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wandasaura · 5 months ago

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CRUEL SUMMER

summary — maybe you were oblivious to the way you teased natasha with a cherry flavored popsicle, or maybe you’d known all along and you were just waiting for her to break

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, temperature play, outdoor sex, nipple play, oral, degradation, food play (a popsicle and it’s never inserted), mild humiliation, semi orgasm control, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, brief domestic fluff, horrible popsicle stick joke, men/minors dni

authors note — a little summer snippet of our favorite couple! just wanted to expand on a little thought i had a few days ago!

you are in love

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

The cherry flavor was tart as it spread across your tongue and tinted your lips the same color as Natasha’s hair, not your favorite flavor from the selection currently stashed toward the back of the freezer, but Wanda had mistaken it for strawberry when you asked so kindly for a treat. Your tongue swirled around the popsicle lewdly, catching each droplet of thawed syrup and ice before it had the chance to make a mess of your fingers. You had no desire to join your girlfriends in the pool, enjoying the stillness of the lounge chair that you made yourself comfortable against.

Despite your reluctance to plunge deep into the warm water, your body was covered minimally, triangular pieces of fabric concealing only what mattered most, although the visible swell of your breasts was undeniably tantalizing as rivulets of perspiration clung to you.

You waved at Wanda when she resurfaced, giggling softly at the disheveled appearance she sported despite her composed demeanor. The salt water had allowed kinks to form in her silky hair, and thin strands clung to her cheeks despite how she ran her fingers through her tresses and attempted to pull them taut behind her shoulders. She waved back, sending you a teasing wink before she was gone again, a blur of vibrant colors beneath the water as she kicked off the side of the pool and swam toward the deep end; her need for physical activity even on her days off boggled you, but a bored Wanda was not someone you wanted to deal with, so you watched her glide through the water with no outward commentary.

You sighed softly, eyes closing behind the thick frames of your sunglasses, tongue still working on the swiftly melting popsicle, savoring every ounce of tartness that dissolved on your tongue. You could always get up and retrieve another, but they tasted so much better when Wanda did the work for you, and you wouldn’t get so lucky if you asked her again. She’d just barely complied the first time, huffing beneath her breath about how she’d inadvertently turned you into a princess all while she disappeared into the house.

You frowned instinctively when something obstructed the warm sunlight cascading down against your face, inadvertently shielding your body from the gentle burn that was forming against your already tanned skin (this was not the first day you’d spent by the pool with your girlfriends, and it wouldn’t be the last until the cool days of September rolled around). The cloudless sky hadn’t provided anything more than a gentle breeze in hours, and curiously your eyes fluttered open, expecting to find a stray cloud to blame, though only to come up with a set of dangerous green eyes narrowed thinly in your direction.

Shyly, you peered up at Natasha, vibrant cherry popsicle still between your stained lips as you gazed at her sweetly. Droplets of salt water raced down her arms and perfectly toned thighs, sparkling beneath the sunlight she shielded you from. If you hadn’t been aware of how your movements taunted her before, you were now, realizing that her dazzling green eyes weren’t trained on yours like you’d initially thought, but rather watching closely as you lapped at the cool juices that threatened to dirty your hands and dragged your tongue slowly across the length of the frozen treat in an attempt to savor its subpar escape from the heat. Months ago, you would’ve apologized sheepishly, would’ve submitted beneath Natasha’s heavy stare the second it had fallen upon you, but now, with a refreshing confidence and security in your relationship, you moved the sunglasses up to the top of your head, holding her stare as you plunged the frozen treat as far as the wooden stick would allow, hollowing your cheeks only to suck in suggestively as you swirled your tongue around the treat.

“Parshivets.” She muttered beneath her in Russian, and while you were still learning her and Wanda’s native language, that single word was one of the few burned into your mind without translation. Brat. She’d called you that name for the first time only a few weeks ago, in a moment of intense connection that had both of your limbs trembling by the end, but somehow it had stuck just as easily as duckling had. You weren’t sure what you heard more of anymore, your name, or that single title that had wetness pooling in your panties instantaneously.

“Tvoy parshivets.” You rebutted, eyes narrowing challengingly as you glared up at her. Your defiance was the final straw, the last test of her patience, and within seconds, before you could even comprehend what was coming next, your beloved popsicle was in her hands and between her lips. “Hey!”

“Shut up.” She grumbled around the treat, slowly stalking closer, pressing her thighs into the edge of the lounge chair you laid across possessivky, making no move to press her body into yours like you’d anticipated, though the her simple presence was enough to assert ownership. When she pulled the popsicle away from her lips, she tilted it over your body, watching calmly as red droplets of thawed syrup fell against the exposed skin of your chest and belly. You shivered, a displeased whine filling the air that had been silent aside from the sounds of rippling water for so long. “I said: Shut. Up.”

“Why don’t you make me then!” You argued, kicking out in an attempt to rile her up, only to be captured by her strong grip before the sole of your foot could make contact with her thigh. You yelped in surprise when she pulled you down, your head falling onto the lower section of the lounge chair, your knees bent as your uncaptured foot remained steadily on the edge of the chair.

Her lips were on yours in a bruising kiss before you could recover from the abrupt change in position, her body hovering above yours as to not rub against the syrup slowly trickling down your body and staining your bikini top. Her lips were cold against yours, and as she descended down your body, shivers erupted across your spine, not only from the sensation of her icy lips against your pulse point, but in anticipation. Instinctively your thighs fell open, welcoming her body between them, which she appreciated and made sure to acknowledge. You moaned pathetically when her core ground into yours, her mound appling an addictive pressure to your clit.

“Daddy-” You whimpered, your bratty exterior melting away faster than your popsicle as her fingers worked to unravel the knot holding your bikini in place at the nape of your neck, her tongue following the trail of vibrant red syrup down your exposed breast. You gasped when the flimsy material was discarded, her lips wasting no time before they captured your nipple, her teeth biting down on the pebbled bud deliciously hard. A whimpered whine alerted Wanda of your current predicament, yet all the redhead offered was an amused laugh before she dove head first into the water again.

“Do you know what you were doing to me, utenok? Do you know how badly I wanted to come over here and replace that fucking popsicle? You’re all bark and no bite. The second Daddy’s lips are on those needy little nipples all you can do is whine. It’s pathetic.” She sneered, her tone laced with calculated mockery as she kept a firm grip on the stick of your treat, apparently not yet done with it.

Your bottoms were the next thing to go, leaving your body dressed in only a pair of designer sunglasses and red syrup. The last thing you’d been expecting was for her to bite the rest of your ice pop off the stick, swallowing it whole and attacking your unsuspecting cunt, but you watched it happen as if the world was in slow motion, felt the sensations creep into your bones as if they were merely in a movie, but all at once it caught up to you, and the sheer shock of her cold mouth against your hot center had your back arching off the lounge chair, inadvertently pushing your center farther into her face.

She lapped at your cunt with fervent motions. Her teeth nipped, her lips suckled, and her tongue; there were no words to describe the sensations her tongue provoked as she plunged it deep within your core, massaging your sensitive inner walls and your g-spot before she allowed it to soothe your clit with harsh stroke and flicks. Your moans were breathy as you grasped at her hair, pulling harshly at red curls that tickled your thighs as they fell over her shoulders, not sodden with water like Wandas, although for a fleeting second you wondered what it would feel like to have the saturated woman undoing you so passionately.

“Daddy!” You cried out when you felt the approaching pleasure of your orgasm building, your hands pushing at her head, unsure of what you craved more of and what was entirely too much. You whimpered when you felt the stretch of her fingers coming home to your pussy, allowing you no adjustment period as two fingers plunged deep into your cunt, replacing her tongue that instead sought out your tingling bud of hypersensitive nerves. “Daddy! Daddy!” Her name was a sacred mantra on your lips, falling into the air as you writhed beneath her strong grip, attempting to drive her farther into your body.

“You gonna cum? Are you gonna cum for me, parshivets? My filthy fucking girl, getting fucked outside, where anyone can hear you? Is that what you want? You want Agatha to hear you? I bet her windows open. I bet she’s inside, sitting at her table trying to read, but she can’t because all she can hear are your desperate fucking moans as your Daddy fucks you.” Natasha’s words sent vibrations through your core, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of pleasure, though she never permitted it. She never once gave you the answer you needed to fully enjoy it, and fiercely, you fought off your approaching orgasm because of that silent denial.

When her fingers curled into you, massaging that delicate spot that had you seeing stars, you almost begged for her to stop, to lighten up, but before you could, she gave you the one thing you needed. “Cum for me. Make a mess.” Natasha encouraged, rapturing your pulsating clit and spasming walls, drinking all of your pleasure before she pulled away, her mouth glistening, her fingers sparkling. You gasped for breath, chest rising and falling as you panted, the heat only heightening your breathlessness. “You don’t know how long I’ve been holding out for. Wanda thought I’d break the second you unwrapped that fucking popsicle.”

Sheepishly, you giggled softly, readjusting your sunglasses when Natasha stood up and moved aside, the sun falling over your body once more. “I didn’t realize until you came over here. I wasn’t even doing it on purpose.” You admitted, though Natasha had already known that.

“Oh, I know. You’re just too fucking tempting for your own good.” She giggled, kissing your lips sweetly, your arousal still coating her tongue as she licked at your lips teasingly. When she pulled away, she glanced down at the stick in her hands, a soft laugh falling off her lips. “Why did the book join the police force?”

“He wanted to be undercover!” Wanda bellowed from the pool, apparently honed in on your conversation despite how frequently she disappeared beneath the welcoming water.

“I’m all sticky now.” You pouted, realizing that the syrup, despite being licked off, had left a reside on your skin.

“I guess you’ll just have to join us then.” Before you could acknowledge her, Natasha had picked you up in her arms, your bathing suit still discarded on the grass in a messy heap of fabric, although the picket fence around the property prevented you from being seen, so it didn’t matter much if you out it back on or not. You shrieked when you realized what she was doing, but before you could plead for your freedom, she’d dropped you into the deep end.

“Nat!” You scolded when you resurfaced, your freshly washed hair now soiled by the salt water that dampened it.

“Oops?” Your girlfriend sang sweetly, jumping in right beside you, capturing you in her tight embrace with faux sympathy. “Go get Wanda.” She whispered in your ear, and that was enough to win her forgiveness, immediately seeking out your other girlfriend who pretended to despise the way you clung to her like a koala.

“I love you.” You mumbled against her lips, catching her by surprise though not an unpleasant one.

“I thought I got you strawberry. Sorry, baby.” She apologized softly, holding tightly to your naked ass, giving it a teasing spank beneath the water.

“That’s okay. Cherry’s Nat’s favorite.”

#wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat fluff #wandanat smut #dom!wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff smut #dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff smut #dom!natasha romanoff x reader #minors dni ৎ୭ #series: you are in love #[ ౨ৎ ] — library

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cmaidaartworkblog · 2 months ago

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youtube

This video showcases my Blender model of the planet that the Scud aliens call home, the fourth and final world I've mapped out for @jayrockin's "Runaway to the Stars" project. A *lot* of maps were created in service of this final render, and also in service of presenting the special qualities of this planet. I intend to show you as many of these as I can under the cut, and also in subsequent posts focusing on some of the more interstitial, ancillary maps and figures that played a part in producing the primary maps you'll see in this main post.

Before I show the first maps I made for this project, what you see below are the satellite-style maps for the Equinoxes and Solstices, in order of (Northern) Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter, the latter serving as the texture for the Blender object you saw in the video.

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With that matter covered, our next focus is this project's foundation: Geology. While I didn't spin as elaborate a tectonic history for this planet as I did for the Ayrum commission, I did work out as much detail as I could for the more recent geological activity, to set the stage for the elevation data - including a narrower focus on the coastal shallows that host the Scud populations.

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Once I could move on to climate, my first step was finding this planet's relative Insolation, which I managed thanks to @reversedumbrella's code and coaching. With an obliquity of only 16 degrees, this planet's yearly maximum Insolation levels stick close to the equator, compared to pole-to-pole oscillation we see on Earth

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Having a rough sense of where heat would concentrate seasonally and how the landmasses would deflect water in light of the planet's retrograde spin, I was able to set down the bi-annual ocean currents (Northern Summer above and Northern Winter below), then the monthly water temperatures pushed around by said currents, and finally -after factoring in many other considerations- the monthly land temperatures as well (combined in the second gif)

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Next came the seasonal air pressure maps and subsequent wind patterns (my first time creating those from scratch), which later factored into the precipitation maps. The incredible temperatures at the largest continent's interior make a desert of most of it, and the other interiors are fairly dry too, but all that heat on the equatorial ocean generates a *lot* of evaporation which ends up coming down elsewhere.

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With temperatures and precipitation mapped out for each month, I was able to find how the accumulation and melt of ice and snow played out, too. Given such a hot equator it's surprising to see freezing temperatures hold out in some places, but low obliquity and high elevation shield what areas they can, it seems.

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All this monthly data was then painstakingly combined and compared and plugged into equations to produce maps of discrete climate zones, using both the Köppen (left) and Trewartha (right) classification systems. The higher latitudes see some overlap with Earth's conditions, but the Tropics...

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I never really finished the map I wanted to make with my own loosely customized classification system, but I *did* get as far as this breakdown of the areas that sometimes surpass 56.7 degrees Celsius, Earth's record for highest surface temperature ever directly measured. And as you can see, that earthly record is broken by a *significant* fraction of this planet's surface, and far exceeded by the equatorial continent's deep interior

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The final phase of this project dealt with creating satellite maps of this planet's surface (which you saw at the top of this post), which started with a map of dry and submerged substrate, then a density map of the vegetation that sits atop it, then the colors of that vegetation under annual average conditions (demonstrating how they would appear in-person, rather than the area's appearance from orbit), and finally plant colors under seasonal conditions (same conceit as previous). In concert with the seasonal ice and snow maps, it was the four maps in the last sequence which were overlaid on the Substrate map, using the plant density map as raster masks, to produce the final Satellite-Style maps.

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This planet's sophonts being a marine species, it was then worth focusing on the conditions underwater, which included monthly seafloor temperatures (first gif), annual discharge of sediment from rivers (magenta in the 2nd gif), and seasonal upwelling of nutrients from deeper water (blue in the 2nd gif).

The creation of all my maps seen in this post was possible thanks to Photopea, which has been my go-to for several years now. The resolution kinda got crunched when I uploaded these here, so when I share them on Reddit later I'll add those links under this. These have also already been posted on Twitter, which you can see here if you like. Thanks for scrolling all the way down here!

#digital painting #Photopea #digital 3d #Blender #mapmaking #imaginary maps #Runaway to the Stars #Rtts Scuds #speculative planetology #speculative geology #speculative climatology #alien planet #major post #commission #christopher maida artwork #Youtube

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bookwormjust · 2 months ago

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Shadows in the Sun (established relationship with Azriel, sunny day with the IC, Overprotective mate, teasing by Cass and Rhys)

It was the perfect summer day by the Sidra, the sky a brilliant blue with not a single cloud in sight. The Inner Circle had decided to spend the afternoon by the river, taking advantage of the warm weather. Feyre and Mor were lounging nearby, laughing and talking, while Cassian and Rhys splashed around in the water like a pair of overgrown children, their wings sending up waves as they wrestled with each other.

You were stretched out on a soft towel, basking in the warmth of the sun as the river's gentle breeze rustled through the trees. The heat on your skin was soothing, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could fully relax. The sounds of your friends' laughter mixed with the rush of the water, creating a perfect atmosphere of peace.

But you knew peace wouldn’t last for long with Azriel around.

