#dark! fic

[sadesluvr]

Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

After disobeying him, Lex gives you a rare second chance to prove yourself.

w/c: 3.6k

warnings: smut (p in v). gunplay. lex being lex (unhinged). implied but also obviously toxic relationship. kinda dark?

All you had to do was stand and look pretty. 

That was the simplest requirement for being Lex Luthor’s girlfriend. Whenever there was an event, he’d personally take you shopping; carting you around different luxury brand stores to make sure the pair of you looked like a match. Colours, fabrics, labels – everything had to be to perfection. It was all for appearances, just as everything with Lex was. 

You weren’t exactly like his past playthings, other than being youthful and vibrant. You’d had a relatively flourishing career in publicity (and a knack for public relations) – independently, nonetheless – which had been how you’d come across Luthor in the first place. Apparently he’d been ‘impressed’ by your work on a summit he’d attended and had his team sought you out. Ironically, despite all this he’d still found a way to insult you, labelling your work “mostly fluff”. 

Three catered events later, Lex had asked you to become his permanent PR executive, willing to fire the current employees on the spot. All you’d had to do was give him your word. 

Declining the offer had caused instantaneous chaos. 

Lex was not a man used to hearing the word ‘no’. Subsequently, he took his bruised ego and did what any rational human would – blacklisting you from the best paying clients, strategically and considerably knocking down your income. At the end of the day, bills were to be paid and rent came along monthly, leaving you with no choice but to beg for the position. 

On his lips had been just a hint of a smug smile, all done whilst sipping his coffee and flicking through a tablet as if nothing had ever happened. Your name had rolled off his tongue like butter as he clasped his hands together. 

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses, though I’m rather embarrassed that it took so long…Go and tell Chandler and Sarah that they’re fired. I’d do it now but I have a far more important meeting to attend,” 

“You want me to fire them?” 

“— I suggest you rip the proverbial Band-Aid off sooner rather than later, it’s not a good look to your colleagues that you can’t be upfront with them.” 

Things had a way of happening, and once Lex had acquired you as an employee, he’d thought it best you become a girlfriend. Any questions about your job was now answered with an “indefinite hiatus” (Lex’s words of course), a tight lipped smile on your end, and an even tighter grip around your waist. 

Most women dreamed of quitting their jobs to be with a rich man who provided for them, right? You should’ve been nothing but grateful. 

So, here you were at an awards ceremony for the most ‘impactful’ people of Metropolis. Dangling off Lex’s arm as you always did, nodding, smiling and making the few bits of small talk you were allowed to do. 

Naturally, there were people there that you knew. But there was one in particular you hadn’t seen in a while…for fairly obvious reasons. Perry White, from the Daily Planet. 

“Go and get us another drink, would you?” Lex said softly, nodding his head to the man opposite him. They’d been engaged in conversation all night. “A whiskey and a champagne. Be careful, I know how you can get after you’ve had a few.” 

On the surface it was friendly banter between a couple. But what Lex was really saying was don’t embarrass him by tripping on the stairs. 

Nodding, you went in search of refreshments, barely noticing Perry as you did, until he called out your name. Glancing around, you figured you were a safe distance from Lex, ducking your head to speak to him. 

“Perry…It’s been ages.” 

“I could say the same to you,” he said knowingly, casting a somewhat disapproving look around. “How you keeping, kid?” 

You blinked. 

“…Just going through a momentary blip, I swear,” you said vaguely before swiftly changing the subject. “How’s the team? Did any of the interns come back?” 

Even under the hushed panic of your voice, there was a clear intrigue.  

“We’re making it work,” he shrugs. “We’ve been getting real reach with our online content. Olsen’s here too, but he’s technically on the clock.“ 

“Still a ladies man?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Where did he go last? I’ll see if I can hunt him down --”  

Perry made a face. 

“— I suspect you won’t be seeing him anytime soon. Luthor’s at your three o’clock.” 

With wide eyes you turned around, gaze finding its way to the balcony where Lex was stood by the railing, knuckles white from his vice grip. Piercing blue eyes were locked onto your own, mind likely racing at the connection between you and the man. He wore a smug smile, which to anyone looked reassuring, waving you over with the palm of his hand. The room suddenly felt small, shrinking, lungs squeezing together as you tried to compose yourself, gasping for breath. 

You were fucked. 

The limo ride back was quiet. You could hear every click of the hand break, every whirr of the air conditioning and felt every ounce of Lex’s silence.  

Sat next to you, he was fixated on a tablet, the screen lighting up his features in an otherwise dark car, flashing between white and green. He hadn’t looked at you once.  

Fiddling with the hem of your dress, you tugged at the seatbelt, finding it rather constricting over the torso. The majority of the time Lex was one to fly into rage, making this apparent stillness all the more uncomfortable. 

Swallowing, you opened your mouth to break the ice, ultimately unable to find the words. 

It wasn’t long before letters that formed the word ‘LuthorCorp’ were reflected in the window, looking over the car like a fiend and signalling your impending doom. Everybody knew what happened if you crossed Lex Luthor. You would just become another in a long, seemingly endless line of floating squares in the pocket dimension of all the people who’d wronged him. 

The car screeched to a halt, and Lex jumped out almost immediately, discarding the tablet on the car seat. He knew you’d follow. You had to. 

Perhaps was time to start begging. 

Popping the door open, you began to call after him, brain a flurry as you tried to make it to the elevator before it closed. His demeanour was tight, right up to his lips; stretched into a thin pink line, and his brows were ever so slightly furrowed.  

The light was much brighter now, and with the mirrors around the elevator shaft you could see the reality of the situation – you pleading to an emotionless Lex for your life back. The very situation you’d been in over a year ago when you were weeks out from losing your apartment.  

Like any man in his position, Lex liked the power he had over anyone, and in this case, it was you.  

“Lex…” you began, “I’m sorry, I made a mistake…” 

“I don’t like it when you speak to the reporters without me,” he replied simply, his gaze fixed on the buttons. With every floor passed it changed colour. Biting your lip, you anticipated where it would stop. The 40th floor was the penthouse. The 39th was his infamous office. If you could just reach the top — 

 “As a matter of fact, I don’t like it when you speak at these things at all.” 

“All I said was hello…he was an old friend; it would be rude not to —“ 

“What’s rude is your blatant disrespect for my rules,” he said, is voice tapering into a slight hum at the end.  “It’s such a shame. You’ve been my favourite of the lot.” 

You knew what that meant.  

The elevator pinged and the room opened, the bright lights of Metropolis below illuminating his wooden desk and the various computers at the centre of the room. The absence of employees was uncanny, lending the room an almost deadly quality. Even in the darkness, the foreboding turquoise light of the portal stuck out, its circle a ring of hell.  

With Ultraman seemingly appearing from nowhere, you braced yourself for a firm grip to your arm…but it didn’t come.  

Instead, he pulled out a sleek silver revolver and placed it in Lex’s hands as if it were a crown jewel, with the bald man giving the masked individual a small nod in acknowledgment. Ultraman stepped away, but he didn’t leave. 

Your head spun, the weight of the situation now dawning on you like a horrid twilight. Lex was never above resorting to murder, but you’d never imagined he’d do it to a girlfriend...or you for that matter. It seemed like an irrational punishment for what you ultimately felt was a minor misdemeanour, but for all of Lex’s genius he was never rational to begin with.  

“Lex, please,” you begged again, hesitant to close the gap between you. He didn’t look at you once. He seemed to be fiddling with the rod. “It was just a silly conversation. We didn’t even get past hello --” 

You found yourself glancing over at Ultraman, hoping that he could see the desperation in your eyes, and find the slightest bit of humanity within him to intervene. But deep down, you had a feeling it wouldn’t come. 

