could, nudging that shadow into your hole slightly. You cried out, but He was pushing into you, forcing you down, down. His weight suddenly forcing you to the floor. Your hands still bound, you could do nothing but brace for the impact of your knees against the stone floor, but it never happened. The shadows gripped around your thighs, pulling them apart and holding you there, only a few inches above the floor.

The shadowsinger followed you the whole way down, the move planned and wicked. Heat pumped through you with the adrenaline, taking your arousal back to nearly the edge of the peak yet again.

His knot slid in, this time with much more resistance. “Such a fucking dirty thing aren’t you?” He said, gripping your throat in one hand and forcing you to look up, to watch as his shadows milked Rhysand.

The shadow at your hole left, no longer able to press into you with the new positioning. As much as you missed it, the stretch that Azriel’s knot was providing more than made up for the loss. He fucked into you with determination now, the width of his knot slipping in and out of your entrance with ease. He was just under the size Rhys had been when he’d locked inside of you, and still seemed to have more to give.

“Gods, you’re tight. Rhys didn’t do a good enough job breaking you in, did he?” He ground out, placing bite marks upon your shoulders. One of his hands pressed against your hip, supporting you with every snap of his hips forward. He leaned down slightly, arching over your back and raising up from his knees a bit, then buried himself in you at a brutal pace.

A cry fell from your lips at the intensity of it, at the way he seemed to know exactly what to do, where to press- You were coming undone. There was no stopping it, no way to rock or buck against him differently-

His knot swelled, catching on your lips- rubbing between them until he could no longer pull free. Your pussy sealed around him fully, covering him in your tight heat. You came, and came - knees quivering as he locked inside you. The world was nothing but heat and the crest of your pleasure and the fullness that Azriel provided for your pussy to ride out your orgasm with.

Rhys was groaning - whimpering, really, and the shadows writhed around him in such a mass that it was almost concerning. They’d allowed him some movement, so he could fuck them as he pleased, but within a few strokes, thick white cum shot from his cock. He hissed as he came, his body flexing and rolling with the orgasm.

Then, with a stuttering motion of his hips, Azriel was cumming as well. He collapsed atop you, his orgasm ripped from as your insides pressed on him, taking him for all he was able to provide. He panted, eyes blown wide, his nails leaving deep red crescents where he’d been gripping your hips. He filled you, cum leaking out even around the seal his knot had made.

The only thing he wished was for another body, so he may lick it from you. So he may lap at your clit while still seated inside, to feel how you’d react to such a thing-

Gods his cock was growing hard again just from the thought. No, no- he denied himself of it. He’d have plenty of time, in the future. He took steadying breaths and instead played with your hair,fixing how he’d mussed it and planting kisses along where he’d bitten.

He was unable to move for long, long moments. Not until Rhys broke his mental blankness to laugh - “I think I’ve made a good choice of heir-provider.”

#acotar #acotar fic #reader x azriel #abo #abo themes #acotar smut #reader x rhysand #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand x you #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader insert smut #a court of thorns and roses fic #a court of thorns and roses fanfic

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netherfeildren · 3 months

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Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation.

Word Count: 13.9K

Read on AO3

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2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange.

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly.

Each other.

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps.

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at.

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you.

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost.

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way.

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed.

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words.

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do.

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that.

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no.

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too.

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead.

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before.

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks.

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand.

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows.

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea.

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you.

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know.

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing.

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong.

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest.

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here.

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath.

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment.

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already.

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot.

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating.

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.”

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign.

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint.

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed.

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging.

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here.

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so.

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–”

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion.

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you.

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake.

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child.

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it.

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger.

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too.

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin.

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him.

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be.

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box.

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not.

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by.

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is.

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts.

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable.

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you.

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you.

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on.

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive.

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge.

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge.

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks.

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so.

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now.

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears.

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him.

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within.

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give.

He takes it all regardless.

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided.

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line.

No, no.

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that.

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can.

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one. And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm.

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts.

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle.

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up.

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now.

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking.

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right.

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell.

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself.

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye.

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom.

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer.

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet.

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now.

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room.

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled.

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him.

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back.

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha.

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side.

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly.

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it.

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you.

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell.

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together.

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right.

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you.

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again.

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way.

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs.

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there.

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words.

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go.

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible.

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of.

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him.

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased.

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else.

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue.

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat.

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head.

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all.

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel.

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much.

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much.

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower.

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know.

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun.

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want.

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows.

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.”

Want, not need.

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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#vic fic #HSM fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us AU #pedro pascal characters

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gremlingottoosilly · 3 months

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Monster!141 with a fox!reader that thinks she's so smart and strong before meeting 141 of course!! All she wanted was to hunt in new land but now she's been captured by some monsters:(((

Awwww! She is such a smart cookie, she knows how to use all of her assets - from her pretty appearance to her enhanced athletics and ability to squeeze into the tightest spots so she could steal precious supplies from some group of dumb, burly hybrids who think they can pick on someone smaller...fox hybrids are in better position than the most - they are not used as a breeding stock, at least, being predators that are known for their cunning strategies and ability to steal everything both from each other and other hybrids. This is exactly what doomed you in the end. You see, when you're dealing with dumb, burly male monster hybrids and constantly steal their supplies - mostly food, but also clothes and some weapons to sell - they get to track your scent better and better each time, especially when you deal with other canine hybrids...and Soap would be the one to catch you first. It's either him or Ghost - and trust me, you don't want the undead guy to be the one to catch you. At least Soap would be so excited that he finally catches pretty little thief, that you could kinda convince him to go easy on you - that you could pretend to be sorry for stealing from them, and he'd just fuck you, a fat knot in your pussy and you squirm and try to convince him not to breed you. He would drag you to the base after this, of course - or share you with his lieutenant immediately, forcing the shadow tendrils to squeeze your warm body, playing with it no matter how much you resist. You hate them both so much, especially since Ghost is so insisting on calling you a dumb girl who is getting her holes pounded because a stupid fox thought she could deal with the real hybrids... Price would drag you over his knee and make you yelp and cry as he spanks you for each item you stole from them. No matter how much you scratch and yell, no matter how you try to scramble off him, he would not let you go - poor, pathetic, dumb girl, you really thought they will let you to in peace? He will have Kyle stroke your clit and pinch your tits in the middle of spanking session, making this dumb fox hybrid so confused and teary from them...you will yell at him, of course, you have a wile mouth that you use to curse them - but in the end of the day, you're the one who is getting her butt spanked and her holes used by four hybrids who you thought to be too stupid to notice your antics anyway. Well...who is laughing now, right?

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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bittersweet 🖤 a yandere!john wick x fem!reader coffee shop sunshine/grump au

Table of Contents

something sweet

burned

the cougar

the mountain

lamb in the lion's den

avenging angel

the book thief

joyride

pest

drunk text

mondo piccolo

la dolce vita

vino veritas

kitten

walk of shame

bad girl

got u

war and peace

crime and punishment

lost and found

bound for hell

deal with the devil

show me your teeth

bully

knots

breaking point

surprise

haunted

lady of the daisies

say something

run

tbc...

#decided to make a chapter map...#john wick #keanu reeves #john wick fic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere! john wick #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

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lani-heart · 3 months

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|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> jung wooyoung x reader warning(s) -> smut, losing virginity, panty theft, mentions of pillow humping, hybrid anatomy ( knotting ), dry humping, etc words -> 1.7K

abstract -> Wooyoung is struggling with his preheat symptoms... while San can't help but expose just how much of a pervert the desperate fox is.

y/n's perspective

“I don’t understand why they keep going missing,” I said as San laughed. “It's not funny! Are you hiding them?” I asked and he smiled. “Nope… but I do know what’s happening to them,” he said and I sighed.

“How long have you known?! What's even happening to them?!” I asked and he laughed. “Let's go, kitty, '' he said as he held my hand. He took me to Wooyoung’s room. They decided on separate rooms and each room even was too big for one person despite that they had privacy.

So what could Wooyoung be doing with my underwear?

“Here we are,” he said with a smirk. “What could he even be doing with it?” I was confused and he chuckled. He was clearly having fun at my confusion.

He opened the door and looked around before he pulled out… a lacy pair. “Why is it wet?” I asked and he smiled. “Well… he’s going into heat, and he clearly likes you” he implied, making my face go red.

“When are you going to tell him you know?” he asked and I didn’t know how to approach it.

“Why are you guys…” I heard Wooyoung at the door and now had his eyes on the underwear he stole.

“Should I stay? Or give you two privacy?” San teased and I scoffed. He chuckled and left as Wooyoung stood in front of me waiting for me to speak.

“So… you’re the panty thief” I said and his cheeks turned red. “I’m sorry! I know it's weird and disgusting but…” he was panicking and didn't know what to say.

“You like me” I said “Yeah and it's so– Wait!” he said not realizing his confession, making me chuckle. “I knew for a while. Kun and San both told me on separate occasions” I said and he grumbled in embarrassment.

“I was just waiting for you to tell me,” I said with a smile and he looked at me worried and teary-eyed.

“Are you gonna reject me?” he asked and I smiled and shook my head. “I think… I liked the thought of having a boyfriend like you when I was younger you know” I was confused and he looked at me shocked.

“You showed me so much worth when no one else did. Not to mention you took care of me through my worst” I said and he smiled softly. He hugged me tightly and kissed me on the forehead.

“If you’d let me, I'd like to complete your younger’s self-image,” he said with begging eyes and I nodded.

It was then he kissed me, shocking me but I didn’t pull away. He was desperate, curious, insatiable…

“San tells me you have fantasies?” I asked when I pulled and I noticed how he swallowed his own saliva while looking away, getting redder by the second.

“Is that why you became a panty thief?” I asked and he growled. “I was desperate… my heat is coming soon” he whined and I chuckled.

“What else have you stolen?” I asked and he whined as he pushed me softly onto his bed and got on top of me. He was red and whiny trying so hard not to look me in the eyes because of his embarrassment.

“I wanted to feel close to you” he confessed and he started kissing my neck rather desperately. I couldn't contain the moans and whines from his playful nipping on my neck.

“You want me to be honest?” he asked and I nodded. “I stole a lot of your panties and even buried myself in your dirty clothes. I’ve also fucked your pillow…” he muttered and I was shocked.

“Your scent is just so intoxicating. I want more of it… jealous that Sannie gets to have you” he confessed and I didn’t know what to say.

“Can I have you like he does?” he asked and all I could do was nod.

no one's perspective

Wooyoung desperately kissed your neck while his hands explored under your shirt. Moans only make him more desperate, his fantasies finally coming to life.

The number of times he came against a pair of panties or even your sheets was embarrassing. He knew San knew of his perverted actions but he never thought he’d snitch. Then again he should be thanking him since now he had the opportunity to finally have y/n-nie.

“Take it off, please” he muttered as he gripped your shirt tightly. Maybe even leaving holes in it with his nails. Taking off your shirt, Wooyoung followed and stripped off his clothes.

At the sight of you in only your bra and panties almost made cum in his pants. He’s stolen the exact pair several times… he's even sure he’s covered each pair of panties and bras in cum at least once.