You sensed him before you saw him—the familiar whisper of shadows lingering in the air, brushing against your skin as if trying to warn you. A soft chuckle left your lips, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Moments later, you felt a cool shadow fall over you, blocking the warmth of the sun. You opened your eyes, squinting slightly as Azriel stood over you, his wings stretched wide, casting a protective barrier between you and the sun’s rays.

"Azriel," you groaned with a laugh, playfully swatting at him, "I’m trying to tan."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in that way that made your heart flutter. "You’ve been in the sun long enough," he said, his voice calm but laced with that overprotective edge you knew so well. "You’ll burn."

Before you could protest, he knelt down beside you, the dampness from his swim causing droplets of water to fall onto your skin. His wings curled slightly around you, shielding you from the bright light. You could see his brothers behind him, still in the water, casting knowing glances your way.

Cassian yelled from the river, voice dripping with teasing, "Az, let her get some sun! Stop being a mother hen!"

Azriel ignored him, his attention completely on you as he reached for the bottle of sunscreen you’d left beside your towel. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, and without asking, he popped the cap open and poured some into his hands.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile.

Azriel’s lips twitched in amusement. “I’m taking care of you,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He started with your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he massaged the sunscreen into your skin. The feeling of his hands on you, combined with the coolness of the lotion, sent a shiver down your spine despite the heat of the day. His fingers trailed over your arms, making sure not to miss a single spot, his eyes focused intently on his task.

“You’re overprotective, you know that?” you teased softly, your voice laced with affection.

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, creating a cocoon of shade around you. His gaze flickered to your face, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said with a soft laugh, tilting your head back as he moved to rub sunscreen along your legs. “But you do know I’m capable of putting sunscreen on myself, right?”

Azriel’s smile widened, though his eyes were serious as they flicked up to meet yours. “I know. But I like taking care of you.” His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, his touch filled with tenderness as he continued his task.

You couldn't help but melt under his care, your heart swelling at the softness in his voice. Even as a formidable warrior and shadowsinger, Azriel was always gentle with you, always showing his love in these small, protective ways.

Rhys called out from the water, clearly amused by the scene playing out in front of him. “Azriel, I think she’s good! You missed a spot on her elbow, though.”

You rolled your eyes, and Azriel shot his High Lord a half-hearted glare before returning his focus to you. Once he was satisfied with his work, he leaned back on his heels, his wings folding slightly but still providing you with shade. “You can tan later,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer. “I just don’t want you to burn.”

You reached out, resting your hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” you whispered, letting him know how much you appreciated his protectiveness, even if you didn’t always admit it out loud.

Azriel’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Anything for you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

As he stood, you could see that familiar glint of mischief return to his eyes. “Now, stay here where it’s safe,” he teased, his wings flaring slightly as he turned back toward the river. “I’m going to deal with my brothers.”

With a wink, he stalked back toward the water, his shadows trailing behind him as he approached Cassian and Rhys, who were still laughing at his overprotectiveness. But from the look on Azriel’s face, you knew they’d be on the receiving end of his payback soon enough.

And as you lay back down, smiling to yourself, you knew that no matter how overprotective your mate could be, you wouldn’t trade him—or his giant, shade-casting wings—for anything in the world.

#azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #acotar #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x reader fluff #azriel fanfic #acotar reader imagine #acotar x reader

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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Stars all aligned - Chapter 16 (The End)

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Penultimate chapter! Bashing of like...every IC member, though we have now reached the point where Rhys and Cassian are the good guys, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Which one of you blabbed? he seethed mentally to Rhys. Guess who came to a visit.

Azriel was seething with rage. He could sense Zahra's hurt, her anger, the emotional turmoil simmering beneath her calm exterior. She was protecting him, defending him, shielding him from her sisters...and it only fueled his anger further.

He wanted to step in, to shield her from everything, to protect her from the harm her sisters were capable of causing. But Zahra was standing tall, her gaze steady, as she faced her sisters. Let her have this moment, Rhys' voice whispered in his mind. Cassian and I are on our way.

"We don't want to take anything from you," Feyre broke the silence, her voice wavering. "That's not..."

But Zahra shook her head sharply. "No. It doesn't matter what you want," she said coldly. "What matters is what you have been doing. You have spent the last few years ignoring me. You have all but disowned me. You have constantly reminded me that Ia m nothing to you. The constant reminders that I am nothing to you. You have all but disowned me. And now, you come here and expect me to give everything up? For what? For you? For the family that never once treated me as one of them?"

The words hung heavy in the air. Zahra's voice was unwavering, her gaze unwavering. Azriel's chest ached with the need to protect her. His hands itched to shield her, to hold her, to comfort her. But he stayed back, his body rigid with restraint.

This…This she had to do on her own. He knew that she was strong enough for it. Zahra was so strong. So utterly strong. So resilient. She could do this on her own, she needed to proof to herself, that she could do this on her own.

Elain's eyes were watering, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress. "I...I didn't know," she whispered.

Azriel really wondered what Elain was thinking to keep insisting on this. He didn’t believe for one moment that there hadn’t been signs. That Zahra had succeeded in hiding away every single bruise, every single injury so well that her sisters couldn't have noticed if they actually cared about.

Zahra snorted at that moment, the sound harsh. There was no true amusement in her voice as she answered: "Of course, you didn't," she said dryly. “I did everything so that you wouldn’t find out. I was willing to take that secret to the grave with me.“

“Why?” Nesta demanded

“Because I shouldn’t have to sacrifice myself to make you act like you care,” Zahra snapped.

It was so obvious from her tone…the pain, the anger…a wound that had cut deep, that had never healed.

Zahra stepped towards her sisters, her eyes burning with a fire that Azriel had never seen before. "You never once asked," she said, her voice rising. "You never once tried to even act like you cared about me. You buried your heads in the sand while I went through hell alon.."

Her words echoed in the silence that followed, the weight of her pain and her anger palpable in the air. Elain was openly crying now, soft sobs escaping her. Feyre was pale, her hands trembling. But Zahra's gaze was fixed on Nesta, a glare laced with bitterness and anger.

"You have absolutely no idea what I went through," Zahra continued, turning her gaze upon Nesta. "The pain, the shame, the humiliation. You never once even wondered why I should have an affair with him. Instead you made fun of me. Instead you treated me even worse. You never once wondered where I got the money from. You should have known that Feyre’s hunting wasn’t enough to sustain us! If I didn’t do what I had to, we would have all starved!“

Azriel's heart ached with each word that came out of Zahra's mouth. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotion was finally coming out, the dam broken.

She was not holding back, her words sharp and scathing, aimed directly at her sisters. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by Elain's soft sobs.

Nesta's mouth had dropped open, her eyes wide with shock. "You...you did that for us?"

Zahra laughed bitterly. "Who else, Nesta? Who else would it have been for? I did what I had to do to keep the rest of you alive."

Elain's sobs had escalated to loud, hitching gasps. Feyre's face was ghost-white, her hands twisted together in a white-knuckled grip. But Nesta looked as if Zahra had slapped her, the words a blow to her very core.

“Even when you never treated me like your sister, you are mine.”

Everything wrapped up neatly in one single sentence. It was a death knell.

A killing blow.

And he loved her all the more for it. He couldn’t help but marvel at the strength she possessed. She was the strongest, bravest person he had ever met, and the knowledge that he was hers filled him with a sense of possessive pride.

Elain was openly weeping now, tears streaming down her face. Feyre was silent, her eyes wide, her hands clutched to her chest. But Nesta's face was a mask of shock, pain, and shame.

"I did it all for you," Zahra continued, her voice cracking slightly, "and yet, not once did you show me a shred of care. You never once even asked if I was alright."

Her words echoed in the silence, the truth of them hanging in the air like a thick, suffocating fog. The pain, the loneliness, the rejection. It was all there, laid bare for her sisters to see. And it was clear from their stunned, guilty faces that they were seeing it all for the first time.

No one spoke. No one moved. The only sounds were Elain's sobs and Zahra’s ragged breaths. Azriel wanted so badly to cross the room, to hold her in his arms, to take away the pain he knew was coursing through her.

So he did.

Just in time to feel more than hear the arrival of Cassian and Rhys.

Azriel's eyes met Cassian's, and he saw the surprise and concern written on his brother's face. Rhys' expression mirrored the same emotions, his eyes darting between his mate and Zahra.

Azriel pulled Zahra against him, wrapping her in a tight embrace, shielding her from her sisters' gazes. He could feel the tremors running through her body, the aftershocks of the emotional storm she had just weathered.

“I thought I told you to leave her be,” Rhys said, his voice even.

Azriel didn't loosen his hold on Zahra, his arms still tight around her. He felt her sag against him, weary and emotionally drained.

“We just wanted…” Feyre protested weakly. “We were worried."

“Zahra was with Azriel. What was there to be worried about?” Cassian said drily.

“She’s our sister,” Elain burst out, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “We were just worried for her.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Worried for her, now? After all these years? It was too little, too late.

"Now you're worried," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "And where was this worry all those years when she was suffering?"

“Az…” Zahra murmured, her voice soft and broken and he pressed a kiss against his wife’s head

Azriel's anger faded slightly at the sound of her voice. The vulnerability, the sheer rawness of emotion in her words made his heart ache. He held her tighter, his eyes still fixed on her sisters.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Rhys said sharply. “She doesn’t owe you anything and respecting her choices is the least you can give her, if you ever want her to actually talk to you again. If you truly, actually want to try and make amends.”

Elain and Feyre looked stricken, their eyes filled with guilt and remorse. Even Nesta was looking at Zahra, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“But we…we never meant...” Feyre started, only to falter under Rhys’ glare.

“You never meant?” Rhys repeated, his voice hard. “You never meant to hurt her? You never meant to ignore her existence, to never once show any care for her? You didn’t meant to disrespect her choices? Again? For cauldron’s sake, Feyre!”

Zahra flinched at Rhys’ raise voice.

She’s waking, the shadows whispered at that moment.

Given her an out that she needed desperately.

“Go take care of Azalea,” he whispered in Zahra’s ear. He could nearly feel some imperceptive tension in her frame ease at the sound of their daughter’s name.

She nodded, giving him a quick squeeze before gently slipping from his embrace.

The tension in the room felt like a physical weight, the air thick with it.

Azriel couldn't help but watch as his wife walked out of the living room, the door of their bedroom closing behind her.

Silence descended again after she left, the room seeming suddenly empty without her. Azriel turned his attention back to her sisters, meeting their gazes with a cold glare. His gaze lingered on Nesta. The oldest sister, the one who should have protected Zahra, the one who should have seen and understood her struggles. Instead, she had been the most hurtful, the most dismissive.

“How could you?” he said finally, his voice a low rumble, “How could you just ignore her? Your sister? For two decades you just…you just acted like she didn’t exist. And she believed it. She believed she was nothing to you.”

Silence met his words, all three sisters looking guilty and distraught. Even Cassian was quiet, his face grave as he looked at the aftermath of Zahra's emotional upheaval.

Azriel wanted to shake them, to make them understand the depth of the pain they had caused, the damage they had done. He had seen it for himself, the way Zahra had believed she was nothing, the way she had resigned herself to a life of being invisible, of being nothing to her own family.

"How can you say you care for her now," he snarled, his voice sharp, "after you let her suffer alone for so long? How can you pretend that your worry means anything to her after all these years?"

Elain was still crying openly, her hands clutched to her chest. Feyre looked like she was struggling to hold back her tears. But it was Nesta who finally spoke, her voice quiet but intense with emotion.

"We…we never knew��" she whispered. "We should have seen it…should have asked her, should have realized what she was going through…"

Azriel's anger flared again. "You should have," he agreed. "You should have cared enough to ask, to notice, to remember that she was your sister. But you didn’t. You just ignored her, left her alone, abandoned her."

He sighed, the anger embering in his gut.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” he asked Nesta sharply. “She’ll forgive you. One day, she will forgive you, because you are her sisters. Because she loves you more than you ever deserved her to. Because she’s good right to the bone. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that people don’t take advantage of that part of her,” Azriel said sharply.

The sisters flinched at his words, the truth of them a blow. Feyre looked at him, her eyes pleading, her face wet with tears. Azriel held her gaze, his expression stern.

He knew that Zahra would forgive them one day. He knew that because he knew her heart. And that was what angered him the most. They didn’t deserve her forgiveness, they didn’t deserve her love.

But he also knew that Zahra's forgiveness would not come easily. It would not come without effort, without remorse, without proof that they truly regretted their actions. And even then, he knew it might never truly heal the wounds they had inflicted.

"Zahra will forgive you," he said coolly, "because she is good and kind. But do not take her forgiveness for granted. Do not presume that she will give it without you earning it."

Nesta nodded, her face white, her gaze fixed on the floor. Azriel could see the guilt, the pain etched into her features. But he knew that it was not enough. Not yet.

"It will take time," he said quietly, "and effort. And you will have to prove, again and again, that you understand the depth of your actions, the harm you caused. And even then, it might not be enough. Because she is my wife now, and she and our daughter are my first priority."

“”From where exactly do you have a daughter?” Feyre blurted out. “She wasn’t…Zahra wasn’t pregnant, was she?”

“The shadows kidnapped her,” he said drily. “They have moral issues with keeping babies in dungeons.”

Feyre's eyes widened, her mouth dropping in shock. Elain gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Even Nesta looked taken aback.

He couldn't help but feel a small pang of satisfaction at their dumbfounded expressions.

***

Zahra had retreated to the safety of the small bedroom, the door tightly shut behind her. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotions had all come bursting out in a wave that had left her trembling.

She laid down on the bed, burying her face into the pillow. The sobs came again, a shuddering, bone-deep release of emotion.

Her mind replayed the words she had said, the emotions that had spilled out, the hurt and the pain laced through her voice. It had needed to be said, the truth needed to be laid out. But the aftermath was…messy. The look on her sisters' faces, the shocked expressions…

She couldn't bear to think about it, not right now. All she could do was sob, sobbing into the pillow, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

A soft coo next to her, and she looked up to find Azalea sleepily reaching out for her.

The sight of her baby girl made her throat constrict. Azalea was blinking up at her, her little hand reaching out for her. The sound of her soft coo only fueled the emotions churning in Zahra's chest.

She reached out, picking up their daughter and cradling her close against her chest. Azalea snuggled against her, her tiny body warm and familiar.

Azalea never screamed. Or cried. Or demanded attention unless she could see them… then she sometimes gave a questioning soft coo, wanting them to interact with her.

Zahra found comfort in the familiarity of her daughter's presence. Azalea was quiet, always quiet, yet always observing, always needing to be part of the action.

She held her tight, her cheek pressed against the soft, downy hair. Azalea cooed again, her hand coming up to pat Zahra's face, almost as if she knew her mother needed comfort.

The tears continued to fall, sliding down Zahra's cheeks and disappearing into Azalea's hair. The pain and the hurt still burned deep, but holding her daughter helped blunt the raw edges.

She sat there, rocking back and forth gently, her eyes closed, focusing on the weight and warmth of her daughter in her arms, the steady rhythm of Azalea's breathing. Slowly, slowly, her sobs quieted, her racing heart slowing down its panicked pace.

“Come on, let’s go see Daddy.” She said softly.

Azalea cooed in response, her big, innocent eyes looking up at her. Zahra couldn’t help but smile, as she lifted her in her arms, settling her against her hip.

She stood up, holding Azalea close against her, and made her way towards the door. The silence in the rest of the house was stifling, as if the whole building was holding its breath. Zahra paused outside the door, her heart pounding.

What was happening out there? What were her sisters thinking? What was Azriel thinking?

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and pushed open the door.