“If you haven’t learnt from tonight…I suggest you give your boyfriend some attention for once,” Lex finally spoke, drawing your focus back to him. He hadn’t flinched an inch; the formation of his suit still as crisp and kempt as it had been when he’d left earlier that evening. 

 “Since you like being friendly with common folk and gambling with my reputation, we’re going to play a little game of chance.” 

He pointed to his chair with the gun. 

“Sit.” 

“Lex —“ 

He cocked a brow at your defiance. Lex rarely gave second chances, if ever. Nodding, you hurriedly moved to sit, dress sweeping like a cape at the motion. The man walked behind you, leaving you to stare out onto the city. Most people were asleep, watching a movie, throwing a party – either way they were free, totally unbeknownst to your captivity.  

Like a shrew in a vulture's nest, he circled you, luxury cologne flooding your nostrils so that you couldn’t smell the pure iron of a semi-loaded gun.   

The cylinder made a whirring sound as he spun it, and with a pointed flick of his wrist it clicked to a stop. Slowly, but surely, he pointed the barrel to your upper back, right between your shoulder blades. The contact was cold against your flushed skin, and you were almost certain that Lex could feel your heart race right against the object. 

“Perry White…” he announced, and your eyes widened at the mention. Of course Lex had done his research. That was what the tablet on the ride home was for.  

“Editor-in-Chief of none other than The Daily Planet, which you should know are my biggest critics…How do you know him?” 

Swiping your tongue over your bottom lip, you look a small, ragged breath before answering. 

“Like I said, he was just a friend, a colleague, even –“ 

He dug the gun deeper into your skin. 

“— The Daily Planet received some money for an intern scheme a few years back. They asked me to do some publicity to showcase their philanthropy – it was a small scale thing. Perry was just a mentor, and I dropped by a couple times.” 

Lex paused, lowering his head so that his lips were by your ear, a clothed arm brushing against your skin as you were centimetres apart. He was close, almost too close. 

He didn’t say anything when he pulled the trigger. 

The gun made a dull clicking sound, and you could’ve sworn that your skeleton leapt out of your skin, bracing for impact. But it didn’t come. You’d passed the 1/6 chance of death. 

There was barely time to question his judgement when he asked a follow up, spinning the cylinder yet again. 

Click. 

“Daily Planet…” he mused, dangling the gun in his hand. His designer shoes tapped along the floor as he continued to pace the short distance around you, leisurely tracing along your shoulders with the object.  

He did it for a few short moments before he slid the barrel under the thin strap of your dress, guiding it off your shoulders and down your arms. The act was sensual, scary…almost a turn on. Judging by the slight prominence in his pants, apparently it was for Lex too. 

“…There’s at least over 60 people employed there. I want to know who you were speaking with.” 

“I spoke to everyone. It’s best practice.” 

Their identities were just a click away. 

Tightening his grip on the gun, he aimed it at your neck. 

“Specifics. Otherwise I’ll get him to squeeze it out of you.” 

He nodded his head in the direction of Ultraman, who stood motionless.  

You cleared your throat. 

“It was only really the gossip columnist – it was always a bit of fun between us if I gave her titbits,” you said sincerely. Briefly casting your gaze to the floor, you noted that you were just left rather dishevelled; one strap still secure on your shoulder and the other dangling down, showing off the tips of your strapless lingerie. Exposed. Seemingly making you more honest. 

“…I haven’t spoken to her since, I swear. Most of my contact was with upper management and HR. It was their idea.” 

You couldn’t have. Lex had trackers everywhere. 

“I’ll bet,” he sneered, tracing the gun along your neck, moving down the top of your spine. You could feel the dense rim of the barrel almost massaging your skin. “Gossip. So trivial. Fitting, when your IQ doesn’t account for much all anyone can turn to is mindless drivel.” 

Almost effortlessly, he spun you around in the desk chair, the swivel somehow leaving you partially stunned. You were now face to face with him, making eye contact as his arms were either side of you. If it wasn’t clear before, there was no escape. 

Lex seemed to be amused now, the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. He’d stripped off his blazer, rolling up his sleeves to his forearms. Like a succubus he inhaled every last one of your laboured breaths, biting down on his cheek in relief as he pulled the gun, this time aimed right between your breasts. 

A dull click. 

No bullet. 

Lex sucked in a breath, chuckling as he shook his head and withdrew the revolver. 

“This is going better than I expected,” he hummed. “This is what I like about you. Not once have you ever flinched under pressure.” 

You ignored the fact that you were scared out of your mind. He was of course talking about your ‘official’ tenure as his PR exec.  

When you’d been working independently you’d been a strong, all-rounded career woman. Everybody was treated firmly, but fair – and Lex had been no different. You challenged him when no one else did, and that was why he’d relentlessly pursued you…and was now systematically breaking you down.  

“Lex,” you began, finding it within you to speak out of turn. “I can tell you whatever little information I know, just —“ 

“— Don’t tell me to put the gun down,” he said sharply, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny. “You’ve been squirming in your seat ever since you sat down – you’re enjoying this as much as I have.” 

You couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your loins. 

“Stand up. Palms on the table.” 

You obeyed, back at a slight angle but perfectly straight as you pressed your palms against the hard wood, fingertips ever so slightly clammy.  

“Good.” He praised. 

Lex wedged his foot between your legs, sharp leather shoes digging at your skin as he kicked your legs apart. 

“Perfect.” He finished, his voice a whisper in your ear. Sliding himself behind you, he trapped you against the desk with his erection on your thigh. His body was surprisingly warm. 

“Now here’s the money shot,” Lex smirked, raising his voice as he flicked the cylinder with considerable force.  

 Another click.  

This time, he pressed the ice cold gun to your temple.  

“What do they know about Superman?” 

Now was time for genuine panic. 

“What?”  

“Don’t pull those dead eyes,” he scoffed knowingly. “You know that publication has been unfairly biased against me to date. They’re anything but impartial – and that one reporter, you know his name – is at the helm of it.” 

“Lex, think about this,” you bit back. “I’m just an external agency, I know nothing about how they get their stories —“ 

“— Before me you were practically a glorified socialite. You have connections to almost everybody in an 100 mile radius. There are people you know that I wouldn’t have even bothered to do business with. You would know something.” 

“I don’t!” 

With one hand holding a gun to your head, he used the other to bunch up your dress, messily dangling the fabric around your hips and using the edge of the desk like a pin.  

You were unable to hold back a gasp when Lex slid his fingers into your panties; lithe digits rubbing against your slippery folds, threatening to push them deeper. He seemed to laugh in pleasure. 

“Say it. I want you to say his name.” 

You didn’t answer immediately, prompting the man to push his fingers into you. All bets were off when he began to move, pumping them in and out and creating an obscene squelching sound. 

“…C-Clark Kent…” 

“Clark Kent,” he repeated, adjusting the gun as you moved against him. “The only man on the planet who can get an interview with Superman. Surely he was at that intern celebration, correct?” 

The gun pressed deeper into your skull. 

“Yes, he was—“ 

You sighed; in pleasure, in exhaustion…you weren’t sure. All you could think about were the way Lex’s fingers skilfully moved across your cunt, finding your clit and rubbing against it in small circles. Your mind practically went blank as you heard him undo his zipper with one hand and pulling out his cock. 

It was warm, slightly slimy with precum against your ass.  

“You know very well I don’t like to repeat myself. You should anticipate my next demand.” 

Lex entered you, swollen nub intruding your hole. He held you there, the revolver still firmly in position as he locked his other hand around your body. He didn’t give you the gratification of a kiss, instead nuzzled you, feeling the little prickles where he’d shaved.  Shortly, he began to move, making shallow strokes. 