“Wooyoung?” you said snapping him out of his perverted thoughts. Overwhelmed and not knowing where to start you grabbed his hands to put them on your chest. He let out a closed-mouth whine as he gently grabbed your chest through your bra. He pulled down to reveal your boobs to him for the first time… he started kissing, licking, nipping, making you moan out.

As he focused his mouth on one he groped the other and he hated how badly he wanted to cum at just sucking your boobs. How much he imagined it… San even teases him that he has an oral fixation, maybe he’s right.

He stopped momentarily while opening his eyes to see your red face. Even biting your lip to try to stop moaning. Wooyoung is now pressing his weight against you to kiss you messily. Saliva even dripped out of your mouth as he humped your pussy through his boxers and your panties.

Everything too much that he did ends up cumming and the wet spot on his boxers now spreading on your panties… “Did you cum?” you asked out of breath and he tried to ride out his orgasm by humping you some more and hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“Wooyoung” you moaned out now feeling close to just him rubbing your clit through the layers of fabric. You even started chasing your own orgasm as you humped against his bulge, slowly getting him hard again. “Fuck… please can I make you my mate? I wanna be yours… please” he begged and you almost came to just his words. Nodding, let him sit up and take off his boxers as he didn't even have the patience to take off your panties instead he pulled them to the side to reveal just how wet you were.

He experimented with softly touching your clit making you moan out at just how close you are to cumming but needed more.

He crouched down to have a taste of the source he’s fantasized about. The panty stealing wasn’t anything close to eating you out. He didn't have to do much before you started moaning out louder with curses and his name leaving your mouth. That alone made him so close to cumming again…

He didn't want to overwhelm you but he couldn't stop. Your cum only gives him more to enthusiastically lick up while looking out at your face contorting with pleasure. The grip on his heart only makes him want to be in between your thighs forever.

“Wooyoung, please” you started begging, making him stop. He chuckled… “Maybe I got carried away,” he said as he sat up. He allied himself against your pussy. He pressed himself against your clit to get some friction only making him moan out alongside you.

He was more vocal than San was… but San liked to talk you through it. Wooyoung was desperate for anything he could get, satisfied with anything.

A pervert who had a crush on you for years now, finally getting his wish come true.

“Can I?” he asked as he wanted to be inside you so badly and you nod just as desperate for him to fuck you. Both of you are chasing your second orgasm.

When he entered you gasped and moaned, but Wooyoung was louder. He didn't expect you to be so tight… he didn't expect this to feel so good. He didn’t even have to think before he started thrusting into your pussy sloppily. Nothing about this was organized, everything was desperate.

He started groping your boobs again as he kissed your lips making a mess. Everything he imagined, dreamed of, and fantasized about would never compare to the real thing.

Both of you were so loud as you were so close. “You’ll be my mate, right? Mine… and- and I'll be yours right?’ he asked and you nodded. “Please!” you begged as you could feel so close.

It was when you felt a stretch and he slumped over that you came for a second time. You moaned now at the stretch giving you a slight pain but only added to your orgasm.

“I’m sorry…” he muttered and you were confused. He panted as he put his forehead against yours “I should've warned you that I would knot you” he said and you clenched around him at the new information making him moan.

“Its okay– fuck is that your cum?!” you moaned out as he chuckled. He moaned softly as he looked at your face. You had messy hair, drool coming out of your mouth, and a dazed look in your eyes.

“We’ll be stuck like this for a while,” he said in almost a whisper as he pressed his weight against you, clearly tired.

“That means we were mated then,” you said and he smiled while opening his eyes you could even feel his cock move while his tail wagged. “You’re a dream come true” he muttered before he dozed off.

He was out of it, really tired after losing his virginity and fucking you giving the both of you two powerful orgasms.

“Can we do this again, when I wake up” he muttered half-asleep already.

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

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aothotties · 1 month

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Sneaky Link w/ Reiner

Warnings: MDNI, Swearing, Reiner is rough, public sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, praise, pet names, creampie, Reiner is a pantie thief.

Word count: 853

_________

You sat at the party drinking and talking with your friends. You had decided to come to Eren’s party but unfortunately you had to go separate from your boyfriend.

You and Reiner had been dating for months but decided not to tell the friend group so you wouldn't make it awkward.

He came to the party later and you couldn't lie he looked so damn good. But you tried to make sure you weren’t staring.

As the night went on you kept drinking and dancing with your friends. Eventually you were approached by someone.

After talking for a minute you learned his name was Floch.

“So how do you know Eren?” he asked.

“We met in college” you responded.

Floch was flirting HARD and you tried your best to keep the conversation casual.

“So does a pretty girl like you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

You wanted to tell him yes, because you did, but Eren was standing close and you were scared he would hear and start asking too many questions.

“Um, no, im single” you responded while looking away knowing damn well you were lying.

Before he could respond Eren stepped in and saved the day.

“Floch leave her alone, she doesn't want you” he said while grabbing his shoulder.

“I think she can answer for her self” he responded.

“I'm actually not interested” you said with an awkward smile.

Floch looked defeated and walked away with his head down, you felt bad but you were taken.

Throughout the night you and reiner kept sneaking little stares at each other but you had to keep is cute and not get caught.

You slipped away from the party for a bit to head to the bathroom. After you were done you walked back down the hallway and tried to head back, but instead you were being pulled into a room.

At first you were scared and thought maybe it was Floch and you were ready to fight

But as you were about to throw the first punch your boyfriend stood in front of you.

He pushed you against the wall and his lips crashed onto yours.

He was kissing you passionately, his tongue slipped into your mouth and intertwined with yours. His large hands were all over your body, messing up your dress.

“Fuck you look so good tonight princess” he said inbetween kisses.

“You look good too baby. Way too damn good” you said as you wrapped one of your legs around his waist.

“Ive been thinking about ripping this dress off you all night” he said as his hand traveled up your thigh.

“So rip it off” you said plainly.

That was the last thing you remember before Reiner fucked your brains out in this random room.

“Yeah , right there daddy!” you whined.

He had you bent over the dresser in the room. Your dress was bunched up at your waist and your panties were around your ankles.

Reiner was fucking you into the dresser. His hips were snapping at a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

“You feel so good princess” he said as he bullied into you.

You moans were loud and you were secretly thanking the stars for the loud music.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you reached back to push Reiner a little bit but he twisted your arm and pinned it behind your back.

He picked up his speed and you felt his tip brushing your cervix.

Your thighs started shaking and you knew you were close to cumming. Reiner knew you were close and started going even faster causing you to quickly release all over his thighs.

“Good girl” he praised.

He grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you against his chest, the new angle had his dick hitting your g-spot.

“Baby -fuck- I-I’m gonna cum again” you moaned.

“Yeah baby, cum for me again” he responded.

You were on cloud 9, the alcohol mixed with the pleasure had you in a trance. Before you knew it that knot formed in your stomach again.

“About to c-cum baby” you whined.

Reiner didn’t respond and just kept fucking you, you could feel him twitch inside of you and knew he was close as well.

“Cum on me princess, make a mess for me” he said while his other hand wrapped around your throat.

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. The knot snapped and you came again all over your boyfriend.

This drove Reiner insane, he bent you back over the dresser and grabbed your hips. His grip left marks in your skin.

“Need to feel it inside me baby cum in me” you said as you turned your head to look in his eyes.

He groaned in response and threw his head back.

You felt his warm seed shoot inside of you and fill you until it dripped out. He slipped out of you and took your panties off.

“Let it drip out of you, show Floch that this pussy is taken.” he said before kissing you on the forehead and walking you out the room.

Rachel

#aot smut #aot x black reader #aot scenarios #aot x reader #aot imagines #aot x female reader #aot x black y/n #aot x y/n #reiner x black reader #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun smut #reiner x reader #reiner smut

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harfanfare · 6 months

Text

Unique Kisses: Honest Fellow

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

a/n: fluff, implied female reader (”princess” pet name). I have no idea how to deal with the brainriot that came with the appearance of this shady man, like what.

Honest Fellow (teasing kisses)

“My little star,” Fellow’s lips trail your knuckles, and you can feel a smile against your skin as he senses your pulse quicken. He has the audacity to look so gentlemanly, oh so very blithely, as if this idea has just struck his head under this evening’s romantic atmosphere. “May I have this kiss?”

You’d like to reply, really, but in the next second there are lips on your jawline and a glowed hand that raises your chin; the words you had on your tongue die as you gasp slightly, your eyes fluttering open by the sudden sensation.

Well, you’re charmed. Infatuated with love or ensorceled by a thick layer of Fellow’s unique magic, you don’t reject those dramatic touches, scenic enough to feel like being pulled into a play where a gentlemanly prince kisses a princess.

And while Fellow might have the reputation of being a gentleman, he’s too impish, too rouge to be one. He can only play the role, the facade might even drop, but dumb princesses—you dare to compare yourself to one as Fellow uses that pet name, among countless others—are known for falling even for twisted men.

“Why so quiet?” He asks, and you quiver with frustration, as he seals your lips again. That damn bastard; he thinks the navy suit he wears makes him look sleek and the way he tucks his holey gloves off is luscious enough to make your cheeks blush. He isn’t that wrong, yet…

…It is infuriating to dance to Fellow’s tune in a choreography he is a lead to. Even if you love him.

“Stop… teasing me like this,” you manage to lift your head enough so that you break the kiss. Fellow snorts at your poor attempt to catch a breath and at the weak try to keep him at your elbow’s distance, as he holds you close to his chest. The sweet scent of the cologne he wears makes you even more dizzy.

He moves his hands to your hair and tucks the stray locks behind your ear. If he could grab the camera, he would capture the adorable expression you wear—but he doesn’t want to waste his time searching for that fickle thing, no, no. He isn’t able to concentrate on anything else, and he needs to satisfy the whim of alluring you (once again) before he’ll be physically able to move away.

“My, you don’t sound very convincing,” he smiles and strokes your cheek so gently. “But I will believe you. Loveliest, just say a word, and I’ll just kiss you goodnight for the last time.”

Like you could’ve expected, you aren’t granted a chance to say anything else. He kisses you more and more, and at this point, the most fastidious princess would be already satisfied.

…Fellow might be scared. He might not want to hear your answer, even if the look in your eyes and the way your heart beats should be enough to suffice any of his questions.

If you could utter a word, you would confess your love once for the thousandth time.

“That’s right. The silence says it all,” he whispers as his thumb traces your lips. “You are so gorgeous, and you are mine.”

Like a doll. But you’re no doll, you’re more beautiful than any masterpiece magic could ever create. You’re free, and you choose to stay with him. There are no strings attached to your hands that keep him at his side. There is just one, tightly knotted on your heart and it’s a cherished bond you put on yourself.

He doesn’t have a puppet in you. He has a lover who will shower him with selfless love, yet he still can’t believe anyone would have given it to him for free.

So, he must’ve stolen it.

He smiles. “By obligation of being a thief, I will steal your heart all over again, and keep it safe with me.” I love you. "That’s the duty I owe to myself as you are my treasure.”