The battle lines had clearly been drawn.

Azriel was standing by the kitchen, his back to the door. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists. Her sisters were on the other side…Cassian and Rhys right there in the middle, clearly ready to throw themselves in the fray if something did happen.

The silence seemed thick enough to cut with a knife.

Zahra stepped into the room, her heart in her throat. All eyes turned to her, Azriel the first to turn around. His face softened as he took in her appearance - Azalea in her arms, her eyes red and puffy, her face streaked with dried tear tracks.

He held out his hand for her and she fitted herself against his side. His eyes were soft, full of concern and love, but there was a hardness to his features, a flicker in his gaze. He reached out to brush his knuckles over her cheek.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his voice low. His hand moved to the baby in her arms, gently touching Azalea’s soft hair.

“I will be,” she whispered, looking up at him. The warmth of his touch, the understanding in his eyes eased some of the remaining pain, some of the hurt. “I just...I needed to hold her for a bit.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer before turning to her sisters and the High Lord and Cassian. His expression hardened, his protective instincts clearly flaring at the thought of what they had done to her.

They remained silent, their gazes shifting between her and Azriel. It was Feyre who finally spoke, her voice hesitant.

“Zahra...we -”

“Don’t,” Zahra interrupted, her voice weary but firm. She didn’t want to hear their apologies, not yet. She couldn’t stomach that. Not right now.

Azriel’s arm slipped around her waist, supporting her.

“I’ll need time,” Zahra said weakly.

“And you’ll have it,” Azriel said firmly, his arm tightening around her. He met the gazes of her sisters, his eyes hard as steel. “As much time as you need.”

”I am so sorry,” Feyre breathed, her eyes fixed on Azalea.

Zahra couldn’t help herself as she pulled her daughter nearer to herself.

Azriel tensed beside her, his arm around her waist like a vise. The sight of her sister’s apology, the look on her face...it was too much, too soon. Zahra took a ragged breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions in her chest.

“I need time,” she repeated, somehow managing to keep her voice from shaking too badly. “I - I just...I need time.”

Feyre nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I understand,” she choked out. “I just...I never wanted to hurt you, but I did and I…”

Zahra felt Azriel's grip on her tighten, his body rigid with barely controlled anger.

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palm. “It’s alright,” she repeated, more for his benefit than her sisters’.

She couldn’t look at Feyre anymore, the sight of her tears making her own heart ache. She turned her gaze to the other two, her eyes locking with Nesta and Elain.

They were watching her silently, a mix of guilty sorrow and regret on their faces. Elain’s usually soft features were pinched with shame, Nesta’s cold expression betraying a hint of remorse.

And they were staring at her baby. “What’s…what’s her name?” Nesta asked, her voice shaky.

“Azalea,” Azriel answered, his voice hard. Zahra felt a flicker of satisfaction at his cold tone. He wasn’t going to forgive them easily, not after witnessing the pain they had caused her.

Elain looked stricken, her eyes wide. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. Nesta simply nodded, her eyes glued to the baby.

Zahra felt a small pang in her heart at Elain’s words. She knew the compliment was sincere, but there was also a pang of hurt, a reminder of the years of silence, the years of being ignored.

She pulled Azalea closer, her grip instinctive and protective.

Azriel’s hand was rubbing circles on her hip, grounding her, reassuring her.

“Thank you,” Zahra brought out.

“She looks like Azriel,” Nesta said suddenly.

“She is biologically his niece,“ Cassian said flatly. “But she is Azriel’s and Zahra’s daughter.”

There was a moment of silence, the statement echoing through the room. Azriel’s breath hitched beside her, his grip on her hip tightening for a moment. The implications of the words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unconventional ways in which Azalea had come to be.

Zahra, however, felt a strange sense of calm. The words were merely stating a fact, a truth that could not be denied. “She’s ours,” she agreed with Cassian, sticking out her chin, daring her sisters to say something. But they didn’t.

Nesta swallowed. “Congratulations,” she said softly, much to Zahra’s shock. “She’s adorable.”

Zahra blinked, surprised at the unexpected well wish. The words seemed almost genuine.

“Thank you,” Zahra murmured, her voice soft. Azriel’s hand tensed on her hip again, his protectiveness on full display. Zahra could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his eyes flicking between her sisters and their daughter.

The room was filled with a strange sort of tension. She should have known that it was gonna be Cassian that had absolutely no problem with breaking it with a bright grin, waggling his fingers in Azalea's direction who immediately reached out for him.

“She likes me,” the general chuckled, his usual easy smile plastered on his face. "I am clearly the favourite uncle."

Rhys rolled his eyes, the tension breaking somewhat. “She just want to grab your fingers, you oaf.”

“Nah, she’s smart, she knows who the cool uncle is,” Cassian retorted, reaching out to hold Azalea’s little hands in his bigger ones. Azalea cooed, grabbing hold of his fingers with a serious expression, her tiny hands looking laughably small in his grasp.

Azriel rolled his eyes but the tension in his shoulders relaxed a little, his gaze fixed on their daughter. It was hard, even for him, to stay completely serious and protective when the Lord of Bloodshed was making funny faces at Azalea and she was giggling like a little maniac.

Zahra couldn’t help but smile at the scene, the tension in the room slowly easing.

Azalea’s giggle was like a ray of sunshine, bright and pure. She was usually quite reserved, her emotions more often than not kept hidden, but she was clearly enjoying the attention.

Cassian, meanwhile, couldn’t resist the temptation to start pretending he was eating her fingers, making exaggerated ‘nom nom’ sounds and grinning widely when Azalea shrieked with delight.

Even Azriel couldn’t help but smile at the sight, the corner of his lips curving up. It was impossible not to be charmed by Azalea’s infectious happiness.

Feyre chuckled, her earlier tears wiped away now. Even Rhys and Nesta looked less tense, their gazes on Azalea as she continued to pull on Cassian’s fingers.

There was a part of Zahra that wanted to hold on to the good moment, to bask in the relief provided by Azalea’s laughter and Cassian’s antics. But the elephant in the room was still there…

She knew there was more that needed to be said, more that needed to be discussed. The pain, the hurt, the years of silent isolation… She couldn’t simply ignore it all now just because Azalea was being cute.

Despite this, she didn’t know how to start, how to voice her hurt without the pain and the anger taking over again.

Azriel seemed to sense her turmoil, his hand on her hip moving to the small of her back, gently rubbing soothing circles.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice steeling. "We will talk. Soon. But not now. When I am ready. And not when you decided that you need to apologise because you feel bad."

Her sisters nodded, their expressions solemn. It was Feyre who spoke up, her eyes wide and sincere.

“Of course,” she said, her voice low. “We will wait until you’re ready, just… just know that we do want to change, to fix things…”

Nesta and Elain nodded silently, their gazes fixed on Azalea who was still grabbing at Cassian's fingers.

Azriel’s hand on her back began to rub soothing circles again, his silent support grounding her. She took comfort in his presence, in the knowledge that he was right behind her, ready to back her up.

“We understand,” Nesta spoke up suddenly, her voice more firm than it had been before. “We will be patient. We will wait.”

Even Elain, who was usually the more soft-spoken sister, nodded emphatically.

Azriel's hand on her back tensed, but he remained silent. His whole body was taut with suppressed anger and the need to protect, but he held himself in check, letting her handle the conversation.

“Thank you,” Zahra said quietly, her voice a little stronger now.

Feyre smiled softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We won’t try to make excuses or to justify our actions,” she said, her words firm like a promise. “We messed up, we own that. We’ll wait until you’re ready and then we’ll listen. No interruptions, no excuses, no defenses.”

Zahra would believe that when she experienced it.

Azriel's hand on her back continued rubbing soothing circles, as if sensing the scepticism in her mind. He was still wary of her sisters, unwilling to trust their word so easily.

But he was also willing to take her lead on this.

Azriel was many things, but he respected boundaries and choices. He would always give her the space and the time she needed to deal with things her own way, while still being a steadying presence, a quiet strength by her side.

Despite his reservations, he was trying hard to keep his own anger and opinions to himself. But she knew him well enough to sense the tension in his body, the way his muscles kept clenching and unclenching, evidence of the restraint it was taking him to keep quiet.

The others in the room likely noticed it as well. Nesta and Elain were both discreetly watching him, their expressions wary. Even Cassian, who was usually oblivious to these things, was stealing quick glances in his direction.

“Just… just give me some time,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering to each of her sisters in turn. They all nodded, their faces solemn.

Cassian was the next to speak, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Take as much time as you need, Zahra.”

It was strange, hearing a tone from the usually brash and boisterous general she hadn’t thought him capable of. But his words were genuine, his expression sincere. And coming from Cassian, saying that was just one more reminder of how much her relationship with her sisters had been damaged.

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed briefly, a silent signal of his agreement.

The others remained quiet, their gazes flickering between her and Azriel. It was a strange dance they were all doing, a careful balancing act of emotions and words left unsaid.

But it was something. Something closer to peace than she ever thought she would have.

"Whatever you need," Rhysand promised, fiercely. The High Lord’s voice was firm and unwavering, the power evident in his words.

Zahra could sense the sincerity in them, the genuine regret and determination. It wasn’t enough yet, not nearly enough after all that had happened, but it was a start.

It was something.

The support from her sisters, the promises from Rhysand and Cassian…

They were something. A foundation to start rebuilding on.

The road to forgiveness would be long and rocky, she was sure of that.

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed again, silently reassuring her.

Her eyes met his for a brief moment, the look in them speaking more than any words could.

In the warm, deep hazel of his eyes she saw worry, determination, a hint of anger and a lot of love. She saw acceptance and support, understanding and patience.

And she knew that no matter what she decided, no matter how long it took her, he would be there with her. Always.

***

Notes:

I could probably write another 16 chapters in this story, but I do feel like right now it's an alright space to stop. A bit of an open ending, with a kinda hopeful look in the future.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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buffaloroofers · 1 year ago

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Top 5 Brands of Ice and Water Shield: A Comprehensive Review

Explore a comprehensive review of the top 5 brands of ice and water shield with our expert guide. Whether you're in need of superior waterproofing for your roofing project or considering an upgrade, our insights provide valuable information on the best brands available. Trust our guide to help you make informed decisions, ensuring your home is protected against leaks and water damage. Delve into key considerations and recommendations for choosing the right ice and water shield for your roofing needs.

#ice and water shield

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hersterical · 10 months ago

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I’ve put a little too much thought into atla slang for gay people tonight so here’s this.

Kyoshi Island:

Speaks about sexuality openly on Kyoshi Island but knows to be more careful around outsiders.

“Is she, you know…a student of Rangi?” (gay/lesbian)

“No. But she does follow in the footsteps of Avatar Kyoshi. She prefers the versatility of the fan over the sword or the shield.” (bi)

Water Tribe:

More ��traditional” than the other nations so it’s a bit more subtle and reliant on accompanying eyebrow movements, hand gestures, and tone of voice.

“He’d rather go sailing than stay in the village.” (mlm)

“She’s shown some interest in ice fishing.” (sapphic)

“I personally prefer to fish in the same waters as Avatar Kuruk.” (bi)

“He’d rather spend the winter months alone.” (ace)

Earth Kingdom:

“Are you a member of the Flying Opera Company?” (lgbt+)

No one, including the Kyoshi Islanders are aware of the origins of this particular phrase

Fire Nation:

“I’ve dabbled in dragon’s fire before.” (This phrase specifically would be something like ‘I did some experimenting in college’ but the reference to dragon’s fire/breath would mean lgbt+)

“He wears a crown of fire lilies.” (lgbt+)

Even before the hundred year war they were one of the more intolerant of the nations (based on the Kyoshi novels) and they probably only got worse during the hundred year war. I’m sure they would’ve come up with more slang by the time we get to Korra’s time but I’m out of ideas for the Fire Nation.

Air Nomads:

As they are totally open and accepting to all genders and sexualities they wouldn’t feel the need for coming up with specific labels, let alone weird secret codes and slang. When nomads begin exploring the world and start to learn about the other nation’s ideologies and slang and everything they’re always confused but respects the other nation’s traditions and cultures.

bonus

Swamp benders:

Even more open about gender and sexuality than Kyoshi Islanders. They’re super casual and blunt about it without being disrespectful but also not trying to be respectful because why would anyone be disrespectful about this? There’s a polycule consisting of roughly ten people who all connected through an asexual tribe member that each member of the polycule has a qpr with. Darryl over there is interested in folks of all sorts. His spouse is all the genders. Not to be confused with Jim over there who is none of the genders. Not to be confused with Junjun who is the third gender… (etc)

I didn’t do a big deep dive into each nation’s culture and history. This is just from the top of my head and is just for fun. Let me know if you guys have any other ideas!

#avatar the last airbender #atla #kyoshi #rangshi #rangi #avatar kyoshi #avatar kuruk #legend of korra #lok #atla slang #korrasami #zukka #kyoshi warriors

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theorist-fox · 3 months ago

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Fair trade

John Price x Reader

Cross posted from AO3.

This one shot deals with heavy topics such as emotional manipulation, emotional abuse from family, and self-objectification.

I'm begging you to read the tags before pursuing the story. Thank you so much for taking care of yourself first. 🦊

If you're looking for some aftersex comfort, recommending this by @/karlachismylife. 🧡

Summary: John helps you out of the toxic pattern your family has woven around you, and finds how utterly gorgeous you are behind it. He cuts your strings, and loves you the way you deserve.

18+

Word count: 10k CW: smut (cunnilingus, blow jobs, sex seen as a form of self-harm, sex seen as a way to feel useful), heavy angst, hurt/comfort, dubcon if you squint.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“No, we can’t come over, darling.”

To have a life planned out must be a dream. No worries nor fears, because everything is already outlined—a step-by-step guide, given to you at birth. A path, a purpose.

To give is your purpose.

It’s been ever since before you hit the eighteen mark; the birthday being only a threshold that signed your legal independence.

But you’ve always been, haven’t you? Shadowed by bigger problems ever since you were a small thing because there wasn't trouble that mattered less than you did.

The difference being that before you were shielded by your naïveté, by the bleeding heart they’ve carefully built for you, so you’d bend and break pliantly, even willingly at times, without ever realizing.

Now you're an adult, they'd implied.

Now they can use you at your full potential, and you won’t even put up a fight. You won’t set boundaries, because this is all you’ve ever learned. This is all they’ve ever taught you. Their perfect mold, kneeling in perfect obedience.

But how much can one take in a lifetime?

“Thanks for the help, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

But staring at the phone won’t make it ring.

When you’ve never had a moment for yourself but plenty of time to dedicate to others—where do you draw the line of this so-called purpose, then?

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“It’s next week, mum.”

“Oh. I must have mixed it up.”

This goal—this agonized prize, towering at the finish line you’re desperately running to, the one defined by your family the moment your first cry pierced the air—what is it, exactly?

It’s a cascade of praises. It’s a shower of love that reawakens you from your torpor like a bucket of ice-cold water. It's abrupt but somewhat needed until it slowly becomes fresh instead of freezing, and it hydrates your skin and soothes the thirst. You feel rejuvenated, coming out of your lethargy, and alive and thriving and—

It stops.

Your fifteen minutes of unbridled, limitless love just snatched away in spare seconds.

And you’re parched again. Sometimes, they leave you wanting until you’re on your knees. Sometimes, they never give it back.

And so, the questions arise—what happens when you’re not needed anymore?

What happens when the calls plummet?

When the visits diminish until there are none?

When you're a ghost haunting your own life because your purpose is slowly vanishing. When that prize stands in the distance as a rushing fountain of praises and kindness, but you've already given a hand, an arm, your legs, your voice, your heart. What then?