“Clark – he was there. He was happy for them…” you said, trying to form the words. “When I met him we only made small talk. I was at reception and he offered to take me to HR directly. He gave me coffee…” 

Lex’s grip tightened on the trigger at the fact.  

“It was around the time of his first article with Superman. I told him well done and that he was lucky to get a chance —“ 

The gun made a rattling sound. 

“-- All he said was that they were friends – I figured he was joking…” 

You could’ve sworn his hand was trembling. After a prolonged moment of judgement he loosened his finger from the trigger. Lex quickened his pace, bucking his hips so that your ass collided with his trousers and creating a muffled slapping sound.  

His one-handed grip tightened on your body, deep enough to hurt in the morning but also drawing you into him; like he was going to consume your thoughts and use them as his own. He didn’t voice his pleasure, but you could hear his heavy breaths. 

You, on the other hand, were rather loud, relieved that Lex had seemingly caved. With your palms still trembling, you could feel your stomach turn with a familiar heat, ankles buckling under the pressure. If you weren’t sandwiched between Lex and the desk, you certainly would’ve fallen. 

Lex was fucking you good; in fact he’d never fucked you like this before. He seemed to agree, heavy whistles coming from his nose as his thrusts grew sloppy. Breathily, you moaned his name as you came around his cock. He twitched inside you as your walls squeezed around him, though you were unable to enjoy the full height of your orgasm as Lex abruptly pulled out of you. A fraction of a second later he was spilling all over your thighs, white fluid messily painting a section of your navy dress. It was perhaps the only time he was uncoordinated.  

He stepped out from behind you, and you could feel yourself wanting to sink into the chair, perhaps maybe through all 39 floors entirely. The revolver had never left his hand, not once through the entire ordeal. 

Shock hadn’t kicked in yet, but it would. 

Sniffing, he gathered himself together, swiftly removing the bullet and placing the gun into his trouser pocket.  

He cast you a look.  

In fact, he seemed to be admiring you. 

“Steve will drive you home. Tomorrow morning someone will come to get that cleaned,” he announced, nodding at your spoiled dress. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m giving you permission to return to your job...at least temporarily,” 

Folding your arms around your body, you cocked your head. It was suddenly rather cold in the office. 

“I want you to dig, pry and claw at every single source you have across this city. I need their reputation, their credibility ruined. I want you to destroy The Daily Planet, and I don’t care if you have to do it from the inside out – starting with that miserable reporter.” 

s/o to @grackleshells for the post with the concept!

[darkkdramaficswriter]

Playdate

Paining: dark! Baek Dongha x female reader x dark! Do seongmok 

Warnings: NONCON, p in v, unprotected sex, forced oral (m), fingering, threesome, name calling, choking (maybe more I'm too lazy too add)

Summary: Your first mistake was saying yes to a date with Baek Dongha. Your second? Realizing too late just how dangerous he—and his friend—really are.

Tag list: @mirwors

Pt2 here

(A/n: this is for the anon who asked me to write for them. Hope you enjoy it!! Like and reblog guys!!)

Read at your own risk!!! Sensitive content ahead!!

The street was quiet, almost too quiet, when you spotted someone standing ahead. He was tall, sharp-featured, and carried himself with a quiet confidence that made your stomach twist. You didn’t know him, had never seen him before, but something about him made your skin crawl. Your instincts screamed at you to be careful—bullies often hung around here.

“Hi… can I talk to you for a second?” His voice was calm, friendly, almost disarmingly so. He smiled, and it felt genuine at first, though your gut warned otherwise.

You froze, wide-eyed. “Uh… sure?”

He tilted his head, pretending to hesitate. “Would you… like to go on a date with me? I’m Baek Dongha.”

Your breath caught. You had no reason to trust him, but there was something in the way he smiled, the easy way he carried himself… and somehow, that made your chest flutter. Hesitation bubbled up—you’d always been cautious around strangers.

Sensing it, he added softly, “It’s okay if you need time. Maybe… can I at least have your number?” He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and holding it out to you.

You typed it in, cautiously, curiosity mixed with unease.

“Can I have your name, then?” he asked lightly. The truth is he didn't need to know your name. He already knows your name, your address and about your family.His tone was easygoing, but his eyes lingered a little too long, as if memorizing every detail. You whispered it nervously.

“That’s a pretty name,” he said. And though the praise warmed your cheeks, your instincts pricked again—something about him didn’t feel right.

“Okay then… I’ll see you around.” Dongha said your name slowly, like it was a treasure on his tongue.

You were still stunned, but you managed a timid smile before turning away, your steps quickening toward home. You didn’t see the grin vanish from his face the moment you disappeared around the corner.

From the shadows, Seongmok unfolded his arms. He had been there the whole time, silent, leaning against the brick wall like a shadow himself. His eyes followed you until you were gone, unreadable, calculating.

Dongha’s laugh broke the silence. “Did I play the role perfectly?” His tone was mocking, manic.

“Convincing enough,” Seongmok replied quietly. His voice was steady, almost calm compared to Dongha’s. “She believed you. That’s all that matters.”

Dongha smirked, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He exhaled smoke like it was victory. “Look—I already got her number.” He waved the phone carelessly before Seongmok’s eyes. “She’s so innocent. Can’t wait to get my hands on her.”

Seongmok glanced at the screen, his expression barely shifting. “Don’t rush,” he murmured, tone sharp under its softness. “If you push too fast, she’ll slip away. And we can’t have that.”

Dongha laughed again, reckless and eager, but Seongmok only looked back toward the empty street where you had walked minutes before. His lips curved into the faintest smile, though his eyes stayed cold.

“We’ll take our time,” he said. “She won’t see it coming.”

[♡]

You were hunched over your desk, pencil tapping against your notes, when your phone buzzed. The screen lit up with an unknown number.

Your stomach tightened. Unknown numbers usually meant trouble. But when you opened the message, your nerves softened.

Dongha: hi

Dongha: It's me, Dongha. Are you still awake? What are you doing?

You blinked. Oh—him. The tall boy from earlier. The one who’d asked you out. You quickly saved his number before typing a reply.

You: hi

You: Yeah, I’m studying.

His response came fast.

Dongha: you must be a really hardworking student :)

Dongha: Did you… think about what I asked you today?

Your heart skipped. Heat spread across your cheeks as you stared at the glowing screen. He seemed so fun, so normal. And you were lonely. Always lonely. No friends at school, no one to talk to. Maybe this was your chance. Maybe dating him would finally teach you how to belong.

You bit your lip before typing:

You: my answer is yes. I’ll go on a date with you.

Almost instantly. His reply came.

Dongha: are you fr?? 😳 I think my heart’s gonna burst out. How about this weekend?

You smiled at his reaction, warmth filling your chest.

You: sure ; )

It was a little bold for you, sending a wink emoji, and the shyness hit right after. You tossed your phone onto the bed, covering your face with your hands. But curiosity got the best of you when the phone buzzed again.

Dongha: 💘

You couldn’t help it. You smiled.

[♡]

The weekend came quicker than you thought. You stood in front of your closet, biting your lip. Skirt or pants? He seemed like the type who liked skirts. After scrolling through YouTube tutorials on “first date prep,” you did your best to copy what you could — a little makeup, carefully chosen clothes. When you finally looked in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. A small, satisfied smile tugged at your lips.

“Wait right there!”

Your mother’s sudden voice made you jump. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide at the sight of you.

“Where are you going?” she asked, shock clear in her tone. She had bought you countless pretty clothes before, but you almost never wore them. Not unless she forced you to.

You hesitated, then admitted softly, “Mom… I have a date.”