#I... I have no words for this man #I hope his backstory will be heart-grabbing or sth so it will be socially acceptable to simp for him #fellowives here's your man #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #fellow honest #ferro honest #fellow x reader #fellow honest x reader #ferro x reader #ferro honest x reader #honest fellow x reader #honest ferro x reader

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syoddeye · 22 days

Text

~1.2k words. Price x gn!Reader. CW: controlling behavior, stalking/location tracking, brief sexual content

After your abrupt ‘engagement’, you argue. Refusing to unpack your things at John’s place—your place, now—you explain it’s normal for couples to discuss things like living together and marriage before they happen. John disagrees.

It’s supposed to be a surprise, sweetheart. And isn’t my place better? Bigger?

He watches you pace around his flat, a little smug when you finally set out your toiletries. Isn’t this much simpler, he whispers, rubbing your shoulders as you tearfully list your couch for sale. No more back and forth. Significantly lower bills and rent, as he insists on paying for more than half. His furniture is newer, too, though the place could use some color. He’s happy to take you shopping and let you pick new decor.

It’s not the couch you’re upset about. It’s the loss of your own space. Again, you attempt to explain. John shushes and comforts you in his favorite way, on your back, buried deep in a slow grind. He holds you at the knife point of pleasure, at the very edge, and asks if you really hate his place so much or miss your lumpy, old furniture. Guilts it out of you, withholding, until you concede you don’t hate it and please please please—

The first week runs long. He bends you over in the kitchen, joins you in the shower, and pushes you against the door when you get home from work. Where you once complained of not having enough of his attention, you find yourself barraged. You stop by a new bookstore at lunch on a Friday, and he calls, voice tight, the jingling of his keys louder than any bullet. Where are you? Who are you with? A bookstore? Lovely, send a selfie. You nearly die of embarrassment when an employee catches you awkwardly holding up your phone in the romance section and scuttle out.

It happens whenever you go somewhere without him. A coworker’s birthday happy hour. A short visit to meet a friend’s new puppy. A long walk at the park. Even when he is occupied, John finds time to badger you. After he hounds you at a work dinner, demanding a photo with your boss, you decide enough is enough. The mystery app needs to go.

Through careful fishing and research, you learn your coworker's girlfriend's best friend knows a tech guy. You set up a dummy email, exchange a few messages, and agree to meet at the coffee shop across the street from the office. It's not the most brilliant location, but it's believable enough when you mention to John that you're treating a coworker to lattes that afternoon. He squeezes your thigh when he drops you off and wishes you a good day.

The man—no names, for everyone's safety—is overcharging you, but it's worth it if it works. You don't want to think about what will happen if it doesn't. He meets you at a table with a small toolkit. He's fidgety and quiet, but polite and more interested in the puzzle of the app than the circumstances. The fewer questions, the better. He asks you to order drinks while he gets to work. You order, pay, chat with the barista about their handmade earrings, and when you turn to check his progress...He's gone. Phone and all.

You panic.

John.

John will know. He will call and text. Your mind leapfrogs to the worst scenario—what if he follows the thief, thinking it's you? How could you be so stupid. You abandon the coffee, barely hold off the waterworks, and sprint back to your office. Shoving into your manager's office, you beg to use their landline. It's an emergency.

For the first time in weeks, John doesn't pick up the phone. You try twice before your boss's worried side eye forces you back to your desk, tail tucked between your legs; so much for an emergency. You think of borrowing a coworker's phone to at least call the police and report the theft, but you know it'll make things worse with John. Your only option is to wait until five o'clock.

Like always, John waits out front. You force a smile and slip into the passenger seat with a knot in place of your heart. Your chest has never felt tighter.

He's on the phone and shoots you an apologetic smile, then points at the digital display. Laswell. Work. You suppose it gives you more time to find the words to explain what happened.

John misses the first turn on the usual route home. Then another. Your eyes dart to him, but he's absorbed in the drive and his phone call. They're talking about Urzikstan, his words clipped and terse as they typically are on calls when you're present. You grip the edges of your seat, your stomach turning over when he gets on the road leading out of town and into the hills. You rake your memory, thinking of where he could possibly be taking you.

Eventually, forty-five minutes into the drive, the town far behind you, he ends the call. He drops his phone into the console and pats your knee. The jolt from his palm prompts you to blurt out the lie you concocted, not wanting to give him a chance to become upset over your errant location.

You tell him: It all happened so fast, John. At the cafe with your coworker and set your phone down on the corner of the table. As a man left the shop, he grabbed it on the way out and ran off. You tried calling, upset he didn't answer, and you didn't know what to do.

John hums, his expression unreadable in the dimming light of day. He answers your frantic confession by pulling off the road onto an overlook and telling you you've arrived with a small smile.

It's a little chilly, but he tucks you into his side and marvels at the view of the valley. He still hasn't addressed the 'theft'. It worries you, thinking of his festering anger. He glides his hand down your back, squeezes your waist, and then quietly tells you to quit your job.

I don’t think that place is good for you.

You look up and find John staring, smiling, but you’ve seen those eyes before.

Those people are a bad influence. You’ve never been careless like that. I make more than enough for the both of us, anyway.

Before you think of a response, he drops to one knee, and pulls a ring from his jacket. In front of the sunset, he professes his love for you in a real proposal.

Make me the happiest man in the world, and I will do everything in my power to keep you happy.

You're unsure if you imagine the emphasis on 'keep', but you are suddenly quite aware of how far away you are from civilization, without a phone, with a man trained to kill. Tears slip down your cheeks, and when you accept, the words shudder out of you on the exhale. He kisses the rest of the air out of your lungs. Despite the open sky above you, it's suffocating.

See? You like surprises, sweetheart.

Deep breaths. Smile and nod.

Will you get the champagne out of the boot?

The weight of the engagement ring on your finger feels like an anchor. You stare at it, glinting in the fading sunlight, and wordlessly open the rear door to find a picnic basket. Champagne, chocolates, flowers—and nestled in the center, your phone.

#john price #price x gn reader #price x you #price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #x reader #x gn reader #cw possessiveness #cw stalking #cw location tracking #what i worked on instead of my big wips last night

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a-b-riddle · 24 days

Text

A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter One: Location, Location, Location

John

"MacTavish," It had been about three months since the 141 had returned from our last OP. It had been a rough one and, although, we had all come back alive, we didn't come back unscathed. And we all had to thank a pretty little IT 'expert' to thank for that. Stupid fucking Omega...

"Usually I'm the one calling you. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I threw back the amber colored liquor, finishing the last of my latest bottle. It seemed all I had in my free time was drinking myself into an early grave.

Good.

"Care for a hunting trip, Cap'n?" Johnny's tone was playful, which was almost always never a good sign. MacTavish could seek out trouble like a bloody bloodhound.

"What d'ya have in mind?" I humored. I had come home to a sedentary life style. Any ideals I had about settling down, extinguished. I wasn't as young as I used to be, but I'm still too into the fight to retire now. So whatever Johnny had in mind, surely must be something worth at least entertaining.

"A pretty little flower." He says and I swear I can almost hear the see the smirk on his face. "Stands at about five foot three. Has a knack for stabbing a man in the back right after suckin' 'im dry."

Daisy.

"You got a lead then I take it?" I try to stifle the anger as I feel it beginning to bubble. Every Alpha instinct is telling me to track, hunt, kill. Before, every biological urge I had toward our flower was to protect, keep, and fuck until she forgot her own bloody name. Now, I wasn't so sure I could stand the sight of her long enough to get the answers I wanted-- needed-- before absolutely tearing her to fucking shreds.

"Aye." He confirmed. "Wanted to see if you were up for it before I called the lads."

"How polite."

"You're still, Cap'n." "And I know you had more..." There was a shift in his tone. Unease as he tried to find the words, but couldn't. He couldn't. None of us could. Because none of us could describe what had happened with Daisy. Betrayal is too gentle of a word, too short and modest of a word to describe what she had done to us; hell, me. Johnny cleared his throat. Clearly uncomfortable and wanting to retract the beginning of whatever statement he had intended on making. "Join me to settle an old debt, ye?"

I didn't need to think twice about Johnny's officer. An opportunity to finish what we started back in Austria. I didn't regret stopping Johnny as much as I did not getting the answers I needed before the little bitch disappeared like a damn thief in the night. Now was the chance. Not only revenge for what we had been through, but the betrayal she had put us through. Jeopardizing not only the 141, but the few loved ones we had. My mum, MacTavish's sisters, Garrick's entire fucking family and the little solace that Simon had. A peace of mind knowing if he wanted to start living again, he could. All of it was almost lost.

"You got eyes on our-" No. She wasn't ours anymore. Not our girl. Not our flower. Sure as fuck never our Omega. "On her."

"I got an address." If he noticed my pause, he didn't say anything. For that I'm grateful. I can't be weak again because some of doe-eyed little Omega. One who whispered sweet lies about how good my knot felt and all the things she wanted in life. Things we-I- wanted. "Had an old contact have her name pop up. Hen is too fucking dense to make sure to use an alias especially considering she stayed on our side of the pond."

Don't really plan on going home after this. Not really anything waiting for me back there except some student debt. She had hid the pain of having no family well, but, now after everything, nothing seemed genuine. Every kiss, every touch, every smile and laugh she had thrown my way was now tainted.

Now it was time to bury it all.

"I'll call Garrick." That was all the confirmation Johnny would get out of me. I didn't want to seem too eager to finally get my hands on her. I needed to be collected. Level headed. I was the Alpha. I was the one my team looked to for guidance. I had already failed them once. I damn sure wouldn't be doing it again. "I'll let you convince Riley to come along."

"Lettin' me call in the boogeyman?" Johnny was smiling again. Could fucking hear it in his voice. He was the one who had probably fallen the hardest for the little bitch. Indulging him in soft touches and soothing his temper. Probably the same reason he had put a barrel to her forehead the moment she had admitted to it.

I was going to tell you. She had tried to excuse her delay as if that were the issue. I just didn't know how to tell you. But can you blame me? Yes. We could. And we did. For the shitty last seven months. For the constant worry all of us had for having to pull our mind out of the mission to worry about what was going on back home.

Her tears didn't save her. Only until Laswell came in raising an absolute bloody stink. Claims of how the very audacity to potentially injure an Omega on her team could cost her career. Fuck her career.

"Send me the details." I pulled another bottle off the shelf. Promising myself it would be the last one I had until I finally pulled that weed of a woman out of existence. Killing her meant I could finally move on. Find someone, certainly not a fucking Omega, to settle down with. I could heal from the heartbreak I would never admit to. It would be the ending that we all needed.

"Will do Cap'n." Johnny didn't wait for my dismissal before he hung up. He was just as ready for a hunt as I was.

#captain john price #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #ghost #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #omegaverse #angst #betrayal

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wr1ghtw0rth · 2 months

Note

If you don't mind me asking what was Mr. Nix and Edgeworth's first meeting like exactly?

The Meeting

Miles sighs inwardly and straightens his coat as he walks, approaching the small tools shack at the edge of the park they are currently passing through. Gumshoe follows at his heels, clutching a small notebook as well as a manilla case file in one of his hands.

As unusual as it would be for the chief prosecutor to be at a crime scene like this under normal circumstances, this case is different. Miles squints at the white outlines where the body had been found earlier in the morning by a passing jogger. There is blood around the head area as well as at the side wall of the shack.