How do you move, exactly, if there are no limbs to which attach the strings? How will you speak, if they’re not shaping your voice?

How does your puppeteer lift you from the floor? Your ventriloquist—how will it force you to agree to every demand?

“You... met without me?”

“Sweetheart, we thought you were busy.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“You would’ve said no.”

But you wouldn’t have. You’re not even sure you can say ‘no’ to them.

Is there someone who will hoist you up, when you’re nothing more than a torso, and take you to the finish line?

“Uh, darling, mind calling later?”

“I’m not feeling fine, I was hoping—“

“I’m busy, love.”

A therapist for your mum.

A crutch for your dad.

An advocate for your brother, but you’re no one to them.

A child, once. A person, now.

A notification on their phone. A Google reminder of a birthday.

A missed call. An excuse.

A vacant shape in a family photo. A memory, then nothing.

Raised to serve. But what happens when there’s no one to serve?

“What you’re doing to me is not fair.”

“I don’t like that attitude. Don’t forget how much we did for you.”

Your hands are tight around the steering wheel. White knuckled fists and creaking leather. The car smells of stale tobacco, cigarettes you’ve smoked with your offhand limp out of the car window, then stubbed in the portable ashtray.

"We love you, of course we do. How could you ask that?"

It's raining but your window's rolled down, a ciggie snug between two fingers. Elbow propped on the car door, arm hanging out. The sleeve of your sweater is soaked, and the cigarette is sodden. You don't even notice it when you bring it to your lips and take a drag. Nothing fills your lungs.

It’s fine.

It's a habit. It's autopilot. You go. You exist.

“It really doesn’t feel like it. You haven’t called in weeks.”

“It’s just—we’re people too. We’re busy.”

“You’re not busy for my brother.”

“He’s—you’re different, darling.” You’re used. We’ve consumed you.

It’s a feeling of emptiness that spills out of every hole like heavy smoke, clouding your senses. A husk that billows dark tendrils from its eyes, moves mechanically like an alien imitating a human being.

It's fake. You're a dummy. Unhuman. A thing.

“I just need your help. I—I’m not fine. I’m not asking for much. Just an evening toge—”

"So much is happening right now. You can deal with it on your own, love.”

You close the car door once you've parked it in the garage. Up the stairs you go, dragging your feet on every step.

“Like you’ve always done.”

Would this world exist even if you weren’t in it? Would these stairs lead to your apartment, if you didn’t inhabit it?

Is your flat even yours? Sure, you’ve paid for it. The party you threw after your signature was placed on the contract is still a cherished memory.

But what were you even celebrating? Four walls. A roof over your head. A bed to kip.

It’s a lot, you’re aware. Not everyone can say they own all that. But do you?

They’re things. Can you own things?

Surely, you are owned. By them.

But you’re not even sure you need things. You can’t need, because things don’t need. And what are you, if not a thing? Because things are used, not humans. Humans fight back, eventually. Humans hold their pride dear, it's the only character that separates them from animals, from meat. You never bit back, not once. So what does that make you, if not theirthing?

Your purpose is not a choice you made, it’s theirs. You have to give—that is why they made you.

You own, so you can give them.

You earn, so you can give back.

Because who’s given you a roof when you couldn’t afford it yourself? And the food in your belly?

Darling, it wasn’t for free. You were expensive to raise. You were costly to craft, to mold, to perfect.

But they haven’t called. No one has. No one will.

The master left the strings—and what of you, now? Do you just lie limply on the floor, waiting for the next hand that'll hoist you up?

And if they don’t call to ask from you, how do you know you’re doing fine? How do you know if the finish line is close when they took your eyes already? How do you ask for help, if you don’t have a voice?

But that was the point. Their goal. They own you, and without them, you’re nothing but a heap of wood, infested with termites. Wooden rods on the floor, nylon strings cut short. You’ll grovel and beg, they’ll croon at you in mockery, bleeding you dry, but it will be enough for you—anything would be enough for you.

You unlock the door. John hears and his head peeks from the kitchen.

“Hi love,” he rumbles, and you feel it shaking your heart.

Does he need you?

John Price is a captain of the special forces who has gone through hell and back. He's witnessed things you've only heard from the mouths of journalists or read in black-and-white papers, and he came out of each one of them unscathed. Strong. Resilient.

He doesn’t need you.

“Sortin’ out dinner,” he adds, and returns behind the wall that separates the living room from the cooking area. “You’re gonna love this pasta, I’m telling you.”

Of course, he doesn't need you.

The house is pristine. He takes care of it while you’re at work since he’s off deployment. He’s going to be home for a while now, a handful of months. That’s a good thing, you miss him when he leaves.

It’s you who needs him. But you can’t need, so how does this work, exactly?

How do you explain that hole in your stomach that relentlessly craves to be filled? That makes you want to curl on the floor. Turn into dust and seep through the cracks of the hardwood.

Disappear. Invisible. Paper-thin.

Because maybe you're tired of being needed. Perhaps you want to break through that mindset and start needing something.

You chastise yourself for even concocting the thought.

You stand stock still at the door. You hear nothing but the blood rushing in your ears and John moving pans around the kitchen.

You see his head at the doorway again.

“Love?”

Your eye twitches, but you don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you. Then why is he here?

There are plenty of people out there who’d love to bend for him. Mouths he can kiss. Holes he can fill.

That’s what people are, no?

No. That's what you are.

You’ll make him need you. You’ll show him that you’re fundamental, not just another hole. That you cannot be replaced, because you can't afford to lose him. You can't.

It’s selfish, it is.

You cannot be selfish, it’s not what you were taught. But you will. Just today, just now. The first apparent tear into the careful pattern threaded by your family.

But it's not really a hole, is it? If you're carving it to escape a trap, only to fall back into another one of your own making.

You hurriedly toe off your wet shoes and walk with purpose to the kitchen, dropping your bag on the floor as you do. He quirks a brow at you and your silence, but his face soon morphs into sudden confusion when you come to stand in front of him and drop to your knees.

You know how to do it—how to make people smile.

Your empathy is unmatched. You read people's tics, their quirks. Gauge them from the way they move their lips, the words they use, the way they look at you.

And John—oh, he loves how you work with your mouth.

And if he needs your mouth, then by extension, he needs you.

Your hands palm his thighs as you flutter your lashes up to him. He's forced to lean back against the kitchen counter, but he's not looking at you the way he usually does—not with his lidded blue eyes, heavy and wanton.

John looks dubious instead. Even flinches when you press your cheek to the crotch of his jeans, stroking the fabric to your skin. Denim’s rough, and it especially hurts when the plump of your cheek catches the zipper’s teeth.

Good.

Let him take. And let it hurt.

“What’s goin’ on." He states, doesn't ask.

Please, take.

You’re already working through the button and the zipper when you answer, fingers shaking as you do. “I wanna suck your cock.”

Now, John wouldn’t normally complain, but you sound much different from the other times in which you actually do want to suck his cock.

He hums, allowing you to palm him through his briefs, gently but firmly pressing your hand where he’s still soft. You nose him through the cotton, flattening your tongue against his dick—you can feel it twitch under the muscle. Good, means his body is responding how you want him to.

His hands curl painfully tight around the lip of the counter.

It’s so silent except for your heaving breaths warming up his length and the buzzing fire on the stove.

You place tender kisses as you feel him harden under your lips.

He's looking at you to try and gauge the reason behind all this. It's clear to him that you're not being your usual self, there is something in your eyes that tickles him in the wrong place. You know he knows—you know he's gathered something's wrong. He’s ever so attentive, capturing every minimal change in the wrinkles of your face.

You're so akin to him when it comes to that.

You don't give him time to ponder for long, though. You take his cock out of his briefs and force it into your mouth.

John knocks his head back against the cupboard and fixes his eyes to the ceiling, wide open. A heavy breath leaves him languidly. His cock chubs up as it sits heavy on your tongue, and you can feel it fill up your mouth.

“Christ.”

Yes. It’s what you want, to hear him lose himself in you.

You start slowly, pumping your hand at the base along with the movements of your lips, mindful of keeping your teeth out of the way. Tilting your head sideways, you let the tip of his cock push against your cheek while your tongue lavishes the malleable skin around its length.

Your eyes swivel upward, and you're met with the view of his corded neck, tight and straining as he refuses to look at you.

No.

He needs to know it’s you.

He needs to understand that you can give this whenever he wants, that you're not just another mouth. That no one else is as versed as you are when you eat him up. Your tongue knows how to follow the vein along the velvet of his skin, all the way to the slit on the tip. Your hand knows how to cup his balls and brush the seam in the middle—how he shudders, each time you do.

He needs to know that.

He can’t let you go. Not him too.

He has to hoist the limbless torso that you are towards the finish line, where you’ll get your caresses and your praises and your prize: the crumbs of love you’ll lap until your famished heart stops rumbling.

So, you drift your free hand upward and thread your fingers through the curls on his pelvis, gently grazing the skin with your nails. Then, you drum the pads on his soft belly, feeling them dip into the flesh and hit the harder muscles underneath. You splay your palm in the middle of his stomach, where you can feel the blood rushing madly as his heart pumps all the same.

It’s enough for you, the bodily reaction to the softness of your mouth.

But why isn’t he looking at you?

Recognize that is me. That I can make you feel good. That you need me, that you still do.

In the desperation of the moment, you opt for the best you can do: you take him deeper. The hand at the base of his cock moves to flatten on his thigh, and you carelessly widen your jaw to take more, and more, and more.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft and then twirl it around, all the while hollowing your cheeks without ever daring to take your eyes off him. That way, if he decides to look down at you, he'll find you teary-eyed and wanting—perfectly on your knees, like a devotee, no matter how artificially placed.

Your lips slide so easily up and down his cock, coating it with saliva, teardrops and precum. They swell so beautifully around it like a plump peach being ravaged; he always flatters you for it. Calls you beautiful when you suck him off so fervently, eliciting choked moans from you as you drink up the praise.

You dive in and the head tips at the back of your throat, causing you to gag around it. The muscles of your neck clench and he curses under his breath. Your eyes water in joy and overexertion when he looks down at you at the sudden change in pace. You don’t care if it hurts, let him bruise your throat.

You can give him more. You can give him everything.

You push even further until you're nuzzling against the coarse hair on his pelvis. You choke around his cock, a weak and wet cough that causes drool to dribble at the corners of your mouth. You pull back then, to take a wet gasp around his length, and then push forward to flush your nose to his crotch once more.

The tips of your knees hurt; the tiled floor in the kitchen is hard and merciless against the bone. It'll leave your joints aching and rough. They'll pop when you stand up, they'll hurt tomorrow when you go to work.

Good.

The knot in your stomach is ever so tight, seeking to be released and let go. It contorts in wantonness and, you’ll realize later, mortification. Just because you’re used to giving yourself so freely in exchange for crumbs, it doesn't mean it gets easier every time—to watch yourself bend on a whim, to see your pride shatter into even tinier pieces.

You feel his hand thread through your hair and tears fall down your cheek because yes, now he’s going to fuck your face like you want him to.

Use me. Treat me for what I am. Become the fucking puppet master. Take my fucking strings now that they’ve dropped them and guide me through this fucking shit I was left in.

But instead, he pulls you back, his cock escaping your mouth with the same ease you got it in.

A ragged breath, thick and wet, leaves your lips as soon as they’re free. Your coughs turn into a hack, as you stare at the glisten of your spit coating his shaft. A string of thick saliva tethers your mouth to it. Tears roll down your cheeks as you recollect your breath, nostrils flaring in the attempt to take in the air you’ve deprived yourself of.

“What’s this.”

You swallow down the liquid pooling in your throat, salty precum and viscous saliva like tar, gluing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

“Let me.” You croak. The thought that you might sound pathetic doesn’t even cross your mind.

His brows twitch, but he keeps his voice even. “No. What’s going on? Spill it.”

Your pleading look morphs into a glare. Bloodshot eyes, tears, and snot. Spit and cum. Clumped lashes and runny mascara.

Whore.

Your chest heaves, not from the strain, but from being caught red-handed, and you don't know how to behave.

No one ever asks why you do it, they’re simply glad you do.

You’re helping, aren’t you? It’s what you were crafted for, brick by brick, bone by bone. Made to change like a chameleon based on other’s necessities.

It’s what you are—so let me do it.

“I want to suck your cock.” You say as crudely as you can manage. “I want you to come down my throat and then I want you to bend me over the table and fuck me until you’re empty.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, still holding your head by a handful of hair. His fingers aren’t tight, but your scalp stings nonetheless.

“Can do.” He shrugs. “Need to know why, first.”

You’re a heap of wood once again, piled up at his feet. Your limbs are jointless, just lying there, waiting to be thrown in the fire to rekindle its flame, so everyone else can be warm at your expense.

A broken puppet can still be used for other purposes until it's ash.

There's nothing in you, if not how wonderfully soft your mouth would be if only he'd let you wrap it around him again.

“Because I want to.”

He curls his nose, mustache following the stretch. “Hardly.”

“I do.”

He tugs at your hair and says your name in such a commanding manner that you can’t help but deflate. The glare in his eyes snuffs the defiant flame in yours.

"Please let me," you plead, and the way you sound is nothing short of degrading.

You don't care. You don't care if you reduce yourself to a puddle of pleas. You know you're not supposed to need anything, but you need this.

Your hands are sticky with dried spit and precum when they grab his cock again. You start pumping it fiercely, trying to make his orgasm hit earlier than what you had planned. He holds your head out of reach, meaning you can't wrap your lips around it—you'll have to make do with your hands.

Slut.

But it’s okay, you’ll be a slut, if it helps him realize that you can make him feel good with everything you have to offer. That he won’t find another as pliant and willing as you are. That if he wants to be served, you will be his thrall.

Everything you own, it’s so you can give him.

Everything you earn, it’s so you can give back.

He can mold you. He can break you and put you back together the way he likes. He can craft a new puppet out of you, you’ll hand him the strings. He’ll take you to the finish line and love you, then.

Only then.

You see his mouth curl, bile on his tongue, as he reins in his own lust. There’s something wrong about you tonight, and he’s starting to understand what it is.

And so, he leaves your hair, favoring the softness of your cheek. He thumbs the plump of your cheekbone and then rubs a line along your lower lip.

It's then that you take your chance and rush forward, planting a kiss on the tip of his cock. Tongue out to leave kitten licks at the drops of precum you are squeezing out of him with your hands, knowing he likes those tiny shocks it sends up his spine.

And just when you think he’s relented to your pleas, just when you have your lips plump and shiny, ready to wrap around the flushed head of his cock, he takes ahold of your chin and tips your head back.

“I love you,” he croaks.

Words he’s said already, but not as often as he should’ve. It’s his fault, he grievously considers, if you think you have to be on your knees to receive them.

He realizes it when you shock into a stop. When your eyes widen a tick too much.

Blind idiot he is.

"I love you," he says again, more firmly this time.

Your face screws up as if you're trying to wrap your head around this language you don't know. You haven't done much to reach that prize—if anything, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve edged him until the head of his cock has turned an angry red that must be aggravating to handle, impossible to quench without the welcoming warmth of your mouth or that of your cunt.

You blink up at him. Tears fall down your cheeks. “But you need to come.”

If you’d have shot him, he would’ve handled the ache much better than this.

"I need nothing." He supplies gently, tracing the corner of your lips with his thumb, getting rid of the mess he's inadvertently made of your mouth.