Her brows shot up, then softened into a smile. “You look so pretty. Go, have fun.” She reached out to fix a stray strand of your hair, her heart swelling. She knew how shy and introverted you were, how often you held yourself back. She only hoped this boy was a good one.

But he wasn’t. Or maybe they weren't.

You spotted Dongha waiting by the park entrance, hands shoved into his pockets. His head lifted the moment he saw you, and for once, he was speechless. His mouth parted slightly at the sight of your bare legs. But he wasn’t alone.

“Hi,” you breathed out nervously, glancing at the boy standing beside him. The stranger’s sharp gaze lingered on you, quiet but heavy.

“Hi,” Dongha said quickly, a smile breaking across his face. “You look beautiful. You always have been.” His eyes drank you in.

You shifted slightly, lowering your voice. “Dongha… who’s this?”

Dongha glanced between you and his friend. “Oh—this is my best friend, Seongmok. He was bored, so I asked him to tag along. Hope you don’t mind.”

You didn’t want to seem rude, so you forced a small smile. “It’s fine. Nice to meet you, Seongmok.”

Seongmok nodded once, his silence saying more than words.

“We should catch a movie,” Dongha announced, a smirk tugging at his lips. He exchanged a knowing look with Seongmok before turning back to you. “I already bought tickets—for the three of us.”

You blinked but said nothing, trailing after them as you all walked to the cinema.

“I hope you picked the right movie,” you teased weakly.

“Don’t worry,” Dongha winked. “I chose the perfect one.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away.

Inside the theater, you ended up seated between them—Dongha on your right, Seongmok on your left.

“Why don’t you take off your jacket?” Dongha coaxed softly, fingers tugging lightly at your sleeve.

“It’s fine,” you smiled nervously.

“Come on—it’s hot in here. You’ll feel better.” He tugged again, playful but insistent. Finally, you gave in, slipping it off.

Both boys’ eyes flickered to your bare arms. They bit back their smirks, their gazes lingering too long before they turned back to the screen.

“See? Much better,” Dongha murmured, his hand grazing your skin. Goosebumps prickled along your arm, and you nodded faintly.

The previews ended. The movie began. Your stomach dropped—explicit scenes filled the screen. You fidgeted in your seat, cheeks burning, your legs pressing tightly together.

And on either side of you, Dongha and Seongmok sat in silence, enjoying every second of your reaction.

The theater was dim, the screen casting flickering light across your face. You tried to focus, but the film was too much—bold, explicit, and overwhelming. Your heart pounded with every scene.

On your right, Dongha leaned close, his breath brushing your ear. “Didn’t expect this, huh?” His tone was teasing, almost smug.

You shook your head quickly, embarrassed.

On your left, Seongmok hadn’t said a word since the lights dimmed. But you could feel him—his gaze heavy at the corner of your vision. He wasn’t watching the movie. He was watching you.

Your hands fidgeted in your lap until, slowly, Seongmok moved. His arm brushed the shared armrest, the faintest contact against your hand. You stiffened, glancing at him, but his eyes stayed forward, expression unreadable. It almost seemed accidental. Almost.

Dongha’s hand slid along your arm again, deliberately this time. “You’re so tense,” he whispered with a chuckle. “Relax. It’s just a movie.”

Your cheeks burned hotter. You nodded, even though your body only grew stiffer.

Another scene lit the screen. You swallowed, pressing your legs tighter together. And that was when you felt it: Seongmok shifting beside you, his knee bumping gently against yours. He didn’t move it away. He didn’t even look at you. His stillness made it worse—like he wanted you to notice, wanted you to squirm in the silence.

Dongha laughed quietly at your reaction, clearly entertained. But when you risked another glance at Seongmok, you caught the smallest curl of his lips. Not loud. Not playful. Just a quiet smirk, like he was already two steps ahead of Dongha.

Trapped between them, you sank deeper into your seat, wishing your pounding heartbeat wasn’t so loud.

Why did Dongha have to choose this movie? Scene after scene filled the screen with heat, too much for your first date. Maybe he wasn’t aware. But then again… neither of the boys reacted much. They sat calm, eyes glued to the screen, like this was normal. Maybe you were overthinking. Maybe you were the weird one.

Another explicit scene flashed across the screen. That was when you felt it—Dongha’s hand brushing your bare thigh. Your chest tightened, pulse spiking. It pressed closer to your inner thigh, warm and heavy. He didn’t look at you. His attention remained glued to the screen, calm and unnerving.

You felt Seongmok on your other side. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t moved a muscle, but you could feel his gaze. Not on the screen. On you. You could sense it—silent, deliberate, measuring.

You pressed your small hand against Dongha’s. “Dongha…” you whispered, voice trembling.

His fingers dug into your skin, tighter now. You twisted in your seat, legs pressing together, body burning with shame.

Seongmok’s head tilted just slightly, watching, lips curved faintly. He said nothing, but his presence pressed down on you. He was calm. Unmoving. Dangerous in a way that makes your stomach clench.

“Please…” you whispered again, desperate.

Dongha hummed softly, eyes still on the screen. His smirk was faint, sharp, dangerous. “Shhh,” he murmured, squeezing your thigh once more. And through it all, Seongmok’s gaze never wavered—quiet, cold, calculating, a predator who didn’t need to touch to make you feel trapped.

The credits rolled. You exhaled, slumping in your seat, relieved that the ordeal was over. Your cheeks still burned, and your body tingled from every touch and glance during the film.

Dongha leaned back, stretching lazily, still smirking at your flushed face. “Not too bad, huh? I think you handled it well,” he teased.

You tried to offer a small smile, heart still racing.

From the other side, Seongmok finally spoke, his voice soft and measured. “You seemed… tense.” His gaze met yours, calm and steady, but the weight of it made your stomach twist.

“I—I’m fine,” you stammered, glancing at Dongha, hoping he would save you. But Dongha was busy brushing his fingers through his hair, completely unconcerned.

Seongmok’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said quietly, leaning just slightly closer. “But I watch carefully. People… notice things. I notice things about you.”

Your pulse jumped. Something about the way he spoke—so gentle, so deliberate—made your body freeze. You wanted to step back, but your legs felt rooted to the seat.

Dongha leaned over, playful as ever, whispering, “Don’t let him scare you. He’s not that bad.”

Seongmok didn’t flinch. He only tilted his head toward you, eyes sharp, observing. “Scared… or aware? There’s a difference,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your fingers fidgeted in your lap. Between them, you felt… trapped. Dongha with his bold, teasing energy, and Seongmok with his quiet, calculated presence, like a shadow that followed your every move.

And somewhere deep in your chest, a mix of fear and curiosity settled. You knew you couldn’t escape—not yet.

“Wanna go bowling?” Dongha asked as you walked between them. The date didn’t quite feel like a normal date—but somehow, it was thrilling. And Seongmok didn’t feel like a third wheel. He had his own quiet way of being involved, observing your every move.

“I’ve never played before,” you admitted shyly, twisting the strap of your bag.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you,” Dongha said, his smile soft and encouraging. Behind you, Dongha and Seongmok exchanged wordless glances, a silent understanding passing between them.

The bowling alley was familiar to both of them—you could tell by the way they moved with ease. But something in the back of your mind whispered caution. You’d heard rumors that this was a spot where bullies hung out… could they be part of that group? They were tall, muscular… capable of causing trouble. You swallowed hard and pushed the thought aside.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Dongha’s voice pulled you back from your spiraling thoughts. You felt Seongmok’s hawk-like gaze following you too, sharp and unyielding.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, gulping, trying to steady your racing heart.

Dongha handed you a bowling ball, showing you how to hold it properly. “See? Like this. Bend your knees a little, balance it here…” His fingers brushed yours as he guided your hand over the ball. You felt heat creep up your neck.