"The police is certain that there are once again no witnesses?" Miles asks, not bothering to turn towards the detective.

"Yessir, we have interviewed every resident and shop owner around the park! They all claim that they haven't heard a gunshot, or anything else suspicious!"

Miles sighs, audibly this time. Just like the other three instances. No witnesses, no one to accuse of the crime.

"Did any suspicious character come up in the background check yet?"

"No sir... we checked the alibis of his immediate family and coworkers, but there's no one who could've done it so far."

"I see. Please give me a summary of everything we know as of now." Miles steps closer to the blood stain, inspecting it. It's already dry by now, of course.

"Sure thing pal! Let me just- uh??" The detective's voice falters and Miles turns in annoyance, scowling.

"I don't have all day, detective!" He grits out, but Gumshoe isn't looking at him. He is holding... a blue poker card in his hand now, the case file nowhere to be seen, his eyes wide in shock. Miles feels his eye twitch, but just as he is about to question this bizarre scene in front of him, a voice speaks up from above them.

"The victim, Lesley Importan, 30 years old, has been shot clean through the head from behind at approximately 3 am. The autopsy report states that he must have been kneeling on the ground, in front of this lil shack here, before that happened. Gunpowder has been found on his skull, which suggests that the weapon was held close to his head. A jogger found him at around 8 am, no witnesses otherwise. Mmmh... Seems like the police is scrambling for clues again, huh?"

Miles turns his head around so quickly, he feels a twinge at the back of his neck.

"What the-?!" He looks up at the owner of this voice and openly gapes at him.

On the roof of the shack there is a man in a dark blue suit, sitting casually at the corner with one leg dangling off the side and the other crossed above it. He is holding the case file as well as Gumshoes notebook open in his lap, grinning lightly as he regards the two men beneath him with one raised eyebrow. His face is obscured by a black half-mask, covering part of his nose and cheeks. Even from afar, Miles can see a playful sparkle in those dark eyes peaking from behind it as the vigilante tilts his head. A short, black and blue cape is curling around his shoulders and neck, tied over his chest in a magenta knot, a frilly piece of cloth of the same color beaneath it. He raises one gloved finger into the air, wagging it in mock scolding.

"My my, it seems like you've lost some of your bite, Mr. Chief Prosecutor. Did I really catch you off-guard?"

Miles glares at the man, hearing detective Gumshoe shift behind him.

"Who are you? How did you get these files? I demand that you return them immediately!"

The blue figure just smiles at him, not bothering to move or say anything in response, so Miles adds a growled "I will get you to court for stealing evidence!"

His irritation grows even more as the thief leans back onto one hand casually, still smirking playfully.

"I simply had to update myself on the current case. You can have them back now." He hums before tossing the notes and file towards them.

With a gasp, Gumshoe scrambles to catch both, snatching his little book out of the air but getting the case file smacked straight to the face.

"Whoops, sorry Detective." The thief chuckles apologetically as he rises to his feet, his hands on his hips.

"Who are you?" Miles repeats icily, his eyes never leaving the others face. His spikey hairstyle reminds him painfully of his last encounter with a certain defence attorney, but he has no time to dwell on private matters now. This person could very well be the murderer, after all.

"A friend. I'm here to help." The man on the roof responds with a grin, leaning his head to the side slightly.

"But you probably won't trust me on that right now. You're certain I'm your murderer, aren't you, Mr. Chief Prosecutor? I can tell you that this is not the case."

Miles clenches his fists at his sides, glancing away for a split second, meeting eyes with detective Gumshoe. Receiving a barely visible nod from the detective he steps forward, lifting his chin as he crosses his arms.

"The fact that you keep refusing to answer my questions makes that very believable, don't you think. What is your name?"

He smirks as the thief actually looks surprised by this.

"My name, huh? Good question! Let me think... you could call me... Nix?"

Miles rolls his eyes. This guy seriously went as far as to come here in full costume and hasn't even thought of an alias for himself?

Ridiculous.

"Alright then, Mister..... Nix. If you are truly innocent, why don't you come down here and prove it?" The prosecutor moves from his spot, walking along the side of the shack, making the other man turn his head in order to keep his eyes on him. He feels his smirk growing. This guy is not as smart as he seems to think.

"Sorry, I don't think I can do that. In fact, I think it's time for me to go now, I've got what I wanted. Oh and... please be more careful, detective."

"Detective!"

Miles eyes widen as the thief casually side-steps Gumshoe, who had been sneaking up behind him and pounced forward in an attempt to capture him. The stumbling detective lets out a shout of surprise, flailing his arms as he is almost taken off the roof by his momentum.

Except... he doesn't fall.

"Uh... what?" Gumshoe blinks down at Miles, dumbfounded. He's leaning so far over, his feet both against the edge of the roof, that he should be falling by now. Miles takes a step back, looking up in disbelief at the thief, who is clinging to the detective's coat with both hands and leaning back using his full body weight in order to keep him in place.

"Gee detective, aren't you a heavy one?" The masked man gasps out, "will you be good to jump off now? Because I don't think I can manage to pull you back."

"Uh... Y-yeah, thanks pal." Gumshoe stutters, still visibly confused about the whole situation, and a moment later he lands heavily on his feet beside Miles. The prosecutor narrows his eyes as he watches the thief take a bow.

"No need to thank me. But as I said, I will be taking my leave now. Until we meet again, Mr. Chief Prosecutor." The masked man sing-songs the last part before turning on his heel, running to the opposite side of the roof before jumping off as well.

"Wait!!" Miles jumps into action, taking a sharp turn around the corner of the shack, the tail ends of his coat flying behind him. But it's no use.

"What the-?? He's gone!" He stops abruptly, gritting his teeth and staring into the direction the thief must have vanished to. Gumshoe catches up to him a moment later.

"Well Sir. He doesn't seem all bad, at least..." The taller man murmurs, scratching his cheek, but shuts up the moment he catches Miles glare.

"I-I mean! I'm going to call for back up, we'll search the whole area!" The detective saluts and turns, digging into his pockets for his cell phone as he stumbles off.

Miles stays behind for a moment longer before he shakes his head and is about to turn to follow his companion, when he spots something. A blue poker card is lying on the ground just in front of his foot. He kneels down, picking it up by one edge and turning it over.

It's an ace of hearts.

I have a feeling that we will indeed meet again.

Getting back up, he stores the card in his chest pocket on the inside of his coat. He looks once again into the direction the masked man had vanished to, before he turns.

For better or for worse remains to be seen.

---------

Thank you so much @almarnatiaam for beta reading and helping with this! It's my first attempt to write, so I hope you guys have fun with this >//<

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #mr. nix #wrightworth #kits art #narumitsu #nrmts

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squishycheekanon · 2 months

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Limerence | Six

C H A P T E R SIX

limerence / lim-ê-rêns / (noun)

“Obsessive romantic attraction towards another person”

Summary: In which the owners of Jujutsu Incorporated, the Ôgami brothers, are suddenly interested in you.

Pairing: Alpha!Sukuna x reader, Alpha!Itadori x reader, Alpha!Gojo x reader, Alpha!Geto x reader, Alpha!Nanami x reader, Alpha!Kenjaku x reader

Status: Ongoing.

Genre: werewolf au, soulmate, polyamory relationship, angst, fluff, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics.

Warnings: smut, violence, mentions of knotting, heats, ruts, insecurities, some descriptions of reader’s body, mention of possible ED, omegaspace, domdrop, swearing, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts, possessiveness, obsessive thoughts, Alpha tendencies.

Chapter Warnings: Yandere behaviour brought to you by Suguru, mentions of a scar, pups mentioned, violence, Suguru being a pantie thief.

Masterlist | Chapter Five | Chapter Seven

Taglist: @better-imagination-9 @tiredjuniper @jjkz @honeybeeboobaa @cherryblossomdelusion @dependsonthedream @alluresenses @qardasngan @imcamboaf @ondragonhonour @misscaller06 @itsberrydreemurstuff @queen-luna-007 @thepeachesclub @xxemmarldxx @elleflying07

Taglist is open.

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Previously on Limerence:

“Jade.”

“Yes. Jade. She will be tried for having attacked a soulmate, as well as some other things we’ve found but she’ll get thirty years just for attacking you.” Yuji smiled, he was happy she would be put away for harming you.

“Wow.” Your eyes start to sting with tears, you’re not even sure why. Yuji doesn’t ask, instead he pulls you into his lap for a cuddle. Even though you tense at the soft foreign touch, you allow him to move you as he pleased and comfort you in the way he knows how to.

“It’s okay. It’s over now.” He whispered gently stroking your hair as he hugged you to him. A few moments of silent thought passed before he spoke once more, “I understand this has been a very long and exhausting day for you, I understand this is so new to you. We all understand. We especially hope the incidents that have occurred today has not stopped you from accepting us as your mates. Though we can all have a serious discussion about that later.”

Yuji’s hand cupped your cheek leading your eyes to meet his, “I will say this, no one will ever hurt you again for as long as I live. This I vow to you.”

You were quite shocked, no one had ever said something like this to you before, it made your heart thump quicker in your chest until you felt it was about to burst. You could feel it in your throat, pulsing, beating so hard your head hurt. You wanted to thank him, kiss him, hold him so tight and never let him go. Your body worked against your mind and omega, your head simply nodding. You cursed yourself but seeing his joy at just your acceptance was enough to help you relax.

“Can I stay and watch you work? It’s a little…crowded out there.” You gesture to the hallway, thinking of the nest with three of your mates sleeping peacefully.

He chuckles knowing exactly what you mean, “Of course angel.” Yuji smiles happily and continues quietly working on his computer, you shuffle a bit getting comfortable on his lap. Surprisingly you found his work boring and unsurprisingly you fell asleep. Yuji smiled at the sight, you felt comfortable enough to sleep on him, it was more than he could have ever asked for with his mate. Even when he turned twenty seven he was unsure whether or not he’d find his mate.

Now that he had, it was his job to protect you as best he could. He knew he wouldn’t be around you all the time and there would indeed be times where all of them were busy at the same time, there was no guarantee you would always be safe. Unless he got you someone who could protect you day and night. A bodyguard. Swiftly he opened a new tab on his computer searching through the company’s alphas who had completed their training, he scrolled to the ones who were best in all their divisions.

He saw a name quite familiar to him, Toji Fushiguro . Mated. Married to Aiko Fushiguro. Two children. He was perfect. Yuji would of course consult with his pack alpha before making any decisions, but he was quick to make a note of it so he could talk to Kento when he was in a better headspace.

At this same time, Kenjaku was busy sorting the Jade business. In fact he was staring her down right now, trying to calm his wolf so he wouldn’t break through the iron bars that were between him and her. She was sulking, pouting, she actually had the audacity to sulk after attacking his mate. Disgusting. He wanted to rip her limb from limb for her crimes.

His entire body shook as he listened to the police officer explain how she would be processed, never once did his murderous eyes waver from her figure. She was now his target, she was now his prey. He would do everything in his power to make sure she never saw the outside of a jail cell ever again. To make sure she knows what real pain feels like. To make sure she suffers.