His statement hangs in the air, stale and musty and threatening, not as sweet as he thinks. It clogs your nose and tightens your chest, curdling your blood into frozen lumps. The noises around suddenly feel deafening: the bubbles popping on the surface of the boiling water, the wet sound of your skin unsticking from his cock as your hands leave it, their thud as they fall in your lap.

If you’re not needed, then what are you?

Carefully, he tucks himself back into his briefs as he kneels to your level.

He whispers your name and cups your cheek as he does. "I love you.”

You know he does, but stuck in the web woven by your family, you always thought it was a purely transactional sentiment. A fair trade.

He loves you because you kneel prettily in front of the sofa.

He loves you because you let him stuff you up and fill you to the brim with his come at the snap of his fingers.

He loves you because you're a lovely addition to his arm when you doll up for his work ceremonies or other functions.

He loves you because you cook a mean Sunday roast when he comes back from deployment.

And you love him because he's John, because what's there not to love.

With gentle blue eyes framed by bushy eyebrows, and droopy eyelids that give his often scowling look a gentler feel to it. The honey smatter of freckles on his nose, and the sharply trimmed beard on his jaw. Plump rosy lips, how soft they feel when he places them on yours, juxtaposing with the prickly ends of his mustache.

His encompassing heart and the way he's enlarged it for you to fit better, so you're all comfortable and warm in his life.

John gently presses his lips on your forehead as he speaks softly, "I love you."

Your eyes flutter closed. A heaving breath again, one that stutters as you try to inhale it. Fat tears fill the cracks in your lips and flow down your tongue.

John brushes the back of his knuckles across your cheeks. “Don’t need all this to love you.” And then he looks in your eyes, searching for any sign of skepticism, and regrettably finds a considerable amount of it. “You knowthat. Right, love?”

No, you don’t know.

But you don’t have the gall to tell him. Suddenly, it hits how pathetic you look. On your knees, begging for him to stuff your mouth with his cock so you can feel useful, so he can shower you with love once you give him a reason to keep you.

You kneel there helplessly, deflated.

Useless.

You gesture with your hands at him, feeling how limply they hang from your wrists as if you've never used them on your own in the first place.

There is very little you can do to humiliate yourself further, and yet you manage.

“But you need me.” You cry, as your face scrunches in a pain so deeply settled that John has no clue how to work around it. “I need you to need me.”

However, he tries. He tracks your tears with his thumb, stopping their fall right above your cheekbone.

"Don't need you, love." He says tenderly. "I want you.”

He shifts a little closer and cradles your face in both hands so that you cannot avoid his eyes even if you tried.

“Want you.” He breathes hoarsely, “Ain’t with you ’cause I need someone. I don’t need anyone, and I don’t want just anyone—I want you. ‘Specially when you’re not on your knees.”

Your nose is stuffy, and you can’t breathe right. Suddenly, you feel so unbelievably tired. Your face plops in his hands, and the humiliation feels ten times worse. It's hard, however, to interject with a word that would make him understand how deep this pattern runs.

He doesn’t let you, but only because he knows already.

"Like you when you get all chuffed ‘bout your plants sproutin’." He drawls. "Love it when you hop into bed and shove your cold feet against my thighs ‘cause I'm much warmer. Or when you make love to me. But not when you—when you pull this."

His voice is heavy. Your heart aches because you're so tightly wrapped in deadly silk, stuck in your family's cobweb, that you've never noticed how it must pain him as well, to see you reduce yourself to this.

"Bloody hell, love." He sighs, furrowing his brows. "I love you, yeah? I don't need—whatever this is. I don't want whatever this is.”

John's eyes close, his face screwing up in that way that tells you he's thinking. He shakes his head subtly, and you're afraid you've gone and done it now. He's going to go because he already has so much shit to deal with that your puzzled self would only be another broken case to add to his file.

But alas, dread doesn't even manage to settle on your heavy heart that he locks you in place with his blues.

One of his hands drifts to the back of your head. He leans in, enough for you to smell the tobacco on his breath.

You swallow dryly, lips parted in shaky pants. Eyes lidded and tired, nose scrunching in sniffles.

John presses a gentle kiss on your lips, no more than a peck. And then another one, and another, and another, until you can’t discern whether it’s the salt of your tears or that of his skin.

Your breathing becomes heavier and it mingles with his own when he comes to rest his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he murmurs tirelessly.

The hand on your nape guides you to him, and he kisses you again. Unlike the previous ones, this is bolder, yet tender all the same. He holds you in place while the rest of the world falls into impeccable silence.

The gentle smacking of lips is all you can hear, and even if only for a moment, it manages to silence the voice in your head—a mimicry of your family’s cries, their lying coos, their grating, consuming, plastic love.

You feel yourself uncoil under John’s touch and the deft work of his tongue on yours. Hands in your lap, you abandon yourself to him, but it's a different type of surrender; your eyes close and all your feelings, all your energy, flow into that kiss.

“I-I love you,” you venture, breathy voice brushing his lips.

John inhales sharply, and he realizes this might be the first time you said it because you wanted to and not because you had to.

His hand drifts from your cheek to your shoulder, down to your stomach and he guides you to lie with your back against the kitchen floor. His palms flatten next to your head.

Normally, John would have you on a fort of pillows and blankets and would never compromise about it—constantly making sure you’re as comfortable as they come as he ravages you. Beforehand, you'd get ready in the bathroom, having prepped yourself to a T. Shaved and moisturized and seasoned like a prized pig for him to consume, wearing the prettiest, skimpiest lace to frame the petals of your perfectly waxed pussy.

Because it’s a fair trade; he treats you like a princess, so you can be his pretty whore.

Yet tonight you think he won’t do any of that. There is a gentleness in his kisses that, while not uncommon, certainly feels unique. Your hands hover between your chest and his, unsure of where to place them. You hope he’ll guide you through this too, manhandle you into position like he always does.

But again, he doesn’t.

He barely feels like John at all. His behavior is so different that if you closed your eyes, anyone could be in his place right now. But that is only your perception, isn't it? Because John has always been tender with you, you were just too busy thinking about how to repay his kindness instead of living in the moment.

His lips leave yours only to busy themselves with the skin on your cheek, then down your chin and to your neck. You gasp at the goosebumps, and he stops.

His face comes into view and it is so flushed you think he must be collecting all his blood right in the apples of his cheeks.

“Okay, love?”

You blink. Your mouth tastes more like his cigars than tears and precum. It makes you feel less dirty, even if what you did (and have been doing your whole life) hasn’t changed.

You swallow thickly as he gazes into your eyes.

“Y-yeah, just—” A crease forms between your brows, “I should—I left you like that, and—”

He hushes you.

"No need to bother 'bout me." He reassures you.

He presses a kiss between your brows, smoothing the lines your concern has formed. You close your eyes, focusing on how warm he is in contrast to the tiles pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes. As if you have an answer for that.

His kisses trail down your face and your neck, turning more open and wet. The rising gooseflesh, however, does nothing to stop your mind from running miles ahead.

What do you want?

You must've been posed that question before because it's such a basic one. You try to think of contests in which one might ask that, such as your birthdays, or celebrations, or a teacher wondering what is it that you desire in the future: a career, a husband or a wife, a family.

But to desire is to choose, and you don’t think you’ve ever been given that possibility.

Hence why you're rattled, aghast. On your back on the floor, with John sucking love bites on your neck.

You give the answer you know will make him content.

“Fuck me.”

You’ll moan like a porn star. You’ll dig your pretty nails into his back so he can show off the marks you left on him with pride. You'll pretend an orgasm if yours is taking too long, so that his ego will be kept fed and full, and he’ll still find you appealing. So that he can go tell his friends and comrades how good you are, in and out of bed. What a gem. Wife material.

He’ll doll you up and tie the strings around your wrists. Make you dance and you will—coy smile, pretty eyes and all. A new puppet out of you, just for his sake.

John stills, and he shifts uncomfortably above you. His mouth is suddenly next to your ear, and he leaves a kiss at your jaw hinge.

“You don’t want me to fuck you.” He murmurs, and you swear there is a hint of guilt in the way he says it.

You feel dizzy at the thought of being caught. It’s scary to have your thoughts so out in the open after having spent an entire lifetime locking them up.

John nips at the shell of your ear. You venture with your hands and place them on his chest, still unsure of whether you want him closer or far, far away.

"Can I make you feel good?" He asks hoarsely. Your body responds naturally and it makes heat pool in your lower stomach.

You suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed at the idea his words have instilled in you.

You reply the only way you know. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes.” He says forcefully, almost as if he wanted the answer to stick to your brain for the days to come. The switch is so abrupt your heart skips a beat. “Yes, I have to ask. Of course, I have to ask.”

He props himself up, hips snug between your thighs. He could roll them against yours and seek the friction his chubbed up cock must physically need after you teased it.

But he doesn’t, and it makes you feel both inadequate and nervous.

“So, answer me, love.” He rumbles, as his pupils dance between your eyes. “Can I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure why, but it makes your eyes water and your heart hurt. Your brows draw together in a frown that rips at John’s chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, voice strangled in your throat. “Yes, please.”

John leans in to kiss your eyelids as you snap them closed.

And then he kisses your cheek, your nose, and your lips. His hand trails over your sweater. A gentle tug at the hem makes tears fall down your temple and into your hair.

You give an imperceptible nod at his silent request and he thanks you by pressing his lips to your jaw. He lifts it above your breasts, sitting atop the plain, skin-colored bra you're wearing. You haven't shaved, there's regrowing hair under your armpits and you're flushed to the bone.

You're not the doll you allow him to see. You haven't prepped yourself for consumption this time, and it almost makes you squirm, as you force your biceps flush to your ribcage.

He can't see that you're not the perfect little puppet you've always shown him. If you aren't perfect, willing, and breakable, then he can find a thousand more like you—better than you.

But he presses a kiss to your sternum, ignoring sweat, squirming, and whatnot.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, tongue out to trace the line of the bone. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You sob. It doesn't deter him, as he lines the plain fabric of your cup until his fingers meet the clasp conveniently placed to the front. With a quick snap, he undoes it, and your tits spill out to the sides.

He hooks your attention back with a look, and you understand he’s asking, once again.

He’s seen you naked a thousand times but you realize he’s never seen you this raw. Your cheeks are flushed and his eyes have never looked so gentle yet hungry.

You nod again and he dives in, wasting no time.

His hands grab the fat of your tits. Push them together. Thumbs teasing nipples as they pebble under his pads. Lips kissing anywhere they can land, latching on flesh until it darkens. His teeth graze the peaks of your breasts, and your back arches off the floor.

Each grunt that escapes him has your spine vibrate. You can't fathom the thought that he likes this, not when you’re tasting like a long day at work and wet rain, instead of buttercream and mango.

You try to snake your leg between his own, to give back what he’s giving you. Carefully, you stroke the curve of your foot against his hard length, but he pulls back with his hips and gently guides your thigh to rest once more around his waist.

“Don’t need tha’, sunshine.” He grunts, a murmur lost as his lips mouth at your nipples. "This 's more 'n 'nough."

His hands hold you by the waist now, fingers gripping the flesh with tenacity. His beard scrapes at the soft skin of your tits as he travels downward with his mouth, following the path lined by your sternum to the gap between your ribs.

He licks stripes as if your skin were covered with cream. His teeth sink softly where your flesh is plumper, causing you to writhe against him, and he chuckles under his breath as he remembers you’re ticklish.

Such tiny things he knows about you, you almost forgot it’s been years he’s known you.

His bites turn kisses, and they're chastely pressed on the line of your stomach, over your belly button, and to the seam of your jeans.

John looks up at you when his lips reach the zipper, and by doing so you notice his brows arching up, causing lines to wrinkle his forehead. Pretty blue eyes take you in and the mess that you've made of yourself. Runny makeup, bitten lips.

You know he can see how undecided you still are. Brows pinched in both pleasure and discomfort because this is so new to you.

But you nod a little sharply for him to go on, as your mouth curls down in the hopefully non-futile attempt at muffling your sobs.

John unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips to your ankles in such an agonizingly slow manner you can’t help but think he’s doing it to give you time to rebut, in case you change your mind.

You don't.

He takes them off together with your socks and brings your foot next to his face. Places a kiss on the side of it, sending tingles up your legs that tip to the apex of your thighs. He leaves small pecks down your ankle and your calf, closing his eyes and sometimes brushing his beard against your skin.

You look away, cheek flat to the tiles, now wet with your tears and the rain soaking your hair.

It doesn't deter John in the slightest, not even when he slowly comes down to a crawl, chest to the floor and nose on your mound. He tugs with his teeth at the cotton of your panties, nothing more than plain white cheeky underwear. So different from the way you always present yourself to him, with your expensive lace and your silks and your soft skin—painfully waxed so it could mimic the feel of your babydolls.

Gingerly, you reach down with your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, smoothing them back from his forehead. You cup the side of his face and brush your thumb to his flushed cheekbone. He leans into your palm and kisses it, uncaring of the stickiness left by your previous activity.

You feel something inside of you crash and break, then, like a glass vase falling from a height. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, because it makes more tears collect at the corners of your eyes and those are never predictors of a good ending.

He digs the tip of his nose against your slit, following the wet stripe that inevitably formed the moment you dropped to your knees for him.

“Can I?” He asks, sending little spikes of electricity up to your chest when his lips brush against the sensitive skin covered by flimsy cotton.

You feel your chest get so tight someone might as well be curling rope around it.

You feel so pathetic for crying just because you’re being asked about what makes you comfortable and what doesn’t. You’re such an advocate for your friends to go out there and demand for their needs to be met, that you can’t help but wallow in your hypocrisy when someone asks for yours.

He waits patiently for your consent, even if he's a breath away from your private parts, with his hands caressing the back of your thighs. Even if he's done this to you a thousand times already, with your squirming body giving him a show worthy of the cameras, had they been there.

He makes everything around you look so soft, even the tiles of the floor that are uncomfortably sticking to your skin feel like plush cushions.

You wonder briefly if this is how it should’ve always felt, had you allowed yourself to recognize your needs instead of seeing your body as a means to make others happy.

It comes out of your lips as a breath that’s followed by a wet sniffle, your head nodding softly, contrastingly to how tight you’re biting your own teeth.

“Yes.”

No amount of pressure on your jaw could stop the sob that escapes you afterward.

John closes his eyes and a warm shuddering sigh brushes your skin. You’re starting to realize that maybe you’re not the only one who’s being affected by this sudden change in your and his intimacy.

His fingers hook at your panties and he slides them to your ankles, letting them hang down one foot. You swing it carefully and kick them off as he returns his attention to the apex of your thighs, hooking your knees on his shoulders.

He starts tenderly, pressing kisses on the soft flesh of your vulva, paying attention even to the smallest bits you weren’t even aware could feel good. He latches on your outer lips, feeling how puffy they get at the slight suction.

Your thighs are corded and stiff under his grip, arms hooked around each plush leg, and palms flat on your skin.

John’s eyes are closed, although you wish he’d look at you as he travels with his lips along your slit. A kiss on your hole without probing too much, then one along the middle of your slit, which was getting impressively wetter as time passed, and the one on your hooded clit.

It sent jolts up your spine, causing your hips to buck against his mouth. His fingers tighten around your thighs in response, as if he’s trying to rein it in for you.

You appreciate it more than he thinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been placed on top of the queue so blatantly in your entire life.

The tip of his tongue darts out, but it’s obscured from your eyes by the regrowing hair on your mound and from his thick mustache. So, it takes you by surprise when he all but licks a thin stripe over the protruding part of your clit.

You hiss, and your head goes dizzy. You feel tiny pinpricks tingling in your brain, making you lightheaded and more than a little breathless.