“Okay… got it,” you murmured, nervously shifting your weight.

As you bent slightly to line up your first roll, you noticed a subtle intensity in their gazes. Dongha’s eyes followed your movements with more focus than needed, soft smirk tugging at his lips. And Seongmok, calm and unreadable, observed from the other side, sharp and calculating.

Your skirt shifted slightly as you bent down, and you felt yourself flushing, suddenly self-conscious. Both boys’ eyes seemed to linger a fraction too long. Your heart pounded—part embarrassment, part something else you didn’t understand.

“Alright, your turn!” Dongha encouraged, stepping back and letting you take the shot. His smirk stayed, teasing but controlled, while Seongmok’s quiet presence pressed on you, watching every twitch of your body.

You swung the ball nervously, trying to ignore the intensity of their gazes, and let it roll down the lane.

You watched the ball roll down the lane, hitting a few pins. Dongha clapped softly, leaning close. “Not bad for your first try.” His voice was light, teasing—but the warmth of his proximity made your cheeks burn.

“Thanks…” you murmured, glancing up at him.

Seongmok stood quietly beside you, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t speak, but his gaze was fixed, sharp and deliberate. You could feel the weight of it on your shoulder, like an invisible hand pressing down. Every small movement you made, every twitch, every adjustment of your skirt, didn’t escape his notice.

Dongha handed you the ball again, guiding your fingers with that same deliberate touch. “Here, let me show you something. Bend just a little more like this.” His hand brushed yours as he adjusted your grip, fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary. Goosebumps prickled along your arm.

You bent down, aligning the ball with the lane. Both their eyes followed your movements—Dongha’s bold and hungry, Seongmok’s quiet and calculated. Your skirt shifted slightly, and your face flamed with heat. You swallowed nervously, your heart thudding.

“Focus on the pins,” Dongha whispered, leaning close. You could feel his shoulder almost brushing yours. “You’ve got this.”

Seongmok’s presence was different—still, silent, but somehow more intense. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel him measuring you, studying every reaction. Your body tensed, partly from embarrassment, partly from the awareness that both of them were watching you in ways that made your stomach flutter and your nerves coil.

You released the ball. It rolled straight down the lane, hitting seven pins.

Dongha whistled softly. “See? I knew you could do it.” He leaned even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You’re amazing at this.”

Seongmok tilted his head slightly, lips curving faintly, never breaking eye contact for long. That calm, unreadable expression made your skin prickle.

You realized you were trapped between them—Dongha playful and physical, Seongmok quiet and watchful. You didn’t know which was more unnerving, which more thrilling. All you knew was that your heart was racing, and every subtle glance and touch was making it impossible to think clearly.

“It’s getting late. I should get home now,” you said nervously, glancing at the time on your phone.

“No need to worry, sweetheart. I’ll get you home safe and sound.” Dongha’s smile was smooth, but hearing that nickname slip out of his mouth made a shiver run down your spine.

More and more intimidating figures were entering the bowling alley, and you quickly slipped on your jacket—the one he had made you take off earlier.

“Please… I really want to go home now,” you pleaded softly. You hadn’t expected Seongmok to come along too, silently tagging behind the two of them. The date wasn’t a total disaster, but it didn’t feel like a normal one either.

“Your home isn’t far from here,” Dongha said casually, words dropping like ice. Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t told him where you lived. How could he know?

Both boys quickly chastised themselves internally, hoping you wouldn’t catch on.

“What?” you gulped, hugging your jacket tighter. The night felt darker, colder.

“We’re walking you home… otherwise, you’d have called a taxi,” Dongha said, chuckling nervously, masking the panic behind his words. You nodded, too naive to question it further.

“Yeah… I live around here. It’s not far,” you added. Both boys exhaled in relief, silently thanking their luck.

“Oh… we’re already here,” you said, spotting your house.

“Wait…” Dongha’s voice dragged slightly, reluctant to let the night end. He wanted to see you again, to make you his. And Seongmok… he also liked you, though he buried it behind that quiet, envious stare.

“When will I get to see you again?” Dongha drawled, leaning over, tall and imposing. His eyes locked on yours.

“Really?” you blinked, caught off guard.

He cupped your face in his hands, searching your eyes for confirmation. You gave him the subtle nod, the quiet signal for yes.

And then he leaned in, pressing his lips gently to yours. The kiss was soft at first, then more insistent, smudging your lipstick. You gasped, heart racing, trying to catch your breath.

Seongmok, standing silently beside you, clenched his fists and gritted his jaw, his calm mask barely hiding the envy burning inside him.

[♡]

On Monday, the moment you stepped into your classroom, you felt it—eyes on you. Whispered conversations died down as you walked by. At first, you tried to ignore it. Maybe it wasn’t about you. You had always been quiet, invisible, the shy, introverted student who no one really noticed.

But as you slid into your seat, the stares pressed down on you like a weight. Whispers floated through the air, faint but unmistakable.

Have you done something wrong?

Did something embarrassing happen on Friday?

What did you do last week?

Your mind scrambled, trying to search for a memory that might explain it. Nothing came to mind. You had been invisible all along—so why now? Why were all eyes on you?

You tried to push the thoughts away and focus on your work.

But during break, it became impossible to ignore. You were about to enter the classroom after lunch when you froze at the sound of your classmates gossiping. Your hand hovered over the door handle, heart pounding, as voices slipped clearly through the slightly open door.

“I still can’t believe it! She’s dating that bully,” one whispered, disbelief dripping from every word.

“Who? Y/n? Yeah, she looked so innocent… is she dating one of them, or both?” another giggled.

Your stomach dropped. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest.

“Seriously, nobody even talks to her anymore. Now she’s completely an outcast.”

You swallowed hard, hands gripping the door tightly. Everything felt heavier, darker. You had hoped the date would be just… a simple, fun thing. But now it seemed like the whole school knew—and judged you for it.

You pushed the door open, trying to act normal, but your fingers trembled against the handle. The room fell quieter than it should’ve been for break time. Dozens of eyes flicked toward you, then away just as quickly, like you were something they weren’t supposed to look at but couldn’t resist sneaking glances at.

You slid back into your seat, forcing your breathing to stay even. The clock ticked above the board. Papers shuffled. Whispers buzzed like gnats in your ears.

They know. They all know.

You stared hard at your desk, nails digging into the wood. You told yourself it was fine, that maybe they weren’t talking about you—but then a muffled laugh bubbled from the corner, followed by the word “bully”.

Your stomach twisted.

You had always been invisible. The quiet one. The one no one spared a second thought for. Now every look seemed sharp enough to cut. They weren’t seeing you. They were seeing her: the stupid girl who went on a date with someone everyone else already knew was dangerous.

Did you really not notice?

Was it written all over him, and you just… ignored it?

The questions wouldn’t stop. You remembered the bowling alley—the way the other boys had nodded at Dongha and Seongmok like they owned the place, the way Dongha had slipped and said your home wasn’t far when you’d never told him where you lived. All those little moments now lit up like red warning signs you had refused to read.

The weight of it pressed down on you until your throat felt tight. You wanted to disappear into the desk, vanish through the floor. But you couldn’t. You were stuck there, while whispers chased across the room like shadows.

Outcast. Weak. Fool.

The worst part wasn’t even their judgment. It was the tiny, awful voice in the back of your mind agreeing with them.

[♡]

You walked home with your head down, shame burning through you like fire. You had always had so little confidence, always so invisible… and now, the only guy who had ever shown interest in you turned out to be exactly what the whispers said: a bully. The kind of person you had sworn you’d never want near you.