Kenjaku can’t get the memory of you like that out of his head, you with a handprint marking up your pretty face, you with the back of your clothes torn open by the bitch’s claws, a big rugged scar on your back for everyone to see. You looking so dazed and weak with tears filling your eyes, he couldn’t stand it. He still can’t.

But he’ll endure. For you, he’ll endure.

Meanwhile Suguru had gone to your apartment to get your anxiety medication, per a feral Kento’s order. He wasn’t going to disagree, not when the savageness was sparkling in his pack alpha’s eyes. He went straight away to fetch the pills, catching the keys to your place in his hand and driving there with the help of the sat nav.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he entered your place but it wasn’t this. Dull, lifeless colours painting the walls. Black, white and grey all over the place, not even a hint of colour. It had his hands itching to grab his phone and go on Titsi and fill your home with colourful nesting blankets and pillows. Focusing back on the issue, he searched the bathroom first. Looking through the mirror cabinet, his eyes scanning over the lotions, perfumes and bath stuff all fully stocked. Some of them not even opened, most of them barely used.

It had Suguru frowning, did you not have relaxing bubble baths after stressful days or weeks at work? Did you not massage lotion into your beautiful skin after the aforementioned bubble baths? Did you not spritz the sweet perfume on your still damp body? Well he would just have to fix that. Honestly he was getting excited just thinking about taking care of you in such a way.

Of getting to delicately scrub your body, ridding it of dirt and stress, while you played with the soapy bubbles. You letting him gently rub lotion into your dehydrated skin, the way you would sigh happily when he would press harder on that particularly tight spot. The way he would spray a little bit of that lovely perfume you wear on you once you were fully satisfied.

He couldn’t wait to love on you. But for now he didn’t have time to fantasise, he had pills to find. He closed the cabinet after taking a quick whiff of your perfume and headed into the bedroom. Inside once again it was dull, except for something he spotted shoved in the corner, almost hidden from eyesight before a reading chair.

A bright pink bunny, very dirty and roughed up. But it was the only colourful thing he saw in the entire apartment. He picked it up, it looked like a children’s stuffed toy. Maybe it was yours when you were little? But why had you left it so dirty? Why was it so damaged? Another thing for him to fix.

Suguru placed it back down and scanned the bedside tables, even looking through the drawers. He didn’t find the pills, though he found a different kind of toy. A simple purple silicone mould, no details but very obvious what it was. He tried not to let the smirk on his face grow as he put it back and shut the drawer. He moved over to the drawers filled with your clothes, opening them one by one from bottom to top. Finally he opened the last one, filled with your underwear and fuck he couldn’t help himself.

Picking a pair up he brought it up to his nose taking a huge whiff, he groaned at your scent that still lingered on them. After slipping a pair into his pocket he moved on to the kitchen he finally spotted them, the anxiety medication that Kento had ordered him to get for you.

Suguru was intrigued, truly, he didn’t mean to snoop but with how interesting the rest of your house was he couldn’t help himself. He checked all the kitchen drawers and cupboards, your fridge-freezer and he didn’t like what he found one bit. A couple packs of ramen and some out of date milk. How were you living like this? He instantly made a note on his phone to find out your bank account details and transfer money into it, as well as giving you his black card.

While he’s at it he makes note to add your name to the lease of their new house. Their current house was much too small for all of them to fit, you didn’t have your own room and there was certainly no room for pups. Pups. He had to swallow down the primal urges that were rising within him and threatening to take over him. Taking one last look at your place, he left locking the door, deciding in his head how sad your life must be to have the absence of colour in every aspect of your home.

The drive back was quiet, even with the radio playing music, he was in his head the whole time thinking about you and that empty space you called home. Did it represent something more? Or was it just him overthinking something that means nothing. And what about the florescent pink bunny, hidden in the corner?

By the time he had arrived it was night time, the street lamps giving a golden glow to the street, he stepped out of his car pills in hand as he crossed the road to his house. The outside of it was dark blue, only a few lights were on, shining through the windows. He wondered if you were still up or if you’d felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in someone else’s home.

What he found was not what he was expecting. Inside the nesting room was a distraught Kento sat on the end of the bed with his head in his hands. Satoru and Sukuna were trying to console him but it wasn’t working as he continued to blame himself over what had happened.

“Where is she?” Suguru asked, waiting patiently for one of his brothers to give him a reply.

“With Yuji. In his office” Sukuna whispered shooing him away with his hand so he could listen to Kento.

Suguru rolled his eyes and made his way to Yuji’s office. Sure enough you were sat inside, on the lap of his brother no less, asleep. Yuji smiled, “All good?” The words came out a whisper, but Suguru heard them and nodded walking further into the room and placing the bottle of pills on the desk. Yuji read your name on there and the medication type. “She has anxiety?” Yuji asked more to himself.

“Don’t we all?” Suguru joked making his brother give him a ‘shut the fuck up’ look. He raised his hands up in a show of surrender, smirk still on his face.

“I just mean, I didn’t know she had it to the extent of having to take meds for it.” Yuji explained his thoughts glancing down at you.

“Neither did I. None of us do. I guess I realised that when I was at her place too. None of us know her yet, we don’t know anything about her, her life, her family. None of it. We’ve known her for a day, not even a full day either.” Suguru sighed, he couldn’t wait to learn more about you.

“We will soon. I’m excited for the days I know all there is to know. I will feel like I’m complete as her mate.” Yuji laughed with joy on his face only for Suguru to wipe it away.

“Something tells me there will always be something new to learn with our gorgeous mate.”

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bloodycassian · 1 month

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To Be Wed part two - The Chase

NSFW 18+ MDNI - Part two of To Be Wed. READ WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING.

WARNINGS / Themes - breeding/pregnancy (not mentioned in scene.) primal play that INVOLVES MAJOR CNC THEMES. Knife play. Edging/teasing. defensive/territorial men. ABO style dicks (knotting. Monster dick style). Cum play. Cuckholding. Voyeur. Outdoor sex + EXHIBITIONISM. Gagging. Forced squirting. pinning/restraint. Eventual pregnancy.

DP - Vaginal and Anal at same time. Vaginal and oral at same time. Vaginal penetration. Anal penetration. Oral penetration. Polyamory.

Hope this one has your butterflies doing the freak. Requests/ideas for kinks are open.

M D N I - 18+ NSFW. READ WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING.

Something was wrong with Azriel. Something deeply disturbing in his mind that he couldn’t ignore for more than a few moments in a day. He was obsessed. More so than he was with any ordinary thing that piqued his interest. He was completely, and utterly enthralled with the female that had signed her life away so easily.

He couldn’t get enough. Of any of it. From being their bodyguard to their dates, to the sacred moments when he’d fuck her for Rhys. He was loyal to a fault but this was different. This was a hunger that had never been known to him, and he hadn’t an idea of how to satiate it.

Watching Rhys cum inside her served him, he greatly enjoyed watching - but a part of him questioned what would happen when the babe finally came to fruition. After over three months of dedicated fucking - and weekly fertility potions he, Rhys and the female were taking, he feared the time eas coming soon.

The anxiety of the looming date was something that had him searching for alternatives - going to pleasure houses when she wasn't in the mood, but finding nothing to be nearly as stimulating. He’d even tried to recreate the situation, hiring both male and female whores to serve him.

He hadn’t even finished.

Fear and frustration riddled his days when he wasn’t near her.

“Nothing new. I suggest two potions, if you can stomach it.” The healer - Madja, Rhys had informed you each visit - took her hands from just your public bone and brought out the oils she kept below the table.

“Let me do it, this time.” Rhys said, his tone light but saddened. She hesitated, her thick round glasses glinting in the filtered sun coming through the frosted window. It was a cold evening in Velaris, the last of winter going out with a bitter sigh. The skies would lighten and be warm soon, hopefully it would be after the summer months when a child took root in your belly.

The oils served as both a softening to your skin for any potential swelling from the potion, as well as a ritualistic method of fertility from another culture that the healer had mentioned on your first visit here. You’d been trembling and too anxious to recall exactly what it signified and to whom.

The fear came mainly from the judgment. Though the female hadn’t batted an eye when Rhsy has explained the situation, you were still met with stares and upturned noses in the streets when you ventured alone. The High Lord’s broodmare. The child-barer. The Whore. The titles were new, but the glares were something you were accustomed to as a thief and beggar before.

“West to East, High Lord.” Madja gave him a glare, and Rhys grinned. “Opposite of the sun cycle.” She enunciated the word, leading you to believe he’d done some rotten spellwork before by not following her directions.

“Of course.” He sketched a small bow, and you smacked him on the shoulder.

Azriel couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips. She was… He couldn’t describe it any other way aside from ideal. A tolerant soul with a mouth that-

He cut his thoughts off right then and there. Now was not the time for such ideas.

“Thank you.” You said, making meaningful eye contact with the wrinkled female. She had a kind enough look about her, but there was something about the way she carried herself that had your senses on edge.

Her smile was small, tugging at the corners of her leathery skin. “You’ll be a fine mother.” She nodded.

Despite her words, you worried you may never be able to uphold your end of the Bargain.

The tattoo at your clavicle ached.

You were no longe sore after their knots would fill you. Your body had grown accustom to the wonderful stretch of it, taking them with eager ease now. But even though he bit and lapped at you with the same passion as ever, Azriel’s cock seemed less ridigid, the roundness at the base hardly making an appearance even after several minutes of fucking into you.

“Stop.. stop-” You panted. As much as you would have love to cum on him, without his usual size it wasn’t going to happen. That was why he’d always gone second, coaxing that spot inside you over and over again until you broke upon him.

Your legs trembled as he rolled off of you, falling in the middle of you and Rhys. The High Lord handed him a towel, which he draped over his half hard cock. A flick of the hand and Azriel’s shadows set to work on you, collecting at the apex of your thighs in a cool, writhing bundle.

“Stop, Az-” The words were strangled, with the skilled tentacles already setting to work.

They disappeared, going into mist at the command. “Tell me what’s going on.” You demanded, turning on your side to face him. Rhys sat up, his brows pulled together.

Azriel sighed, and shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He put it simply, a male of few words. You knew better. “Tell me or-”

“Or what? You’ll leave? There’s no breaking that bond on your skin. Not until you bear a child.” He spat the words, his features hard, then softening the moment his eyes landed on you. He saw the way you recoiled, your body sagging and the distraught look on your face.

“Azriel-” Rhys began, the tone in authority ringing true and rattling your bones.

“I’m sorry.” Az covered his face with his hands, the raised pattern of his scars interrupted by the smooth lines of veins. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, and sat up as well.

He scooted back, his wings pinched tight against his back as he spoke. “I cant- Ahh.” He rubbed at his face again, his neck and cheeks going a deeper shade. You’d enver seen the shadowsinger so unsure, embarrassed even.

“I fear once you bear a child, that my life may be empty without you.” He said it while looking into your eyes, his own shining true with his statement. Rhys stiffened, his eyes going to you in part questioning himself. He couldnt’ deny he’d had similar thoughts.

“I have no intention of leaving the best sex I’ve ever had only because I am no longer contractually obligated to the sex.” You could have laughed at the obserdity of the idea. You’d called him your own pleasure keeper to his face, and he’d not only laughed but accepted the title. How could he think such things?