During the whole relationship, you’ve been so focused on appearing like a full meal to his eyes, that you forgot how good it felt to be that meal on his tongue.

He laps at you again, eyes now wide open to gauge more of whatever you were giving him. You feel them as bright spotlights aimed at your face, but you can’t find it in yourself to display the act you’ve always given him.

You're already too different from the woman he's so used to seeing. You wonder if he likes you anyway; or if he likes you less, or more. When your eyes lock with his own, a dark flash tells you to go back to your ways. To flutter your lashes and pout your lips in small pleas, whimpering moans that always make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

And just as you’re about to give in to those old habits, John flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks all the thoughts out of your head. You tilt it back in a groan that has never, not once, left your lips in his presence.

He seems more than excited to hear it and starts eating you out like you’re his first meal in a century. This time, there is no plasticity in the ways you move. You’re not squirming away and acting coy about it, meeting his eyes to make sure he realizes that you're his pretty doll.

This time there’s you and the pleasure he gives you. There’s a hand in his hair that shyly tries to keep him still, as he puckers his lips around your nub and sucks it in his mouth. There’s the subtle canting of your hips to press your cunt closer to him, and the way he makes sure you don’t pull away from his tongue with his thick arms coiled around your thighs.

It’s so strange to allow yourself to feel so much. All this time you’ve been oblivious to all this as it happened in your same body because you were too busy focusing on how you appeared to his eyes. Even as he tongued your hole, your head told you it still had to be about pleasing him—because nothing in this world could ever be exclusively about you.

It hits you sharply that your beliefs about yourself, instilled by the callous teachings of your family, had bled through every aspect of your life. You already knew that, of course, but you never realized they had seeped into your intimacy as well.

Yet now you have proof of it, because you're sure John has not changed his tactics, it's you who's finally allowing your body to feel all this.

He twirls his tongue around your clit and you’re seeing stars. It’s such a strong sensation that you think you might have lost a marble or two in the process. Each grunt he emits from his lips vibrates through you and elicits similar sounds from your own mouth.

You’re not even looking at him, and you don’t care. It’s too good. He feels fucking heavenly and you’ll probably end up apologizing later for not having included him more, for not having paid enough attention to him as you should’ve.

But now—fucking hell, now—there's only how his tongue toys with each and every nerve ending of your sodden cunt.

You let him manhandle you, then, like he did so many times in the past. But now he positions you in an unflattering angle you would've never allowed before. He sits up on his knees, carrying your pelvis with him, close to his face.

To help yourself up, you place your hands on your haunches, propping your elbows on the floor. The tiles press harshly against the bone, much like they did on your knees when you’d knocked them down to suck him off not even twenty minutes prior, but now that pain feels so fickle compared to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He locks his arms around your lower belly, soft thighs pressed to his ears, and he dives in again.

Like this, you’re sure he can see every stupid, unflattering thing about you. But there’s the catch—it’s stupid. You’re sure you’re going to rethink all this eventually, but now everything that isn’t John and his lips on you is so unbelievably, fucking stupid.

“Taste like honey, y’ do.” You think you hear him say, as he nuzzles your cunt for all it’s worth.

He delves his tongue into your hole, plunging as deep as he can until he’s nosing your clit too. Facial hair scrapes the inside of your thigh raw, but that only enhances the opposite bliss happening thanks to his mouth.

You whimper, but not for show; it feels criminally good, and John knows it's real because your thighs shake so fiercely his vision goes wobbly too.

He chuckles, but it’s not derisive. His eyes are incensed, the light blue barely a rim around enlarged pupils. He looks in utter awe as he takes you in; face flushed, hair still wet from the rain and now from the sweat too. With an expression he's never once seen before, not on you. The sheer discomfort of the position but also the complete bliss that makes you forget you could have this on a more comfortable bed.

“Look at you—fucking beautiful." He murmurs with his lips to your cunt. "Criminal to hide this from me, love."

Your lips part into an oval, and your eyelids tremble, fighting the need to close your eyes and just feel. But he looks so unbelievably stunning you refuse, categorically, to take your eyes off of him.

And he apparently thinks the same, because his gaze never falters, not even when you tighten the grip your thighs have around his head. Nor does his tongue, as he plunges it again in your cunt, nose nudging your clit just right.

He might be fucking you with his mouth, but he sure is doing it with his eyes too.

And you’ve never felt so seen in your entire life. You’ve never felt so beautiful, so worthy, as right now. You wonder if he’s always been looking at you this way, but you were too lost in your own ways to notice.

You feel tears trickle down your temples again, mingling with your hair.

Jaw clenched tight, you breathe it out with all the strength you’ve got left in you.

“I love you.”

And John breaks into something different. You must have given him some final blow because his eyes shut closed and his brows knit together. An expression you've never seen, equally as pained as delighted.

He doesn’t answer, using his tongue for other purposes, keeping the stimulation both inside and out of you. Strong arms hold you still to his face, squeezing painfully tight around your hips. Thick palms flat against your lower belly, with his thumb tugging at your mons to unhood your puffy clit.

He goes on until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, arms giving out from under you. But he catches you anyway, hooking your legs better above his shoulders. The fact that your thighs are pressing against his ears gives you some sort of relief, knowing his hearing might have been muffled by your flesh.

So, you let go.

You moan loudly, fuck the neighbors, and whatever the world has to say. Fuck your head for sabotaging you, and taking you away from him.

You feel it build up slowly but suddenly; one moment it’s just fully encompassing pleasure, the next there’s a vine that stems from your ravaged cunt and curls around your belly, up to your neck.

Your throat blocks off, breathing shallow and sharp.

And then everything snaps.

John fights against the bucking of your hips just so he can keep his mouth on you and fuck you through it.

Your groan is so guttural you don't even think that was your voice. You don't even think, period. Your mind blacks out. A scorching heat develops from your sternum and coils around your chest like ivy in bloom.

You’ve had orgasms before thanks to his mouth, or his fingers, or his cock.

This, however, it’s so different you might consider yourself reborn.

It’s liberating. It’s new. It’s free and only, completely yours.

You don't even notice, as his tongue slows down, that your eyes are staring at nothing on the ceiling. That they fill with tears. And that you're crying.

You notice nothing, but just how good your body trembles, from the tips of your toes to the conscience in your head.

You don’t notice the sobs that leave your lips, as John gingerly places your body back down. Nor the way your chest heaves as if you’ve just learned how to use your lungs, while he hooks his arms behind your shoulders, and lifts you up to sit butt naked on the floor.

He holds you to his chest and you painfully sob against it. Not a thought about whether this is the right time to cry crosses your mind.

He cradles your cheek to his heart, while wet lips press against the crown of your head.

“Let go,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “’M here, love. Let go.”

You cry so hard you think you might crack like porcelain on that floor. Your heaving sobs echo against the walls of the kitchen like the cries of a newborn child.

And John has no intention of letting you go through it alone. He is there with his hands, with his lips, with the strong, steady heartbeat against your ear until your wailing abates. Only then does he cup your cheek to lift your face.

You weep under your breath when you notice the bloodshot whites of his eyes and the clumped lashes. The dampness on his cheeks and the redness of the skin.

He smooths your hair back. Kisses your forehead with such intensity that he just might suck away the self-hatred your family has seeded in your brain with his lips.

He looks at you, then. Lips pursed in a tight line.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, love.”

It’s inevitable the way your lips stretch in a smile that quivers and shakes in a breathless, wet chuckle.

You dig the heels of your hands in your eyes, sniffling painfully hard to get some air in your lungs. Your mouth is pasty and God, you must smell like proper shite.

But John leans down anyway and kisses your lips, uncaring of the salt of your tears, the snot, and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

And you kiss him back, this time threading your fingers through his hair, arms looped around his neck in an embrace you never want to break.

Noses flush against each other’s cheeks, lips parting only for you to take breaths because your nostrils are currently too stuffy for you to use them properly.

You sniffle and kiss and tug at his hair and hold him until you're both sated, but never enough. It won’t ever be enough.

A few beats of silence reign the kitchen as you sit on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. The water in the pot must’ve boiled away, forgotten on the fire that still buzzes silently. John’s chest is your tiny alcove as you rest your head against it, and he holds you until your heart’s content.

Everything you’ve ever learned shakes before your eyes. Every thread that knitted the pattern carefully woven around you is slowly unraveling. The fabric wears down the more he shows you love without asking for anything in return.

He's making you regrow your limbs, returning the eyes they stole, allowing you to see that at the finish line, there's nothing but lies.

Nothing but missed calls, skipped appointments, and neglect. Honeyed words, saccharine pet names to render you soft as dough, willing to offer yourself to their exploitation. Sucking on every last drop of your sap, until only a hollow marionette is left.

John hasn't refilled you with energy; he made you realize you were never empty to begin with. Helped you see that they never smothered your fire to ashes, but only dimmed it to a flame, one you can rekindle easily.

One he cannot wait, for the life of him, to see ablaze again.

He’ll fight with you, give you the wood you need to keep yourself warm and your heart safe. Cut your strings once and for all, until you can get back on your feet again.

He thrives at the idea of seeing you glow like you did moments before, in your most raw and real form; a woman he's yet to meet.

However, being human, he does feel a temporary disappointment at the thought that you had put up such a blatant front for so long. Anger that he’d never noticed, thinking you were just this pliant little thing.

But he should've never thought of you as a thing. Never should've seen you as this obliging, pretty doll hanging from his lips. He should've dug deeper, like he always does even on the field, instead of falling for lies.

He’s often asked himself how you’ve never seemed to need anything, often pegging the behavior to self-sufficiency. You always took care of everything by yourself and promptly refused any aid when he tried to give it to you.

His mind reels with memories of the times he’s offered a helping hand, and you’ve politely declined it. It shatters him to think that you did it because you were afraid you had to give something back and maybe were too tired to offer anything.

It’s then that his mind deep dives into a place that sickens him.

How many times did you have sex with him and see it as a bargaining chip? Or as a way to repay him for something he’s done for you just because he loves you?

He shuts his eyes briefly, forcing the bile down his throat and deciding to dwell on the subject later. This moment comes first. You come first. So, he takes you in, blinking his eyes open once more.

He blindly reaches back to turn off the stove, before returning his arms around you. He brushes his lips to your temple, and your muscles soften under the way his breath tickles your skin.

You tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his own, gauging the earnestness swimming in his blues.

“I love you,” he breathes for the umpteenth time, that day.

No ventriloquist forces you to say it back. No strings move your arms to loop around his neck, as you lift yourself on your knees to be level with his eyes.

It's you, who rests your forehead on his own, brushing your nose to his in a butterfly kiss.

You feel like flesh and bone, more than polished wood tied to nylon strings. No voice box if not your vocal cords vibrating when you decide it, asking and giving all the same.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

There is no hunger for love, no finish line to reach. It’s not a race, not today.

And with John, you don’t think it’ll ever be again.

473 notes · View notes

moonchild9350 · 2 months ago

Text

Heart of Ice

Summary: you set off on an errand on behalf of your father to the land of the giants, where you meet Chan, the king of the giants.

Pairing: Giant Chan x fab demi goddess reader

Genre: mythology au, smut, straight filth lol

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: violence (battle scenes), use of swords/knives/bow and arrows, and magic, decapitation, blood, use of aphrodisiacs, p in v penetration, creampie (don’t), squirting, fingering, oral sex (f & mreceiving), mirror sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink, dirty talk, dom Chan dynamics- I think that’s it omg lol

Notes: I’m a nerd for mythology and add Chan to the mix, yes please! Just another fic to take a break from spooktober.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were exhausted. That was the best way to describe how you felt.

You looked back at the direction you just came from, the rocky waters slapping against the bank, taunting and mocking you at the trial it just made you face. The river Iving separated Asgard from Jotunheim, the journey long and treacherous.

You came from Asgard, the land of the gods, to obtain an item from Chan, the king of the giants here in Jotunheim. Being from the lineage of Odin, it was expected that the journey would be relatively easy, however, it has been anything but. It may have been for someone of deity lineage from both sides, but you were born of god lineage but also human, making you a lesser being than most of the inhabitants of the realm.

You are unsure as to why your father sent you on this errand, especially by yourself, but he insisted that you could do it, so you could prove your worth to him. And the latter is something you have been trying to achieve your whole life.

Sighing, you lifted your head up and took in the wasteland in front of you. It was dreary and dark, the wind howling nonstop, its cold embrace wrapping around you. There were mountains in the distance, big and rocky, their stance intimidating to anyone who lays eyes on it.

There were no animals or creatures in sight, although you knew that could change at any given moment, this realm being home to the nastiest, aggressive beings.

You could see your breath in front of you, as it was ice cold, probably below zero. Thankfully, you were bundled up in your furs, made especially for you by your mother for the journey.

Ensuring your knife, sword, and bow were properly stored and your pouch was still on your hip, you began your journey once more. This time to the large castle at the other end of the land.

You could see it in the distance, beyond the Jormun Sea, the rocky structure encased in ice amongst the mountain side. There resided Chan, a cunning giant who was supposedly awaiting you.

You started to walk, the sound of crunching heard as you stepped on the ice below. Snow and ice blanketed the land which would have been dangerous for the average person, but thanks to your specialized snow shoes, navigating the icy tundra was relatively easy.

The beginning of your journey was uneventful, which was suspicious, your hand ready to draw your sword at a moments notice. Up ahead a body of water came into view, the waves lapping at the beach softly, so unlike the harsh wind that was steadily blowing.

You stopped at the edge and peered in. The water was black as obsidian, what lies beneath obscured by the darkness. Every now and then the water would ripple, most likely from some sea creature beneath the surface.

Looking up, you peered into the distance, seeing the expanse of the sea. It would take you a while to clear it, your destination located on the other side. Time was of the essence, as you didn’t want to keep the king waiting, therefore, you continued to walk, shielding your face from the wind.

The land was peaceful, no sound being heard except for the waves hitting rocks and the wind. However, peace didn’t last long. As you rounded a corner of the sea, the ground began to ripple. You stopped in your tracks, grabbed your sword, and assumed position.

The earth trembled and split, a creature emerging from the dirt, dust and rocks spewing from the ground. It rose from its home, arching its back, grasping a sword in hand, a growl rippling from its mouth. As the creature stood upright, you gasped taking in its bony form, with metal plates along its shoulders and chest. Its eyes seemed to glow a ruby red, peering at you in disdain.

You knew what they were, a sub type of dwarf called a draugr. They were cruel and vicious unlike the dwarfs present back in Asgard. Gripping your sword tighter, you charged at the creature, raising your sword above your head as you came upon it. A loud clang rose through the air as your sword had collided with the creature.

You grunted as you were pushed back from the force of the impact, causing you to stumble and almost drop your sword. However, you had no time to rest as the draugr charged at you again, showing no mercy towards you. Sword against sword met again and again, sparks flying from the contact as you battled the creature.

Little by little you whittled away at it until an opening appeared, one in which you could finally eliminate it. You kept your eye on your target and charged, swinging back your sword with a loud cry. As your voice echoed across the frozen tundra, you swung your sword fast and true, the edge of your blade landing and cutting through the tough skin of its neck. You continued to push through until the draugr’s head was completely severed from its body. It hit the icy ground with a thud, dark liquid oozing from the opening.

The body dropped and then started to materialize, until all that was left was the stained ground. You rested upon your sword, attempting to catch your breath. You were in for it surely if all of the creatures you would meet are as tough as this one.

Once rested enough, you sheathed your sword and began to walk. Every few feet you encountered more draugr, the battle against them long and drawn out. Your sword was stained, the dark liquid coating the blade.

You were beginning to feel wary, your body getting tired after many fights, so you decided to stop and rest for a while. The only problem was finding a space safe enough to rest.