Tears threatened to spill as you wiped at your face. You told yourself you’d just go home, send a text, and end it. Quietly. No scenes.

But you weren’t expecting to run into him here.

“Hey, how are you? Going home?” Dongha appeared at your side like it was the most natural thing in the world. His casual voice froze you mid-step—until his gaze fell on your tears. He gasped, feigning concern.

“Oh my, what happened? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Your chest clenched. You glared at him, all your shame and fury spilling into one look. Should you scream? Should you yell and call him out for the lie he’d been living in front of you?

“Don’t ever talk to me again.” Your voice cracked.

Dongha didn’t look shocked. His expression barely shifted, like he had expected this moment.

“Why? Why are you being like this?” His tone was all wounded innocence, though you could see it—the flicker behind his eyes. He knew.

“You’re a bully,” you spat. “You beat other kids up. I don’t want to date you.” Tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Who told you that?” he asked, blinking with exaggerated confusion.

“The whole school knows! They were all whispering today. About me. About dating you.”

His mask slipped. Just for a second. His lips curled, his eyes sharper than before.

“So…” his voice lowered, smoother, dangerous, “you’re embarrassed to be dating me?”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you shook your head. “I just— I’d never want to be with someone like you.” You tried to push past him, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

“Let go,” you demanded, panic rising in your throat.

“Don’t you think we should talk about this calmly first?” His voice was soft, coaxing.

“No.” You tugged, shaking your head furiously.

“Please, y/n.” His voice broke into something almost tender. “I really liked you. I still do. I don’t know what kind of weird rumors you’ve heard, but… I just want a chance. Just one chance to show you I’m not like that.”

Your heart wavered. For just a second. The conviction in his eyes made your resistance falter. You didn’t answer—but he took your silence as agreement.

“Let’s go,” he said smoothly, tugging you along. “Let’s talk somewhere private.”

The place he brought you to was wrong from the start. A warehouse—bare, empty, smelling faintly of rust and smoke. A mattress lay crumpled in the corner. A sagging couch, a low table scattered with cigarette butts. The hairs on your arms rose.

“Dongha… what is this place?”

“Relax,” he said lightly, shutting the door behind you. “It’s just our hangout. We chill here sometimes.”

You looked around—and froze. On the ground, a dark, rust-colored stain marred the concrete. Your breath caught. Blood.

“What’s that?” Your voice shook as you pointed.

Dongha chuckled, eyes narrowing. “You ask too many questions.”

The sharpness in his tone made your stomach knot. You’d never heard him talk like that before.

“What? Surprised?” A new voice slid into the air. You turned—Seongmok was there, leaning against the wall, watching you with an amused grin. “That’s the way he talks. When he’s not putting on his little nice-guy act.”

Your pulse thundered. You spun toward the door, desperate to run—but Dongha was already there, blocking your way.

“Where are you going, darling?” he drawled, his smirk finally breaking through the last of his mask. “We haven’t even talked about our relationship yet.”

You gasped when Dongha suddenly shoved you back. The force knocked you off balance, your legs hitting the edge of the old mattress. You stumbled and fell onto it with a muffled thud. Dust puffed into the air around you.

“W-what are you doing?!” Your voice broke as you tried to scramble up.

Dongha leaned over you, one hand pressing into the mattress by your head to keep you from getting up. The boy who had once smiled shyly at you was gone. His expression now was sharp, twisted with something both mocking and possessive.

“Don’t look so scared,” he said, almost pouting. “Didn’t you want to talk? We’re just talking.”

Seongmok’s laugh echoed in the room. He stepped closer, his presence heavy, watching like a predator circling prey. “See? I told you, Dongha. She’s too innocent. One little push and she looks like a deer about to bolt.”

You shook your head, trying to push Dongha’s chest, but he didn’t budge. His hand caught your wrist again, pinning it lightly, as if testing how far you’d struggle.

“Stop it!” Your voice cracked with panic.

But his smile only widened. “You think you can just dump me over a rumor?” His voice softened, but his eyes burned. “No, darling. That’s not how this works.”

He pushed you, making you stumble back until your body hit the mattress. The springs creaked under your weight, the stale smell of smoke and sweat clinging to the fabric. You wanted to get up, but his shadow loomed over you, pinning you down without even touching.

Dongha’s eyes dragged slowly over you — not in affection, but in hunger. “God, you look even better here,” he murmured, voice low. “So soft. So untouched. No wonder I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Seongmok let out a low chuckle from behind, circling closer like a predator. “We always knew you were different, y/n. Quiet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’s never been touched properly.” His gaze shamelessly traveled down your body, lingering far too long when you shifted uncomfortably.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, curling in like you could disappear. But they noticed — they noticed everything.

Dongha crouched down, his hand brushing against your knee, sending a violent shiver up your spine. “That’s what makes you so perfect,” he whispered, leaning closer. “You don’t even know how tempting you are, do you?”

“Like a doll,” Seongmok added, his voice rough with something darker. “All shy and pure… begging to be ruined.”

Your breath hitched. You tried to push up from the mattress, but Dongha’s hand pressed against your shoulder, keeping you down with an ease that terrified you. His smile twisted — no longer the soft one you remembered, but something sharp, dripping with want.

“You were mine from the moment I kissed you,” he said, eyes blazing with lust. “And I’m not letting you walk away now.”

He leaned down to kiss you, to reclaim what he thought was his. But it felt hollow, like a game to them all along. Did he even love you? Fueled by anger, you bit his lip hard. He jerked back, cursing through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, little—” You tried to rise, but before you could,

Seongmok’s heavy hand circled your throat—not gripping, just holding, a silent warning. “Try that shit again and see what happens.” His threat was simple, but deadly. You lay there, helpless, unsure of what would come next.

“Sweetheart, you really bite me? I thought we had something special,” Dongha mocked, his words dripping with cruel amusement.

Seongmok’s hand pressed a little firmer against your throat—not enough to choke, but enough to make every inhale a sharp reminder of your helplessness. Your chest heaved, your fingers clawing at the air, searching for purchase. His eyes bored into yours, unreadable, dangerous, and for a moment, you felt the icy weight of your own insignificance.

Dongha leaned closer, his voice a venomous whisper against your ear. “Careful now… you don’t want to see what happens when I get mad.” Every word dripped with amusement and threat. Your stomach lurched, fear tangling, heart hammering.

Gathering every ounce of strength, you twisted slightly, testing Seongmok’s hold, feeling the tiniest slack. Your pulse spiked with hope and panic. Just a fraction of movement—and maybe, just maybe—you could turn the tide.

But before you could act, a cruel smirk spread across Dongha’s face. “Cute little struggles. Don’t think you can surprise me.”

“Let’s see how innocent you really are,” Dongha said, a sharp edge to his smile. His eyes lingered too long, studying every little reaction. From the beginning, his intentions had never been kind, and now the weight of his presence pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating.

You felt cornered, your pulse racing, every instinct screaming to escape—but there was no obvious way out. The air between you felt thick, charged, and dangerous, and for the first time, you realized how exposed you truly were under his gaze. His large heavy hands resting on your thighs has your heart beat quickening. You don't like where it's going. You tried closing your legs but his heavy hands kept your legs open. 

“Let's check if you have been a good girl or a bad girl.” He grinned, as his finger hooked around your underwear and he took it off. Cold air hits your warm core. You again tried to close your legs but he holds a lot more strength than you. 

His slender finger brushes against your clit, lightening shoots though your body. You have never felt that way before. The pad of his finger start to stretch you open sinking inside of you

“Hmm sensitive. Ever touched yourself down there?” He chuckled, looking at his friend who laughed as well. You didn't answer him, they were finding this funny. Seongmok removes his hand from neck knowing you won't do anything. You are already scared enough.