“A child may lessen passions for a short while, but from what I’ve heard…” You leaned in close to Azriel’s rounded ear. “Some females find their desires heightened after the babe’s born.”

He turned and looked at you, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, then to your womb. He placed his hand there and sighed. “I apologize. My words reflect my fears, not how I feel about your faith.” He paused, and when Rhys spoke it was soft.

“I too fear the pregnancy for the same reason. As ridiculous as it is, it makes me wish to not cum, so I may keep the pleasure of this.” His mind reached to yours, and you allowed him entry. Both you and Azriel sucked in a breath at the sight of you riding the shadowsinger, from Rhys’s angle.

“That-” Azriel pushed the high lord from his mind, his cock already hardening from the sight. “-is why I can barely stay hard. I cant stop thinking of not cumming.”

An idea came to you then. A proof of sorts, that even if you did attempt to flee the deal, that them finding you was something you’d already anticipated. You weren’t sure if it would fix their fears, but it did remind you of something you’d always desired.

You straightened, then focused your mind. You’d been able to show them small things before, and now you tried again. “Allow me to show you something that may help.” You mind-spoke to them. It felt like mostly Rhys there, halfway into your mind, but he’d be able to relay the thought to Azriel.

You showed him the images, the birdseye view you imagined of yourself running, panting in a forest midday as you evaded something. Trained wolves and guards shouted behind you, and through the fear of being imprisoned, there was the arousal. The situation had only happened a few times, but each time there’d been that undercurrent that you couldn’t deny. The pleasure that pulsed through you with every stretch of your legs.

The idea of being caught, and made to do whatever they wished. As their prisoner. As their game. You swapped the guards for the night kissed wind of them, their presence, both them hunting you instead.

“Keep what you catch.” Was a phrase hunters used in the most desperate of times. Were they desperate enough?

“Criminal.” Rhys purred in approval. He passed the image to Azriel, who hissed and looked to you with surprise in his eyes. “Filthy thing-” He cursed.

Rhys summoned a set of wooden swords from a pocket of air, disturbing the chill breeze that rolled through the valley. The sun shone down on the trees, but did not reach the forest floor. The pines swayed and whispered, making serene music where you stood with them.

“You’ll need to break away from us first.” Rhys explained, twirling the sword from one hand to the other, testing the balance.

“If you manage to get a necklace from either of us, we’ll delay our pursuit by five minutes.” You looked to the long corded stone at his chest, the color of it nearly black. It shimmered with something, though. Azriels was more straightforward, a deep red jasper that he pulled from beneath his leathers. At the same time, Rhys shook the potion that he’d been determined to show off with. The one you’d jokingly suggested he should get to prevent him cheating in this endavor. It was to keep him from winnowing, apparently.

“I’m taking you both on?” Your voice rose with protest.

“Not yet-” Azriel muttered with a grin.

“Your choice who you’d like to face first.” Rhys said cordially.

You swung the sword, the weight of it unfamiliar and clunky in your hand.

Your eyes narrowed, and you pointed the tip to Rhys. “You’ll be first.”

He squared himself, taking up an expert fighting stance. Once he nodded, you ran at him.

This was only for show. He parried your strike easily, knocking the weapon to the ground beside him. You raised your hands in defense, then shot out at him with your mind - spearing him with the filthiest mental images you’d conjured over the last few months. He stuttered a step, freezing in place with his eyes wide. You struck, ripping the necklace from him and taking off into the trees while Azriel cackled behind you.

+++++++++

The blood was rushing in your ears, your legs singing with the effort of each step. The slickness in your cunt coudln’t be denied. You embraced it, finally able to accept that you did enjoy this. Running from males that would do exactly what they wanted to you. It sent a shiver through you before, but now… Knowing that they wouldn’t bring you true harm - it made you stumble more than a few times.

Rhys had planned this well. He’d taken you to a well of a valley floor, knowing you’d have to climb to get out. It’d give them a better shot at finding you faster. As the trees became thinner, the groundcover got thicker. Ferns and wiry shrubs reached out to whip your pumping arms and tangle in your hair.

You didn’t have to fight through it for long. Their trained breaths were behind you in only a few minutes, but you were determined to make it to the rushing water you heard ahead.

“You wont make it far.” Rhy’s voice bounced off the trees.

You kept running. Their laughing was upon you in moments, and you jolted to a stop before a wide, rushing stream. You’d nearly fallen in, your shoes even soaked with the groundwater that lapped at the shore.

Arms were around your midsection, whipping you around and attempting to trip you to the ground. You stood with wide footing though, and kicked back against the male - struggling against him with a ferocity that he didn’t expect. Rhys grunted, and Azriel was no longer laughing.

They took their roles seriously. It made your stomach flip, a wild - feral smile spreading across your face at Azriel holding a knife before you while he watched you fight against Rhys’s hold. “Stop now and make this easier.” Azriel’s voice was firm, commanding.

Rhys managed to pin your arms behind you, and you found yourself unable to kick back against him without losing what balance you had. Azriel stepped forward, knife extended to rest at your throat. His knckles met your collarbone, just above where that branding mark was. The heat of him sent your body alight even more. Rhys’s scent spiked with arousal and you couldn’t help but grind back against the bulge behind you.

Azriel’s hand went to your trousers pocket, digging in there with a few fingers, slowly, teasingly - cocking his head to the side when your jaw clenched. Rhys was breathing heavily behind you, and not from their run through the forest.

Az pulled the necklace free, and tutted his tongue disapprovingly. “Guess you like being up in that pillory, dont you?” He said teasingly. “Repeat criminals hardly ever change. Perhaps it’d be better if you saw a cell for a time-”

“I have money.” You gasped when Rhys placed something cold around your wrists.

“Stolen money’s no good to those who uphold the law of the night court.” Az drawled, and Rhys breathed a laugh at how true that was. Azriel was the one sent when something was to be dealt with. Rhys’s own personal bounty hunter. Azriel saw the connection being made. In this game, he suddenly became more than just a guard in his role, he was him. He was the Shadowsinger, sent to capture you. His eyes darkened, waiting for you to play along - to tell him exactly what you wanted.

“Are you willing to make a trade?” You panted, straining against whatever Rhys had placed on your wrists. He stood beside you now, holding you by the nape of the neck, his thumb tracing slow circles there - suggesting what was to come? Or playing up the corrupted guard role?

His knife trailed to your breast, pulling the low cut top away from your skin. His eyes went from your breasts to your eyes, and back again.

“I have what I came here for, thief. What more could I bother with from you?” Even with the sharp words, heat coursed through you. His knife pulled at the strap of your top, then let it snap back onto your skin. The scent of arousal was heavy now, thick and encouraging to the growing fire in your belly.

“I offer you myself, should you let me go free after.”

He bit down on a grin, then leaned in close, right beside Rhys when he said “Why would I barter when I can take what I want?”

The knife was gone, both his hands instead going to bend you to his will. One hand pulled you forward at the lower back, the other went straight to cup your pussy through your pants, the heel of his palm grinding down on to you.

A surprised cry came from your lips, but it was consumed by his lips on yours. His tongue was aggressive and immediate, forcing his way into your mouth, tasting you there, as he palmed against your clit. your hips flexed to meet him, and there was another set of hands at your breast, cutting your shirt free.

Rhys should have been appalled with himself. This was disgusting, horrid behavior but-

He couldn’t dispute the way Azriel’s aggression made his cock harden. How her helpless cries and half-attempts at getting away from Az made Rhys want to restrain her even more and force his cock down her throat until she choked on it.

He took a shuddering, uneven breath and reminded himself that this was what she’d wanted.

‘The more aggression the better.’ She’d said with a devious wink when going over safewords and off limits ideas.

So, Rhys took out the back of her knees, forcing her to fall before Azriel. The shadowsinger gripped the back of her head, and forced her face into the front of his pants, grinding his clothed dick over her cheek in a humiliating way. Degrading and so, so fucking hot. Rhys bit his lip at the sight of it. She attempted to pull back, but it only earned a yank of the hair, a warning to behave.

Rhys was out of his clothes quickly, the pine needles beneath his feet hardly registering against the surge of heat that swelled in him. Gods, his cock ached. It was only thanks to the potion he'd taken that there was a chase at all. If it were any less potent he likely would have ended up winnowing right in front of you before you'd crested the hill.

He gave himself a pump, then another before taking over, wrenching her face away from Azriel and pushing his slickened head to her lips. With her hands still bound, she had no defense aside from the way she pursed them together.

“Difficult thing.” Rhys tisked, then pinched her nose shut. She began getting red in the face, and when Azriel was done undressing, she’d run out of breath. Her mouth opened in a gasp, which Rhys quickly took for his own.

The heated wetness around him had a surge of precome leaking from him with eagerness. “Fu-uuck-” He ground out the word, reveling in the perfection of her mouth a moment before pulling out, and fisting a hand in her hair. The sloppy wetness that dripped from her lips only encouraged him more. He shoved her down on him, his head tipping down the back of her throat and making her eyes water. Azriel grunted in approval, his cock twitching and his hips flexing forward Into his palm at the scene.

Azriel’s shadows were a thick, writhing mess around him, waiting to be used for something. He allotted them a task, setting them free upon her legs - to spread them, and to tear through the leggings she wore. Not completely off, but enough so he’d be able to fuck her through them - and to get a taste of the arousal he’d followed the entire run here.

Rhy’s dick was ryhmic enough that you knew when you could take a breath, when you could gulp down enough air to take his next few strokes. What you hadn’t been prepared for, was the way Azriel’s shadows spread you legs, making you completely unable to fight against them, or even stand if you wanted to.

You were fully at their mercy now, and it made you burn with that knowledge. Your pussy clamped around pathetic emptiness, Writhing with want.

Drool fell from your lips in thick rivers mixed with Rhys’s precome. Your senses told you that Azriel was still near, and that there was something cold on your ass, but you couldn’t see anything other than Rhys’s abdomen. He supported you fully, his hands in your hair keeping you from falling forward, but it also kept you blind to everything else. You attempted to lift a leg and kick backwards, but it only made you gag on his cock without the needed support of both legs.

He pulled free after that, glistening trails of spit coating him. Before you could fall forward, a hand was at the tie on your wrists, holding you upright. Rhys nodded, then there was a ripping sound, and the chill on your ass was gone. You sucked in a breath, and there was suddenly a towel before you, and Rhys was sitting. So close you could feel the heat radiating from him, you were lowered and lowered, until your cheek rested against his thigh, staring at his reddedned dick like a worshipper. There was no denying you were.

Azriel’s tongue was hot against your hole - probing, coating you with his spit. You arched, gasping in surprise but there was nowhere you could move, your head rolled to one side, so you could bite down on Rhys’s thigh, but it didn’t keep Azriel from fucking your ass. His tongue darted over it again and again, working you open slowly - your surprised gasps turned into needy moans, the stimulation making you a living fire. You could feel the wetness soaking your leggings, and you wondered how large of a wet spot appeared there.

“Put your mouth to use.” Rhys grunted, his tone almost angry. He lifted your head and guided you to his cock, his ass flexing - gods he needed this, badly. Your mind buzzed with the satisfatiction of it. Though you were bent at their will, you were driving them mad.