Looking around, you spotted an area that seemed as good as any. You thankfully did not run into any more enemies. Your rest area wasn’t much, your bed consisting of your cloak, as there were no trees in sight to rest against. There was nothing to make a fire with, so you pulled your legs to your chest and buried your head, trying to keep warm.

You were in and out of sleep, trying to stay alert but rest as well. There was no way to tell if it was night or day, the sun always present in the sky.

You were drifting off to sleep again when you felt the earth tremble beneath you, causing you to jerk awake. You hurriedly stood up and grabbed your sword, eyes trained to the ground for what you assumed was more draugr.

However, you noticed that each rumble was rhythmic, almost as if someone was walking your way. Your eyes scanned the vast tundra, eyeing the sea until you saw a large figure slowly emerge from the fog.

A large man was coming your way, a giant by the looks of it. He was about ten feet tall, standing so tall it looked as if the top of his head touched the sky. His skin was pale, with a bluish glow, his body muscular. His hair was disheveled, the black mop adorning the top of his head. He had a simple cloth tied low on his hips.

You were terrified, not sure how you could defeat such a being. You were coming up with a battle plan when the giant approached, his black eyes staring down at you. You were frozen on the spot, your sword raised in front of you.

The giant made a sound, a laugh by the sound of it as he plucked your sword from your hands and tossed it to the side. Your eyes followed the trajectory of the sword, watching as it clattered against the icy ground a ways from you. You slowly turned your head to look at the giant before you once more.

Your eyes traveled from his muscular legs, up, up, up, until you noticed something large behind the cloth on his hips. You were shocked, but a little part of you were turned on, knowing exactly what was beneath as the shape gave it away.

You weren’t innocent, not by far, living in Asgard made you that way, and your body was more than ready to accommodate what he had to offer. At the thought, you clenched your thighs together as you felt them dampen, your slick trickling out, as you weren’t wearing any panties.

The giant smirked at you, as if he could read your mind. With a swipe of his hand, he dropped the cloth, baring all that was underneath. His cock was long and girthy, various ridges along the shaft with a prominent vein on the underside, leading up to a mushroom head that was red and angry, copious amounts of pre-cum leaking from tip. It sat proudly against his abdomen, the beautiful shade of red a sharp contrast to his pale skin.

You gulped as he took two steps toward you, the ground shaking as a result. He kneeled on the cold ground, so he could be on your level and closer to you. You watched as he spun you around and bent you over, pushing your face down to rest on the cloak below.

You whimpered as you felt the giant lift up skirt, the heavy furs adding more weight to your back. You could feel your arousal leak out even more as your face was pushed further into the ground, therefore causing you to present yourself to the giant behind you.

You waited in anticipation, your breath coming out in puffs, as you felt the tip of his cock brush against you, parting your lips to slide between the puffy flesh. You thought you would feel scared, never having been penetrated by such a large cock, however you were ready, needing to feel stretched and filled to the brim.

Without warning, you felt his cock breach your entrance, a loud moan escaping you as your walls were stretched. You felt slight pain but more pleasure than anything as he continued to push inch by inch in, until he was flush against your ass.

With a loud grunt, the giant gripped your hips and began to piston his cock into you, the sound of flesh slapping flesh reverberating throughout the vast land. You felt like you were being speared open as you took his cock, whines and moans steadily falling from your lips. The ridges and veins lining his cock rubbed against your walls perfectly, sending waves of pleasure radiating into your core.

You were dripping, your arousal coating your folds, your thighs, his cock and your sure your cloak as well. He gripped your hips harder, his large fingers digging into your skin to where you’re sure bruises will form. He angled his body a little to where he could reach deeper, his cock hitting that spongy spot within you as the tip bullied your cervix with each thrust.

You mewled out as you felt a tightening within you, like a band that was about to snap, growing larger and more intense by the second. The giant behind you began to grunt with each thrust, the sound reaching a crescendo until he roared, holding his hips flush to yours as copious amounts of his warm cum filled your walls.

With his release you let go, squirting your release, the force of your high attempting to force his cock out. The giant continued to hold you flush against him as you could still feel his release, pumping more into your little hole.

Finally, you felt him release you as he withdrew his cock, the sudden emptiness causing you to let out a whine. Both his and your release was gushing from your entrance, creating a puddle on your ruined cloak.

Slowly you pushed yourself up off the ground, turning to see the giant once more. However, by the time you were able to face him, he was already clothed and walking away, each step causing the earth to tremble below you.

You watched in shock, as the giant who just came upon you disappeared into the fog, the only thing alerting you he was still relatively close by being the sound of his footsteps.

You were still dripping, the last of the giant’s cum seeping out of your pussy. You carefully got up, trying to avoid the puddle on your cloak. You were sad it was ruined, the article of clothing being a gift from your grandmother.

Sighing you got up and bundled the cloth. Unsure what to do with it, you decided to leave it in a small divot that was created in the ice.

You picked up your weapons and donned them once more before taking off in the direction of the castle. You encountered a few more draugr, the battle being easier now that you knew how to fight them. You slowly left the Jorman sea behind, the vast body of water getting smaller with each step.

It wasn’t long before you came across your next obstacle, the frozen forest. The trees were all frozen solid, the icy blue shining with the rays of sun that would peak out every now and then.

You nodded and began your journey into the forest, making your way in between trees. The air felt colder, the cold finding its way past your furs and to your bones. The wind whipped around you, making it difficult to walk, and to add insult to injury snow began to fall.

The further you walked, the harder it fell, the stronger the wind became until you couldn’t see anything in front of you. You shielded your eyes as best as possible, and marched on, putting one foot in front of the other.

Your journey was slow, as you made your way through the forest. There was no one in your path, the way clear, that is until you ran into something hard, causing you to jump back, drawing your sword in the process.

You squinted into the snow storm to see what you ran into. What you saw caused you to gasp. You looked all around you, your eyes wide. There were people, hundreds of them, frozen in time, encased in an ice prison. The person in front of you stared straight ahead, almost as though it was trying to look through you. This one seemed to be a woman, clothed in a fur top and skirt. Their eyes were piercing yet gentle, the hair framing their face wiry and wild.

Timidly, you reached out a hand, your fingertips coming in contact with the icy prison. Slowly, you traced the outline of the woman, your eyes trailing her body in awe. How did these people get trapped here? How long have they been trapped?

Your heart sank at the their fate, especially as you noticed there were children frozen as well. You really needed to keep moving, the cold setting in during your inactivity. Carefully, you stepped around the frozen statue and continued on your journey, this time more aware as to what was in front of you.

The forest was large, the expanse of bodies never-ending, causing you to slow down as you weaved your way through them. The only other creatures you encountered were snow rabbits, the little furry creatures hopping away in a hurry at the sound of your disturbance.

You were able to shoot one down with your bow and arrow, effectively skinning the creature and roasting it over a makeshift fire to fill your empty stomach. After eating your fill, you doused the fire and continued on your way. You had hopes that you were almost through the forest when you heard a loud crack, the sound echoing throughout the forest.

You stopped in your tracks, scanning the landscape in front of you, searching for anyone or anything. It was quiet as the wind had stopped howling, the snow all but gone. You had a bad feeling deep down at the sudden change in atmosphere.

Quietly and swiftly, you reached for your bow, notching an arrow and aiming it at the ready. Your eyes slowly raked over your surroundings, your breath slow and steady. Another crack rang out, this time right in front of you.

There was a frozen statue in front of you, however, this time there was a long crack present from the head all the way down to the right foot. You stared in horror as the person moved within, a twitch here, a twitch there, the sound of ice cracking ever louder.

With your next breath, the ice shattered into a million pieces, scattering everywhere, the person beneath focusing their eyes on you. They seemed to have changed after breaking out of their icy prison, with electric blue eyes that stared wide open, never blinking, their skin outfitted with a blue glow. You gripped your bow tighter as the ice figure let out a piercing scream, the sound ricochetting off the other statues, causing them to crack.

Within moments, you were surrounded by a horde of townspeople, their eyes full of vengeance and set solely on you. You began to fire away, arrow after arrow skillfully flying through the air, the sharp edges piercing the bodies running towards you.

You were constantly on the move, switching directions at a moments notice as they came from all sides, their arms reaching out in the effort to try and grab you. You were trying to regulate your breathing as you made your way through the horde, so as not to run out of breath. Things were going according to plan until you tripped over a branch on the ground, your knees hitting the solid ground with a loud crunch.

You yelped in pain, rolling onto your bottom, trying to ignore the pain that shot down your legs. There was a tingling sensation that slowly built up, making you feel like you were being stabbed with a million tiny, sharp needles. Through the pain, you tried to focus on killing more creatures, as they took advantage of your moment of weakness.

You fired an arrow at a man running towards you, a sneer on his face, the arrow hitting home right in his chest. He collapsed on the spot, causing a few other creatures to trip over him, their bodies falling to the ground like dominos.

That didn’t stop them however from pursuing you as they began to crawl towards you, quicker than you would have expected. You reached into your quiver for another arrow, but stopped as your hand reached into an empty space. You let out a tsk as you realized you were out of arrows.

Quickly, you tossed your bow aside and grabbed your knife, stabbing the creature that had taken ahold of your foot, cold seeping onto your skin from their grip. They let out a piercing shriek as you twisted the blade for good measure, as they collapsed on their side.

You were able to take care of a few more before you scrambled to your feet, your legs from the knee down radiating in pain. You took a deep breath and willed yourself to ignore the pain and withdrew your sword, ready to take on the next group running full speed towards you.

You concentrated on the battle in front of you, the only sounds heard in the dense forest were your grunts and the clash of steel on a frozen body. Sparks flew haphazardly as your sword made contact with creature after creature, the orange glow lighting up the dim area.

You were grazed a few times, the creatures nails digging into your arms and legs as they tried to get to you, their crazed eyes never wavering from your dancing form. The end was near, as you saw only a handful of creatures left.

You decided to try and decapitate a group at once, squatting and spinning at the right moment, to swing your blade outwards, the steel meeting flesh, severing the legs from the bodies. They collapsed to the ground, as blood stained the white earth. You recovered from your attack, your arm out and posed to hold you up while you took in the last of the creatures.

Standing up, you walked towards your first victim and raised your blade above your head, bringing the sword down with force, piercing the creature straight through the heart. You repeated the motion again and again, effectively getting rid of the last of the threat.

After piercing the last creature, you pulled your blade up and out and collapsed on your hands and knees. You were breathing heavy, your warm breath meeting the cold air causing smoke to drift from your mouth. Your ears were ringing, vision blurry, and your body was aching from the gruesome battle you had just engaged in.

If you weren’t of half god lineage, you would have perished at the beginning of the fight, this you were sure of. You took a moment more to recover before pushing yourself up and off the ground. You looked around to survey the damage, your eyes noticing the mass amount of bodies littering the ground.

What once was a forest full of people, encapsulated in ice, was now bare, not a statue in sight. You let out a huff before you started to hunt for your bow. Walking over towards a pile of corpses, you found it lying on the ground still intact. Picking it up, you gave it a once over before storing it once more.

You were about to turn away when you noticed something glimmer beneath the bodies, causing you to stop in your tracks. You pushed a few corpses away to uncover the source of the light. Lying in the pouch on a corpse were three round orbs, swirls of color dancing around within.

These were magic orbs, highly sought after items, at least in Asgard, and here were three right at your fingertips. From the looks of it, these seemed to be of fire magic, which seemed perfect for the realm you were in. Gently, you extracted them from the pouch and began to pocket them, hoping they may come in handy at some point in your journey.

Satisfied that they were safely stored, you began to walk, wanting to get out of this forest as soon as possible. You walked past body after body, trying not walk on the remains of your battle.

You were almost out of the woods when you heard another crack, the sound loud and echoing off the little trees that were present. Your eyes quickly scanned your surroundings, trying to find the source of the noise. As you were searching, you noticed what seemed like a large boulder off to the side.

Cautiously, you walked toward it, drawing your sword on the way. You were about one hundred feet away when you saw that it was not a boulder at all, but an ice elemental, curled up to look as if it was sleeping.

You cursed under your breath and began to place one foot behind you, again and again as you tried to back away from the monster. If you could avoid it, you’d love to not have to fight one of these monstrosities.

You were making good progress until your foot came down on a twig, the little stick snapping under the pressure of your foot. The sound radiated loud and clear, causing you to pause in your tracks, your eyes trained on the elemental.

You thought you were in the clear, the monster not hearing your mishap, however, you felt the ground shake again, this time, much stronger. Looking up, you watched the elemental unfurled from his sleeping position and stand. You craned your neck as it stood tall, towering way over you, its eyes red and piercing, a scowl on its face.

You watched in terror as it let out a roar, clutching its icy hands into a ball before it charged at you, shards of ice chipping off of its feet as it hurtled towards you.

You quickly dodged out of its way, completing a 180 before facing it again. With a roar you ran towards it, striking it with your sword, sparks flying as metal met ice. The elemental roared, throwing its head back with rage. You swung your sword multiple times, trying to incur as much damage as you could on the fiend.

As you recovered, you screeched as its hand reached out for you, scratching you in the process, digging a deep gash into your arm. You winched in pain, watching as blood seeped from the wound, painting the ground below you red.

You had no time to stop the bleeding and kept fighting, dodging and diving, swinging and thrusting your sword. Little by little you chipped at the elemental, wondering if you were doing any good. You were starting to get tired, your muscles aching with each swing, your breath coming out in rapid pants.

You were about to run for it when you remembered the magic orbs, tucked away in your pouch. You quickly grabbed one and hurled it at the monster, straight for its heart. The orb clashed with the ice, exploding into fiery flames, causing a chunk of the ice elemental’s chest to melt.

You did a silent cheer, watching the smoke rise to the sky as the monster stood paralyzed for a moment. You took that opportunity to chip away at its legs, swinging your sword with all your might. The elemental definitely took some damage as it staggered around, its large feet creating large craters in the ground as it stomped around.

You didn’t let it recover, reaching for another magic orb, tossing it this time at its head, the orb hitting it square in the face. It wasn’t able to cry out, as its mouth was blown off, ice shards melting with each second. You looked over the monster, searching for its core. You saw something shimmer within the hole the first magic orb created. You kept an eye on the light as you charged, and at the last second pushed off your legs allowing you to leap into the air.

You posed your sword to strike, driving the metal straight into the green, shimmering crystal that represented its core, its life line. Once your sword pierced through, the crystal shattered into a tiny pieces, the quickly light fading out.

You landed gracefully on your feet, your fingertips touching the ground to stabilize yourself. You lifted your head up to watch the ice elemental stagger drunkenly before collapsing on its side, falling and cracking the ground below.

You remained in your stance, your chest heaving, as you struggled to breathe . Your arm was steadily bleeding, the crimson red dripping down your arm, mixing with the dark maroon of blood since dried. You took a few moments more before standing up, using your sword as a crutch.

As you looked ahead, a castle popped into view, that was most definitely not there before your battle with the elemental. You smiled and started to head towards it, your gait a limp after fighting all day. You kept your head up, dragging your sword along the ice as you got closer and closer to the castle.

You looked up at the gray, stone building, the exteriors cold and uninviting. You hoped the king would welcome you, as you were tired and in need of care. Stepping up to the door, you looked up, noticing how tall it was. Definitely big enough for a giant.

Raising your hand, you knocked on the door, and waited with bated breath. You heard footsteps on the other side, their echo getting louder and louder with each step until they stopped right in front of you.