His fingers were rough,sinking into you until there was an audible slap of his palm against your cunt every time he shoved his finger inside of you. Sounds of pleasure threaten to leave your mouth but you bite your lip to stop them, until you could feel metallic taste inside of your mouth. They were amused by it. Dongha kept pumping his finger inside of you, “Open up your mouth, open up your slutty mouth.” You shook your head, as you felt an overwhelming sense of pleasure you couldn't handle. 

Your head yanked back as you felt Seongmok yanking your hair back. “Are you deaf or what?” Hesitantly you open up your mouth. Dongha spits right into your mouth. You feel disgusted at this, you want to throw up. Seongmok placed his palm on your mouth making sure you swallow it. 

You watch in panic as Dongha undoes his belt slowly looking at you. Your cheeks streaked with tears and your hair disheveled—he loves it, he loves to destroy cute things like you. Your face showing all your emotions and how you scared you were, not ready to get fucked. 

He notices the small shaky exhale you make gives him thrill and excitement. He thinks he has prepared you enough by fingerfucking you. He bullies his cock into you and you cry out loudly.  You try to keep your breathing calm and to keep your cunt calm as his cock pushes in and out.

“Fuck you're loudly.” Dongha commented, annoyed.

“I can shut her up.” Seongmonk smirks as he undoes his belt and his cock sprung out. 

Seongmok slapped his cock against your lips, silently commanding you to open your mouth. You did. “If you feel your teeth, you're dead.” You know he's dead serious. They are as scary as they can be. They can really kill if they want to. 

He pushes his cock inside your mouth and hisses at the warmth of your mouth. “I've always hated how innocent you looked. But you're a little slut aren't you?” you gagged around his length. He pulled your hair in fist. He moaned at the sensation of your mouth on his cock. 

You were a total mess. With Seongmok fucking your mouth and dongha fucking your pussy. You have got no escape. Your screams send vibrations to Seongmok’s cock making him feel like heaven. Dongha held you close, like he couldn't bear to  be apart from you and was made to be wrapped around his cock. 

“You like getting fucked two cocks at the same time.” He hooked his arm around your knee to fuck into you deeper. You faced burns from embarrassment but you clenched around him. 

“You like this. You're really not so innocent..” Dongha looked amused.

“Fuck I'm going to cum.” He pumped into you a few more times. His seed filling you, he laid there for a few seconds catching his breath. 

“Fuck.” Seongmonk curses above you as his hot strings of cum lands directly on your face. Saliva connecting your lips to his wet cock. 

“Angel, you look great covered in white.”

[♡]

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Pretty As A Picture

Title: Pretty As A Picture

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader

Fandom: The Gray Man

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: What started as a hobby day in the park turns into Lloyd Hansen showing you why taking photos of strangers is a bad idea.

Warnings: Murder Daddy, gun, murder(not Reader), chase, knife play, kidnapping, pet names(gumdrop, princess), slight dacryphilia, Sir kink, blood, language, head injury, bondage, cutting clothing with a knife, DUBCON, unprotected rough p-in-v sex, pussy slapping, hyperspermia, slight aftercare, implied captivity

A/N: This is my late submission to @the-slumberparty’s Naughty or Nice Challenge. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

You sit on the bench in the park, digital camera resting against your sternum as it dangles from the strap around your neck. The sky shines above you and illuminates the world around you as you look for something to capture. It’s been so snowy and the park’s surfaces are covered in white fluff. You had to wipe off the bench considerably to be able to sit down on the old wooden seating.

Your knee-length puffer coat is zipped and buttoned, but you still cross your arms to retain heat when the wind sweeps through, blowing snow in your face. You’ve taken about a handful of photos of empty swings and the slide that has become an ice luge. You hear voices nearby and turn toward the sound.

Two men are talking in the front seat of a town car parked on the edge of the park. Strange that they would pick here to have a casual conversation, but you can’t blame them. You came here for the peace too.

Curiously, you raise your camera and point it at the men. You zoom in, trying to read their lips, snickering when you see the younger man’s mustache. That was a choice. You catch little snippets here and there. But you can’t put all the pieces together. You are just about to lower your camera when movement surprises you.

You freeze when you see the man with the mustache on the passenger side bring out a pistol with a silencer on the end of it. He points it at the man in the driver’s seat and pulls the trigger. The mustachioed man then proceeds to wipe down the interior of the car and exits.

He turns to face the park, putting his hands in his pockets. He closes his eyes, tilting his head from side to side to relieve tension in his neck. When he notices you, you lower the camera slowly and wish upon wish that you can make it back to your apartment before he catches up to you. 

You let your camera hang around your neck and rise from the bench. Turning on a dime, you race between the swingset and head for your building. You are barely past the seesaw when you feel the man’s body crash into yours. Air escapes your lungs as you hit the ground and your camera is whipped to the side of you. You are disoriented for a second before you are turned around and grabbed by the front of your coat.

“Well, what do we have here? A little spy, maybe?” The mustachioed man removes one hand from your coat to reach into his pocket and withdraws a butterfly knife, holding it to your neck, “Who do you work for?”

You squeak when the point of the knife meets your skin, the sharp poke keeping you from moving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just taking photos of the park. I didn’t see anything.”

He turns the knife slightly, the tip penetrating your neck. You feel the sting of the cut as a drop of blood slowly trails down the blade. He watches as you plead with your big doe eyes for him to let you go.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Oh, gumdrop. Anybody who says ‘I didn’t see anything’ most definitely saw something. The question is: What do I do with Little Miss Photographer?” His tone could have been considered sweet, if not mocking.

“Please, let me go. You can have the camera. Just please don’t hurt me, Sir.” Unshed tears blur your eyes and you try to blink them away but they fall down your cheeks.

He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head slowly. “Calling me Sir and crying for me? I just may have an idea of how to...take care of you, princess.”

He pockets the knife, the pressure of it releasing from your neck. Standing you to your feet, he turns you to start walking to the left, away from the direction of your apartment. With one hand on your coat, he reaches down and grabs the camera as you walk, his long legs moving faster than your shorter ones.

Once you get to a car, he tries to put you in the front seat but you get the sudden urge to fight for your life. You let him open the door then you kick it closed, turning in his arms and scratching at his face. He jerks away when three nails make contact with his forehead and slide down to his temple.

“Fucking bitch!” Blood wells to the surface and starts to trickle down his face. He grabs you by the skull, bringing you toward him before he smashes your head into the passenger door. It slows you down and your head pounds. Your legs are out from under you as he picks you up bridal style and takes you to the back of the car. 

You are barely alert while he speaks to you. “It didn’t have to be like this, gumdrop. All you had to do was get in but no, you had to be a brat,” He sets your feet down on the ground so he can grab a key fob from his pocket. The trunk opens and you are lifted inside, the zipper on your long coat being pulled down to reveal your clothing underneath. “Well know this. I don’t tame brats, ok? I correct them. Now, you get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” He taps the end of your nose and winks down at you.

Your vision swims but you register him leering at you while licking his lips. He’s kind enough to not close the trunk too hard. You hear his steps crunching in the snow as he walks around the car. A door opens and closes, the engine turns over. You lurch toward the back of the car when it starts to move away from the curb. The darkness of the space and the steadiness of his driving lull you to close your eyes, falling asleep soon after.

"...you there, Gumpdrop?” 

You hear a voice that feels distant. Slowly, you pick your head up and open your eyes to see the man with the mustache sitting in front of you on a bed. He has two flexi-strips holding together the scratches you gave his face. Your coat is off, you are left in your fuzzy green sweater and black skirt. You try and move but you only wince when you look up to see your hands cuffed to the framework of the headboard. Your thigh-high sock-clad feet are left free and his hand idly moves up and down your shin.