Azriel’s managed to work two fingers into your ass before trailing hid tongue downward, using the flat of his tongue against your slickened pussy. His fingers pumped deep, flexing outwards to stretch your hole. It was a sweet thing, tender though the situation did not call for it. They’d given you plenty of toys to train for just this.

He hummed at the taste of you, at the heat and need he could sense building in you. Your pussy clenched around his tongue. “Filthy thing-” He said to himself, the sharp crack of one of his hands landing on your asscheek.

Rhys pulled your mouth from him, and you fell forward, lifting enough so that you could press against his chest instead of his thigh - a small rebellion, you could only do so much now. He shimmied down, so he could be below you and line up with your slick folds. You groaned when his tip pressed eagerly into your slit, rocking back against him as much as you could with your legs as exhausted as they were. Was this the real reason they’d had your starting point be downhill?

The heat of Azriel’s cock joined, also pressing into your pussy. A swell of fear threatened to overtake you, then. There was no way you could take them both-

Rhys sucked in a breath, and he scooted down a bit farther, so your head rested against his collarbone now. His cock pressed at your ass, and your eyes rolled back.

Azriel knew he wouldn’t last long. Not with her being so fucking compliant in this - He forced himself to focus, willing his need to dampen for a moment. He guided Rhys’s cock to the hole he’d worked first, pumping his high lord’s cock with his saliva - coating him with spit before pressing the rounded tip to her hole. The sound she made had his body rolling, uncontrollably thrusting forward into the air like a godsdamned animal.

He now wished he’d taken Rhys’s offer and had the male suck him off earlier in the day.

Rhys blew out a breath as he sunk in, deeper and deeper, until he couldn’t move much more. Only about half of him was fully seated, but it was more than enough. Azriel could tell by now what her desperate signs were for when she was close, and he was glad he wasn’t the only one overstimulated and ready to cum.

“Taking him so fucking good.” He praised in her ear, brushing the hair to one side so he could see her expression. “Gonna fill you up, make you both of ours.” He was muttering, when she rolled her hips and the tip of him brushed her heated folds. His hand cracked across her ass again, drawing a strangled groan from Rhys.

Azriel smirked. He knew how she tightened up when she had her ass smacked. The high lord’s eyes smoldered, and Azriel caught him in a quick, wet kiss before leaning back and taking his own cock into his hand.

He rubbed his tip against your folds, slickening himself. “This is what happens to thieves in the Night Court.” He smiled, then thrust into you in one long, smooth motion. Your body arched, toes curling inside your boots as he bottomed out. Full. So fucking full and still, desire demanded your attention. The fire was not dulling, like it normally did after one of them entered you - no, it seemed to grow even more aggressive. A flame that kept spreading, throughout your thighs and into your belly, the warmth spread and the need of them both - for more made your teeth gnash together.

The thin wall that separated their cocks from each other had you rocking back onto them both, earning what fractions of inches you could. Rhys adjusted, his hips flexing upwards to give you more, but it still wasn’t enough.

Some mental communication passed from him to Rhys, and your arms were free, your shoulders singing in pain as they were wrenched forwards, then re-tied in front of you. Rhys lifted them, then brought your hands around the back of his neck. Still just as trapped as before, only now you could at least support yourself.

It was a blessing. You rocked back into every one of Azriel’s thrusts, earning whispered filth from his lips. The wet sound of your pussy around him filled the forest, along with your breathy moans. Gods, with Rhys so paitenetly nudging into you, and with Azriel fucking you with such ferocity… your muscles quivered, earning hesitation and sharp hisses from them both.

You still had some power, here.

His shaft rubbed with Rhys’s making him even more needy than he’d anticipated. His knot was swelling quickly, every instinct in him yearning to spill inside of her- to lock his knot in place and fuck her through her orgasms upon it.

Watching Rhys’s small thrusts into her ass was not an option. He’d looked down once already and nearly came from the sight of it. So instead he watched the high lord, and the back of her gorgeous hair. He watched the way her body would flex and roll, then squeeze down on them.

His knot was catching already, and Rhys could tell. The high lord glanced from her to the shadowsinger. “Take her, make her come.” He encouraged. The mental image of the three of them appeared, Rhys filling her mouth with Azriel locked inside her pussy.

“Not the plan-” Azriel ground out, forcing his desire to lessen. He focused instead on the sound of the brook that she’d nearly ran into. He wanted to fill her, to fuck her ass and her pussy together until cum dripped from both holes and-

“Azriel - I won’t cum. Not now, anyway. Fuck her right.” The husky words were all his willpower could stand. He grunted, buiting the inside of his cheek and pulled his cock free from the sodden leggings he’d ripped. Her gasp and protest had his ego soaring.

Rhys worked himself free of her ass, and from around her bound arms. He spat in his palm, and began stroking himself, his knot hardly formed. Azriel felt a pang of jealously at the male’s control, the restraint he had.

Without your arms bound, and with their hesitation at what to do next, you took it as an opportunity. You sung your arms around, forming them into fists, and nearly caught Azriel in the head with them - but a thick tentacle of shadow halted you.

He struck an instant later. One hand on your collarbone,he shoved you back onto the pokey forest floor, and you clambored against him. The shadow locked your arms above your head, but it didn’t deter your fight.

You brought your knees to your chest and pushed at him, though he pressed down on you with the mass of his muscle. One hand was all it took to pin you to the floor, you’d make sure he’d have to fight more than that.

“Vicious theif-” He grunted with the knee you threw to his ribs,but it’d been your folly. With his other hand, he brought a leg up so it was flush against his chest, your foot resting beside his ear.. You couldn’t kick him away now, but you didn’t want to. You’d wanted this - wanted the fight, wanted to see what lengths he’d take to get to your pussy.

He hadn’t disappointed. He gripped both your legs and pulled them tight to his chest, raising your ass off the ground. He swiped the tip of his cock over your clit, rubbing deliciously. Your hips rolled. Thankfully, he wasn’t a male of vengeance - not now anyway. He entered you, and resumed the same pace he’d had before. Long, dragging strokes that had your ass clapping against his thighs.

Your folds were tighter in this position, and the stretch it brought seared through you. Your body was capable, but this was a position that had you seeing stars. Your body ached to cum, but you held off. This was supposed to last longer.

Rhys joined, kneeling at your side to dip between your pressed thighs. You pulled at the restraints, testing the shadows above your head. They did not budge. Your walls squeezed him, and his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m-” You panted, not wanting to admit that you were close.

“Good. I’m not gonna cum until you do first, sweetheart.” Azriels words rang true, You could feel how much his knot had swollen from your struggle, and a delightful purr of ecstasy filled you. You’d definitely be getting punished more in the future.

Azriel’s cock rammed into you, he flicked his hips forward and up at that perfect angle that he knew would set you off. Your legs shook, wetness dribbling down to your ass with every thrust. “That’s right..” Rhys purred, his fingers leaving your clit to play with himself instead.

You didn’t need his fingers. Not with Azriel fucking you like this, with every stroke brutally pushing into your most sensitive spot- hot white pleasure surged through you. His knot pressed at your entrance, stretching your lips apart with each re-entry.

In this position, your tight heat was already something that had him barely hanging on, and it had him more impatient than he’d ever been. He’d said he wouldn’t cum yet. He couldn’t. So he fucked into you with stokes he knew would have you begging, getting you to the edge in record time. He could tell from the way your cheeks heated, from how red your lips were - and from the deadly way your pussy gripped at the base of his knot. He swore. Every stroke became harder to remain in control.

A scarred hand went to your throat, gently pressing there - control. Control and power and you were nothing but theirs -his- Azriel’s plaything. A fucktoy for him- Your mind spiraled, overtaken by the inferno inside of you.

Your insides spasmed around him, a gush of hot liquid gushing from your pussy. The knife’s edge of pleasure. The precipice of a violent orgasm held you for a moment, then rocked through you. You trembled, pleasure consuming everything, setting your very bones alight with the exquisite orgasm. So intense and burning that your sight was lost from you for the first few moments.

Azriel’s knot came back along with your vision, amplifying the pleasure to an extent you could barely register as you quivered around him, squeezing him tight inside of you. The panting, shuddering breathing, the tight hold he had on your thighs as he spilled into you had you squirming again, your wrecked body contending for another orgasm, even while the waves of your first careened through you.

His cum filled you, hoarse moans falling from his lips as he still fucked into you. The small movements of his swollen knot inside urging that second round of pleasure through you.

Rhys was swearing darkly, his own knot more formed than before now. You couldn’t help but smile at that. Azriel’s hands shook when he parted your legs. You let them fall behind him, knees hooking weakly around him. He lifted your hips and fucked you softly, his knot pulling at your entrance like he knew you enjoyed.

He rode you through six more orgasms before he’d softened enough to pull free. After, Rhys had devoured your sensitive clit, earning double digits before the golden sunset painted the trees a fiery orange.

“We should go soon.” You muttered, breathless with both of them lying at either side of you.

“Shut up.” Rhys said, voice hoarse as he fingered you - slickening your clit with the remnants of Azriel’s cum.

You’d borrowed a coat from Azriel, seeing how they’d torn yours during your frenzied, handsy encounter.

The walk to the nearest town had made your already trembling legs even weaker, but you’d made it without too much whining. Rhys was still unable to winnow, the potion you’d challenged him to take still in his bloodstream.

The first scent of food hit you hard. Your mouth watered at the smell of buttered and fried goods. The gnawing hunger in your gut whined. The way they had you working for them was proving to be a huge calorie deficit, and you were starved.

“Ill find us something subtle.” Azriel said simply, then he was gone - sucked into the shadows that lingered outside the town.

“Let’s get you something nice.” Rhys smiled, his eyes grazing over you with a predator’s insight. Your tights had been something of a display once they were done with you, and the only thing saving you from looking like a hired whore was the length of Azriel’s coat covering your bottom.

“What in the name of the Mother are you wearing?” Azriel’s clipped tone revealed near anger, and your cheeks heated with the eyes that darted towards you.

The place he’d chosen was a busy, dark and shambled thing. Easy to be lost in, perfect for your party. To be expected from the Shadowsinger. What you hadn’t expected was the way his cheeks went bright at the sight of you. The low cut tunic and leather pants weren’t unusual in this area, but them being skin tight drew more than just your partners eyes.

“It was all they had.” You provided simply.

“And doesnt she look delectable?” Rhys encouraged, his eyes barely leaving your body to look to Azriel.

The shadowsinger stood silent, stoic as a statue for a moment before sitting back in the horseshoe shaped booth. You sat between them, at the apex and looked over the menu.

Rhys laughed suddenly, and Azriel snarled. You looked up, to the windows and scanned the crowd. The fae at the table beside the window hid behind their coats and drinks. You looked to Rhys, puzzled.

“He doesn’t like the other males looking.” he explained.”I think it’s admirable. Who could help themselves, with you looking like that?”

“She’s not for them.” Azriel growled, making your stomach flip. The look on his face promised violence.

You reached over, gripping his muscled thigh. “It’s alright.” You promised, circling your fingers low there, tracing the seam of his leathers up and up until he caught your hand in his.

He let out a breath, his head tipping back. The menu in his other hand grew wrinkled marks from where he gripped it. “Easy.” He warned. Rhys grinned, and shifted closer to you.