The large door opened, the inside of the castle being revealed bit by bit. Standing in front of you was a man, one that seemed to be your size, definitely not a giant like the one that was supposed to be living here. The man stared at you, disgust on his face as he took in your appearance.

You’re sure you looked a mess, as your hair was disheveled, your clothes ripped, bruises littered all over your skin, the wound on your arm bleeding through the makeshift bandage you placed on it. But all of that didn’t matter, you had made it this far and he was going to let you in if you had any say.

“Hi, my name is y/n. I was sent here by my father Odin to talk to Chan.”

At the mention of your purpose there, the man’s face changed from one of disgust to recognition. “Of course, of course, y/n. We’ve been expecting you, please come in.”

The man shuffled out of the way, gesturing for you to come in. You nodded and stepped over the threshold, your eyes wandering the room. It was dark and gloomy, the walls made out of gray stone, torches were lit to show the way. The furniture that was present was huge, befit for a giant.

“Right this way,” the man said, ushering you further into the building.

You followed him, down the hall and up some stairs, until you reached a large door.

“Wait here please,” he said as he cracked the door open and slipped inside.

You stood there waiting, your ears trained to hear whatever was being said within the four walls. You could hear mumbled voices, but couldn’t quite make out the words that was being said. You were about to lean your ear against the door, that is until the door creaked open, the man stepping out and into the hall again.

“Chan wants you to rest and refresh yourself after your difficult journey, he’ll meet with you afterwards.”

You were thankful for this, as you didn’t want to meet with a king feeling and looking as dirty as you were. The man led you further down the hall, stopping in front of another large door.

“This will be your quarters,” he said pushing the door open for you. “A bath has been prepared. The maids will help you in the meantime.”

You thanked the man as he gave you a little bow and stepped into the room. There was a faint aroma permeating the room, the scent of lavender tickling your nose. You gravitated towards the scent, your body finally catching up to the fatigue you felt.

You came to the bathroom, a large tub filled to the brim with bubbles, and multiple women who you assumed were the maids waiting for you.

They curtsied for you and then rushed to your side, ushering you to the center of the room. They started to mutter in a language you didn’t understand, as they reached for your ruined clothes. You blushed as they stripped you completely down. Once undressed, they motion for you to get into the tub.

You carefully stepped one leg in, the warm water caressing your thigh before stepping in with the other. You slowly sat down, savoring the feel of the water against your skin. Once settled, the women began to scrub you down, taking care to be mindful of your scrapes and bruises. They left no part of your body untouched, their hands reaching everywhere in order to clean you.

You had no choice but to sit back at the mercy of their hands as you listened to them chatter. They occasionally smiled at you, cooing at your beauty before getting back to work. They seemed very happy, smiles constantly on their faces.

Once they were done washing you, they helped you out of the tub and dried you down with a towel, their hands gently massaging the fabric over your skin. They applied a sweet oil to your body, the floral scent pleasant to the senses as it was not too much but perfect against the heat of your skin. They brought out a white dress and slipped it over your head, tying the string in the back.

It was a beautiful dress, making you seem like you were glowing. It was cinched underneath your breasts, causing them to overflow perfectly at the top. They brushed your hair, leaving the wavy strands to flow down your back. After they were done, they ushered you to the large mirror in your bedroom and had you take a look.

You almost didn’t recognize yourself, used to the furs that were customary for a girl like you back in your realm. You smiled at your appearance as you felt very beautiful. Turning around, you thanked the maids who smiled back in return.

One of the maids walked over to you, a cup in her hand. She handed it to you and said, “for you m’lady. Our new queen. A tonic for tonight.”

Wait, new queen? Your smile faltered as you looked at the lady, confusion on your face.

“Yes, yes, new queen, you are Chan’s wife.”

You were in disbelief. Your father sold you out, sold you to the king of the giants without consulting you. The thought hurt your heart, that he couldn’t tell you at least, but your father is Odin after all. He doesn’t discuss his decisions with anyone. Accepting your fate, you took the cup from the lady, and brought it to your lips, drinking the warm liquid.

It went down easy, the flavor odd but not unpleasant. Once the cup was drained, you handed it back to the maid who curtsied and hurried off, the others right behind her.

You stared after them until the door shut behind the last of them. What were you to do now?

You decided to walk to the window and look out at the vast expanse of icy wasteland. This was your home now you supposed. You wondered what Chan looked like, the other giant you…encountered crossing your mind. Your pussy clenched in remembrance, how he dominated you, held you down and had his way with you. How primitive it felt.

You felt yourself getting hot, your heart rate increasing at the thought. You shifted your thighs against each other, seeking friction as your pussy fluttered, your slick trickling out and onto your thighs.

You felt weird, but in a good way, the only thing on your mind to be filled, bred until you couldn’t walk anymore. You continued to shift your thighs together, your breaths coming out as pants. You were about to reach your fingers under your dress when the door slammed open, and a giant walked in.

You turned to look at the intruder, your cheeks flushed in your heat, your breasts raising and falling as you took each breath. Your eyes widened in recognition, the giant before you being the one who you encountered by the sea. So this was Chan, the king of the giants, and now your husband.

He stared down at you, a smile on his face. He stalked toward you, and stopped in front of the mirror, beckoning you forward. You all but ran to him, craning your head up to look at him. He was beautiful, even for a giant. You were able to get a good look at his face now, noticing that he had a chiseled face, and large, pouty lips. His eyes were big and round, as they took you in.

He turned you around, having you face the mirror. His hands graced your thighs, slowly dragging up your sides, your belly until he reached your breast, his large hands cupping the flesh. Your breath hitched as you watched, feeling him massage your breasts, his large fingers pinching your nipples causing you to loudly moan.

“So beautiful,” Chan said, his voice low but clear.

He slowly pushed the straps of your dress down, the material sliding down your body before pooling at your feet. You gasped as you took in your reflection. The inside of your thighs were glistening, coated in a sheen of your arousal that was steadily dripping from your pussy.

Chan smirked, as he brought a hand to your folds and shoved a finger between them. He dragged his finger through your slick before pressing the digit against your clit, your knees all but giving out at his touch.

You gripped his thick arms in support as he teased the bud, his finger flicking left, right, circling up and down. You were a mess, your moans echoing in the dimly lit room. You felt more sensitive than usual, your mind hazy as you came without warning on Chan’s fingers, soaking the digits with your release.

You couldn’t believe you came so fast, heat rising to your cheeks in arousal and embarrassment. You looked up at Chan through the mirror, watching as he dropped the cloth around his hips.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, remembering how big he was. Your mouth drooled at the sight of the copious amount of precum leaking from his tip, the liquid dripping down his long shaft and into the pubic hair lining the base of his cock.

You needed to be filled by him and you needed it now.

Chan could read your thoughts, seeing the effect the aphrodisiac had on you. You were insatiable, needy, your body language giving it away, as you pleaded with your eyes to take you.

He would take care of you not to worry and breed you full with his cum. Chan reached down and picked you up by your thighs, spreading your legs effectively so your dripping pussy was on display.

You yelped at the action, the floor getting further away as he lifted you higher and shifted his grip on you.

“My sweet, my precious,” Chan said before bringing you down on his cock, the tip spreading you open as he lowered you inch by inch down his length.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as Chan speared you open on his cock, your eyes wide, watching in the mirror as your pussy sucked him in. Your entrance stretched so perfectly around him, holding him snug in place, almost as if it were welcoming him home.

You both groaned as he began to slide you up and down his cock, treating you like his own personal fleshlight. Your pussy squelched with each thrust, as your slick poured out of your entrance, the sinful noise echoing within the chamber.

Your threw your head back, resting on his chest as he continued to fuck you, your hands trying to find purchase on anything as he massaged your walls. His eyes were glued on you through the mirror, watching as your tits bounced, as his cock slid deeper and deeper each time he thrusted into you.

You were going to cum, the feeling creeping up on you quickly once again. You clenched down on his cock, letting out a moan as you let go, your walls spasming around him. Chan didn’t stop however, but continued to thrust up into you, his loud grunts vibrating against your head. You whimpered, feeling a overstimulated as Chan continued to spear you open, his grip tight on your thighs.

You were about to cry out when Chan let out a roar, loud enough that the whole castle would hear, and held you flush against his cock, his cum flooding your insides. You brought your eyes to the mirror, willing yourself to look at where you two were connected, watching as the thick substance ran down his cock and dripped down onto the floor.

“We’re not done yet,” Chan growled, walking you over to the large bed and throwing you down. With the withdrawal of his cock, both your fluids pooled onto the sheets, creating a large stain between your legs.

Chan shuffled closer to you and stopped at the edge of the bed, his hand pumping his cock while he stared down at you. You held eye contact with him, seeing him in all his glory, as his eyes pierced down at your small body. Your clit was throbbing and you still felt hot with need. You trailed your fingers down your belly, reaching down to play with your pussy, seeking to relieve the ache.

Chan watched as you pleasured yourself, his cock filling out again.

“Come here little one,” Chan cooed, beckoning you closer.

He grasped his cock and brought it to your mouth, the tip larger than your lips combined. He looked at you expectantly, his eyebrow raised as you looked at him with doe eyes.

“Suck,” he said, tapping his cock on your lips a few times.

You timidly opened your mouth as he placed the tip on your tongue, his precum coating the muscle. You were barely able to wrap your lips over the appendage, your mouth stretching to accommodate his length.

Chan smiled as he grabbed either side of your head, holding you against him before he began to thrust his hips, fucking his cock within your warm, wet mouth. You looked up at him, tears forming in your eyes as his tip kissed the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him.

Spit was dripping down the side of your mouth as you tried to keep up in time with his thrusts. Your breathing was shallow as his cock filled your mouth, the head of his cock blocking your airway, causing you to breathe through your nose. The lack of oxygen just made you throb even more, causing you walls to clamp around nothing. You moaned around his length, the vibrations causing Chan to growl, as he gripped your hair harder.

Obscene noises echoed off the walls as he fucked your mouth, tears steadily flowing from your eyes now at the onslaught. Your arousal was steadily dripping from your pussy, a string of the fluid leaking from your entrance, threatening to fall to the sheets below.

Your pussy pulsed, your clit ached, needing to be touched. You snaked your hand down to your pussy, intending to give some relief to your aching bud, but stopped immediately when Chan growled, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Naughty girl, no touching. Just take my cock,” he grunted. His thrust became more erratic, signaling he was close.

You silently rejoiced as your mouth started to ache from his cock repeatedly ramming into the back of your throat. Despite this, you were more turned on than ever at the feeling of being used by Chan.

Chan thrusted into your mouth hard once more before stilling, holding you against him, as his cum flooded your mouth, drops falling from the corners, dripping down your face, neck, and settling on your breasts. Once Chan came down from his high, he withdrew his cock and looked down at you, his hand reaching out to hold your chin.

“Look at you, completely ruined. So beautiful my love.” He gently stroked your chin, wiping some cum that was at the corner of your mouth. “Let me return the favor yeah?”

You looked up at Chan with lust filled eyes, dried tears on your cheeks, your face stained with his cum. Your body trembled at the promise, your pussy clenching in anticipation to be filled. You quickly shook your head, begging for him to take you and mark you however he wanted.

He smirked as he pushed you onto your back, your body bouncing slightly on the soft sheets. Chan lifted your legs, spreading and tucking them to your chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, he buried his face in your pussy, his tongue licking between your folds.

You squealed at the sudden attack, your hands gripping the sheets as he moaned and licked up your slick. He sucked your labia between his lips before pushing his tongue into your hole, savoring your taste as it poured onto the muscle.

Chan held you still as he tongue fucked your pussy, your walls clamping down around him as he brought you closer to your high, his nose brushing up against your clit, causing pleasure with each nudge.

Your breaths were shallow, as you panted at the pleasure, a tingling feeling spreading throughout your pelvis and belly. You bit your lip, drawing blood as you thrusted your hips against his face, riding his tongue.

“So good,” you whined, gripping the sheets tighter as you continued to rock your hips.

With a grunt, Chan licked a long stripe to your clit before sucking the nub within his warm mouth, the feeling causing you to gasp and let out a shaky moan. He sucked hard and fast, the coil in your belly tightening, begging to be released.

He smacked his lips as he pressed a kiss to your clit before sucking it within his mouth again. His tongue darted out to flick your bundle of nerves, the pleasure quickly becoming too much. You let out a loud whimper, as you squirted your release on Chan’s face, his tongue darting out to lick up every last drop.

He licked you clean, his grip not loosening until he was satisfied. He lifted his head and smiled, your release dripping from his chin.

“I love your sweet nectar love, you taste so damn good.”

You moaned at his words, your fingers going to your nipples, your back arching as you squeezed the buds. Chan smiled as he shuffled higher up on the bed.

He stroked your thighs before spreading them wide so he could settle between them. You stared up at him, his cock standing proud against his abdomen, the tip angry and red. The demeanor in Chan’s eyes changed as he stared down at you, watching as you played with your breasts.

It seemed as if he was ready to devour you, as if he was ready to breed you. He gripped your thighs again, this time bringing them to rest on his shoulders. With a breath, he sheathed himself inside you, both of you moaning at the feel of each other.

You could never get used to the stretch, the sensation mixed with pain and pleasure. You stared at Chan, your mouth open as he continued to push into you, before withdrawing his cock and snapping his hips into yours again.

He began to pound into you, his cock bullying you deep within. You moaned as you creamed around his cock, the white ring forming around his length as he fucked you. Your body felt like it was in overdrive, as your toes curls and your thighs spasmed around Chan. Your pussy throbbed as Chan spared you no mercy. Your clit dragged against the coarse hair lining his pubic area, sending the all too familiar warm feeling throughout your body.

Chan leaned further over you, allowing him to reach deeper within you, the ridges on his cock brushing against your upper walls just right. He whispered sweet nothings to you, watching as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your release hit you hard, your pussy spasming, trying to push him out with each rhythmic contraction.

“Na uh, love. Keep me in there. Gotta breed you love. Fill you up so good, you’ll have no choice but to carry my children.”

You mewled at the dirty talk, your mind empty as he continued to abuse your little hole. You felt that feeling build up within your core again, shock coursing through you at the fact you were about to cum again so soon.

“Fuck love, like you were made for me. You. Are. Mine.” He growled, accentuating each word with a thrust, before stilling, his cum painting your walls one last time.

Chan stayed buried within you, emptying every last drop of his cum, his eyes trained on your pussy, watching as the liquid seeped around his cock, down your ass, and pooled on the sheets.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, as he withdrew his cock from your hole, a flood of your release mixed with his gushing out.

“Shit love, we can’t have that can we? Gotta keep it in for me,” he cooed, taking a finger and gathering up he thick, white fluid, and stuffing it back in within your pussy.

You softly moaned at the intrusion, your energy spent. You finally started to feel normal again, the heat leaving your body, your heart rate slowing down. You felt like you could breathe once more as you took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air.

Chan smiled and got off the bed, the door to the room opening as the maids timidly shuffled into the room. They carefully helped you up and into the bath, while others stripped the bed of the soiled sheets, placing fresh ones on.

You were in a daze, as you slowly came down from the clouds, the fuzzy feeling slowly dissipating as you were bathed once more within the lavender bath. The maids helped you into another gown and helped you back into bed, Chan already waiting for you.

You snuggled into his large frame, your eyes drooping in exhaustion. Chan cradled you to him, his arms rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You decided in that moment, in your post coital brain, that you were happy to have taken this journey to another realm, to where you met Chan. Now you were queen, nobody being able to come after you, not even your father, Odin himself.

You quickly succumbed to sleep, your dreams filled with the future you and Chan would build together, feeling at peace at last.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @seungfl0wer @velvetmoonlght

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