The criminal in you delighted at his reaction. Once he let go of your hand, you idly browsed the menu, using it as a distraction before pacing your hand back on his leg, inching upwards in small, sneaky motions until resting at his hip, only a few inches away from the buttons of the trousers he wore.

Rhys took your other hand once the server had taken your orders, and was not discreet in the way he placed it directly atop the hardness in his pants. You sucked in a breath, and he didn’t even bother to look at you. You pressed down on him, squeezing him rhythmically. Azriel’s own member responded, twithinching beneath the cloth.

“Greedy, filthy… delectable thing.” Rhys mind-spoke, his tone a purr that had your thighs squeezing together tight.

There was a splash of liquid, the clattering of drinks and cold wetness covered your shoulder, running down your chest. The bar quieted, then picked back up an instant later. You sat up in shock, avoiding the water that covered your seat. The server was apologizing, but you could only hear the muttered swearing coming from Rhys.

His eyes were locked on to your soaked breasts, the heat there immeasurable.

The world turns black and silver in a breath, the table is shattered, knocked to the ground outside your booth and Rhys is before you, his head going to your top and palming the fabric, hid tongue going to the lap at the wetness on your skin st your breast.

Your breasts fall out of the top easily as Rhys unlaces the front. There are gasps, the sound of chairs being moved and laughs all around. None of it matters. Rhys’s hot mouth is the only thing your mind can narrow in on.

The servers’ apologies go silent, and there is a low rumbling of voices and shouts that you can pay no attention to, not as Azriel is gripping the back of your head and forcing his tongue into your mouth. His tongue goes from slow and tender to quick and demanding, forcing your own tongue to still in your mouth as he explores.

The pleasure of Rhys’s mouth on your nipples is something that has your weakend legs shaking. Once the laces are loosened, he pulls the top up over your head, his eyes wild with need as he consumes you in his own hot, desperate kiss that has you rolling your body into his.

Azriel is gone for a moment, and Rhys is turning you, pushing you back until your legs hit something solid - the window table. When you open your eyes, the crowd that had been closest is now watching you, hungry looks in their eyes.

The fear and shame gripped you for a moment, and you covered your chest. “Rhys we should-”

“They’ll deal with it.” He growled. “Most of them enjoy this kind of entertainment, they’re lucky we’re not changing them. Consider it a donation.” He said in that high lord’s arrogant voice that you’ve come to know.

The curtains fall over the fogged windows,, opaque and filled with holes, smelling of dust and stained. While Rhys consumes you in another kiss, Azriel appears at your side again, his face flushed. His hands are on your thighs, petting you, rubbing his hands across the too-tight trousers and fisting a hand in the cloth. He guides you to sit atop the table, where Rhys kneels before you.

His fingers hook around the belt loops of the pants. “Off, this time.” He commands, his tone giving no room for debate. You comply, using his shoulders to lift yourself off the table enough to let them see you - to let the entire bar see you fully.

Azriel is stripping off as well, unashamed by the looks the strangers give him. None of them bad, mostly admiring. Some of the crowd even begin touching themselves, rubbing and stroking over their clothes as Rhys takes his first lick of you.

His tongue moves slowly, and thoroughly on your clit - lapping at you with a tenderness that had your mind going to a much more leisurely place. He rolls, flicks and kisses there like a male without another purpose. He has you arching up, grinding to him within only a few minutes.

Azriel strokes himself at the same pace as Rhysand’s movements, the two of them matching pace like they weren’t surrounded by others watching. You turn your head to take Azriel into your mouth, but he denys you this. He takes your hand instead, having you stroke him while he watches the crowd. In part, he’s looking for threats, any that would dare to interrupt them - another part because he enjoyed the way the strangers stared, desire and envy filling their gazes.

Rhys’s fingers enter you, then pause, he plays with you at the entrance, noting what movements make you squirm and buck. He loves this. He revels in these moments where his patience isn’t worn so thin. He doesn’t want to have you fully on display, though. Not now. He’d rather have you screaming for him on his own bed.

So he thrusts his fingers deep inside you and curls them, angling in that spot that Azriel is able to brush against with the tip of his cock - but it’s never this firm. It’s never as intense and mind-splitting as either of their fingers are. It ignites a new flurry of need inside of you so quickly, and they know it. It forces you from being moderately turned on to nearly cumming in their hands in moments, and knowing that, they abuse it.

They flick at that spot with brutal efficiency, knowing exactly when to stop because your legs begin to shake with the force of the beginning of the orgasm they build. They’re cruel brutes, but you’d never had better sex. Maybe having someone brutal was a requirement after being with them. If you’d ever need anyone else.

He pulls his fingers out, and puts them to your lips, your wetness tart and sweet against your tongue.. You take them greedily, sucking them clean and playing with his fingers just how you would their cocks. It always drives them mad, and you know it. Unstable heat courses through your body, your legs trembling, hooking around Rhys’ hips with the urging, pulsing demands of an orgasm.

But he holds his fingers there in your mouth, pinning your mouth open, and nods to Azriel. He steps closer, and slides his cock into your mouth while Rhys restraints you open.

The order is clear enough, and you don’t attempt to close your lips around the shadowsinger. Control. Rhys and Azriel are always battling for control in their own ways. Something about it turns all of you on so incredibly - the proof of the fact apparent in the taste of Azriel’s thick precome. The tip of his cock rubs against the back of your tongue a few times, coating him with your spit, and Rhys finally relents and allows your jaw free from his grasp. You take Azriel into your mouth, moaning at the sensation - the weight of him there.

Rhys nudges into your pussy while you’re sucking Azriel, and there’s distant curses and hisses of pleasure. Coats fall to the floor, and you’re pretty sure you hear others moaning as they begin fucking as well.

Azriel pulls away, leaving dribble on your mouth when he does. He steps back and gets atop the table behind you, his cock hanging heavy right above your head.

Your legs pull Rhys in much faster than he was intending on, and because of this, his eyes go wide, his lips pull back from his teeth in a growl. He holds down your hip with a hard, bruising hand while his other goes to your neck - pinning you in place. “You’re mine, and I’ll take you how I please.” He growls out, leaning down to say it right into your ear.

Your body melts, relaxing fully to his control - to the demands he’s placed. A part of you wants to rebel, to kick at him and see just how far he’d take this, but the other part of you says that he’d likely not let you cum if you questioned him now. Not in front of these people. Even if they didn’t realise that he was their high lord, he would not be undermined in this moment.

“Yes sir.” You said voice strained around his light hold, giving him a coy grin when he pulled away to look at your face.

His cock surged, tipping up inside you and making your hips roll as much as they could. You wanted to fold your legs together, to have him fuck you how Azriel did earlier because this - this was too much restraint, too much easy and slow fucking for what your desire reqired.

Your insides were soaked, gushing with need and he was here taking you as if you were his bride. You whined low in your throat, wanting to squirm and have him fuck you.

You close your eyes, no matter how much you love seeing Azriel above you, all the movement from the crowd is growing distracting and you need to focus on feeling. The way Rhys’s cock slides in and out of you with perfect, wet slaps. The way he pulls out to the tip, solid and heavy and teasing at your entrance, before slipping right back in. The crowd echos your moans, growing louder with each thrust.

Rhys feels Like a god in this position. He pounds into her so sweetly that it barely rocks the table. The feral sounds she's making are a symphony of yearning and hunger. He can't stand the slow pace, his knot is already halfway engorged and he has little patience left for the power game he plays.

He slides you down off the table, leaving your hips supported only by the strength of his hands. You curl your legs around him, pulling him in deeper and -gods, a shocked gasp leaves you at the size of his knot as your movement forces it in and deep. He angles his hips foward, and his control is gone. He pulls out, and shoves back in in quick, wild thrusts. You cry out, hands reaching for anything to grip on to while a pre-orgasm hits you, making your walls quiver around him in strange pulses.

You reach for the edge of the table, but Azriel’s hand catches yours instead. He twines his fingers through yours, never backing down from the way you squeezed his hand tight. “As much as I want to hear you…” He mutters, then his cock is at your lips, and you suck at him greedily, moaning around his length and gripping his thigh with your free hand. Your nails bite into his skin there, but it only heightens his pleasure.

Your heels spur Rhys on, and in his fervor he knows hes losing control. He also knows that he still can’t winnow, and that he’s about to cum and lock you together with him so tightly that you wont be able to leave for a long while after this. He knows he should stop, that he should at the very least pull out to cum on you.

But all the knowledge in the world couldn’t keep him from being a worshiper to your body - to this blessed pussy and glorious mouth and- His knot locks in place, and he has only a few more shallow thrusts within the range of his motion before he’s seeing nothing, feeling nothing but the hot pressure of his release and the pussy clamping on his cock, milking the orgasm from him. The tension finally released, and the rest coming like waves off of a mountainside.

Your body convulses, hips bucking forward and writhing on Rhys’s knot the moment it settles deep inside you. He’s bowing his head, hunching forward and rocking into you as much as he can and Azriel pulls free from your mouth, his own knot getting too wide for your mouth towards the end.

Then, you feel the dribbling heat of Rhys’s cum spilling inside you, and something inside your own body responds with eager pride and takes a hold of you. Your body is twitching around him, taking his cock and squeezing it so tightly that it has your entrance stretching almost painfully. You’re building up to an immense release when Azriel’s swearing, then cumming on your neck and chest, thick streams of it landing even at your hipbone. Rhys is there quickly, lapping at the spots of it on your breast.

White molten heat explodes inside you, your orgasm pulsing through every vein, tendon - you can practically feeling it hum your very bones. You’ve been flung from a precipice you didn’t realise how hard you held on to. You were in freefall, and hitting every single cloud of mind-rocking pleasure was possible.

His member doesn’t soften, doesn’t relent during your waves of ecstasy. He fucks into you as much as he can, re gripping your hips in his hands and rolling forward, his own body shaking. His mouth goes from Azriel’s cum to your nipple, biting there, rolling the peak with his tongue. The stimulation is overwhelming, and you dig your fingers into his back.

“Fucking incredible.” one of them sighs. You can’t tell who, everything is distant and fuzzy as the waves of orgasm pummel you.

You’re exhausted by the time they recede, and by then Azriel has pulled on a pair of pants and has been petting your hair for some amount of time.

A male approaches from the crowd, holding his cock that jutted through the seam of his trousers. He’s handsome, and smiles at you hungirly. “I’ll take her next.” He says, confidence radatinging out of him.

Azriel’s eyes go wide, and he stands to face off with the male. There is clearly challenge in his poise, but the male seems to pay no mind. “Or I’ll take you. Either way-”

Azriel has a wicked shadow, curved like a knife in his hand in the next breath. “You will die b-”

Rhys groans, and pulls a blanket of darkness over the three of you, and you’re falling upon the familiar bedspread of the townhome. The smells are comforting, homey and make sleep impossible to avoid.

“Don't-” Rhys pants softly, his knot still swollen and throbbing inside of you. “Threaten someone when I can’t even get my dick free.” He lays his head on your chest, pulling Azriel down to lay with the two of you.

A warmth radiates on your lower abdomen a few minutes later. When you go to protest another round of sex, you find that it's Azriel, gently massaging the oil from the healer into your skin.

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