When you try to move your leg away, he holds it back and squeezes your ankle as a warning. You don’t want any more head trauma so you resign yourself to doing whatever he wants.

“I am so glad you’re awake. You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself. Well, I did take these,” he reaches into a pocket and pulls out the familiar white panties, and waves them in your face, “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t play with that pretty little pussy. Wanted you awake for that.” He winks at you and stands. 

You watch as he walks away, listening to his footsteps going and then coming back. In his hands is your camera, safe and sound. He brings it up to his face, the lens moving forward and back before you hear the snap of the shutter.

“God, you are too damn sweet, gumdrop,” he coos, kneeling on the bed between your legs. He lifts your skirt and snaps a few photos of bare pussy. He hums, letting the camera dangle from the strap around his neck. The butterfly knife is back out, you shudder and he puts a hand up. “Calm down, pretty girl. Just gonna cut these pesky layers off you so don’t move unless you want me to cut you.”

You shove fear down and nod, following as he cuts through your skirt and sweater like butter. When he gets to your bra, he hooks a finger between your sternum and the fabric, cutting into the center of the material. When you are laid bare in front of him, he cups his crotch and groans. He raises the camera again and snaps away.

He takes the camera by the strap off of his neck and sets it on the nightstand. As he moves his hand back, he takes the opportunity to squeeze your tits. Pinching your nipples, he chuckles when you whine.

“Please...um, Sir?” you blurt, a mix of pain and pleasure radiating through you. You wish you could close your legs to get some friction but he is back between them.

“Lloyd,” he offers, still tweaking your nipples, “You can call me Lloyd, gumdrop.”

“Lloyd…um, please… uh,” You subconsciously begin to twist your hips and he gets the hint.

“Aww, my little princess needs some attention on her little pussy, huh?” You’re only turned on by his mocking tone and condescending words. He leans in to kiss and nip at your neck while he grinds his covered dick against your now slippery folds. “Alright, alright. I won’t tease you anymore. I know you need this much more than I do, gumdrop.” He uses one hand to unzip his pants and pull out his stiff dick. 

Although it is obscured from your vision, by the way he has to tilt his hips, you can tell he is packing a sizeable length. Covering the tip in your juices, he taps it against your clit. When he enters you, the stretch has you hissing along with Lloyd. He tilts his hips away from you and then comes back, going a bit deeper inside you. Adjusting his arms, he wraps one under your head and the other hand goes to hold your side while your legs wrap around him.

By the time you are used to his size, his hips are slamming into the backs of your thighs. His hand is sure to leave bruises on your hip and you don’t give a fuck in the slightest. He’s already restrained you and cut your clothes off. Might as well be fully debauched, right?

“Shiiiiit, this pussy is squeezing my fucking dick so good. I can feel you holding back, gumdrop. Let go for me.” He lets go of your hip and uses his thumb to pay attention to your clit. While he leans on his other hand, he clutches the bedspread as his hips continue their onslaught.

Your climax was just out of reach, like a word caught on the tip of the tongue. Lloyd locks eyes with you and lifts his hand, bringing it down to slap your puffy folds. You squeal and it only makes Lloyd slap it again. And that is how you discovered that this was a kink for you.

The tight band that held together your resolve snaps and on the third slap, you lose all control of your body. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in a long moan, your legs clamping around Lloyd’s waist. Your walls flutter around his cock and your orgasm washes over you like a warm summer rainstorm, refreshing and necessary.

“That’s a good girl! Fuck, you are clamped around me like a goddamn vice. Oh, shit. I’m gonna cum, princess. Shit, shit shit!” Lloyd thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out and fisting his dick until he’s shooting thick, white ropes across your belly, chest, and neck.

You stop counting the spurts of cum after eight, watching as you essentially get glazed like a donut. He squeezes the head of his dick, pushing out the last dregs of his orgasm. He grabs the camera again, his eye lining up with the viewfinder. “Smile pretty for me.” 

You’re so fucked out that you smile when he asks. He snaps the photo and puts the camera back down. He leaves the bed and walks off, you hear him go down the hall and come back. He carries a wet washcloth and wipes you down, cleaning off the sticky substance before tossing it over his shoulder.

Lloyd opens a drawer in the nightstand, retrieving a small key, and unlocks your handcuffs one by one. He doesn’t offer to check your wrists for bruising, but you don’t expect him to. You’re more than surprised that he wiped his cum off of you, you didn’t want to push it.

“Now, gumdrop. So we’re clear, I’ve already made up my mind. I’m gonna keep you here with me. You’re gonna be my little playtoy. Whenever I need to take out frustration, I’m gonna take it out on this little pussy of yours. Or option B: I could kill you. Your choice.” 

And just like that, your fate is sealed. 

“Option A,” you mumble, tears line your eyes as you yawn.

“I knew you were a smart girl.” He pets your head and your eyes lose focus as you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

A/N: I really wish Lloyd would give me a break sometimes lol. I think I got this posted literally on the last day of the challenge.

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[straywords]

°•☆Anything You Wish☆•°

♦️Dark! Geralt of Rivia x Reader♦️

Your father promises Geralt anything he wants for slaying the monsters plaguing your kingdom...unfortunately, the witcher takes that promise quite literally.

CW: Non-Con, loss of virginity, outdoor sex, kidnapping, belligerent tension

Words: ~5k

A/N: I’m really appreciative of all feedback and reblogs.

⚔

The day they came was the day yet another plague struck your kingdom. They swarmed the fields and fed on the dead, even lashing out at the living who came too close. 

Men in the surrounding villages couldn’t defeat them. The King’s army couldn’t defeat them. Nothing could get rid of the hungry beasts who run faster than horses and scream louder than banshees. 

Even gathering the nerve to approach them is a feat within itself. 

Their charred, putrid flesh emits a horrid stench that clogs the nostrils and empties the stomach. Their humongous teeth are as sharp as swords and can tear a human apart just as easily. 

They are monsters, nightmarish creatures straight out of the tales you were told as a little girl…only, they are very real. 

So real that, at present, one is screeching right in your face. Your ears almost bleed from the loudness of its scream. 

Foolish. Stupid. Reckless. Many words could be used to describe your thoughtless actions. You saw much bigger men than you falling prey to the monsters…still, you wished to try. Try to take down just one of the fearsome beasts, prove yourself. 

The plan you concocted should have been flawless. 

You lured it away from the group with a bird carcass, cornered it, stalked behind it. You were ready to strike, to show your worth. You so desperately want to be…more. Just more.

And now, your sword’s a few feet away, lost in your attempt to flee from the creature. As its rancid, scorching breath fans over your face, your eyes shut. 

Begrudging acceptance settles in your chest. 

And so it comes, death’s cold embrace. At last, you may join your fallen brother. 

You wait and wait as your lip quakes, terror cooling your veins. Surprise sweeps you when instead of the creature’s sharp teeth, your skin is met by a wet, sticky rain. 

For a moment, your heart pounds a chaotic symphony as you don’t dare steal a glimpse of what occurs before you.

You should be dead, yet you are not. The understanding that you’re intact, still breathing and still whole, struggles to wade its way through your mind. 

Slowly, you open your eyes. A sharp exhale erupts from your mouth as the creature’s guts spill at your feet, a tall, silver-haired stranger emerging behind the slayed remains. Covered in grime and blood, he glares down at your prone, trembling frame. Eerie, golden eyes cut into you harshly. 

"Where’s your king?" the man asks, his deep, gristly voice more akin to a bear growl than anything human. 

"I…"

The words slump along your throat as you process the broad stranger’s presence. Your savior. He pays you little mind however, grunting in annoyance when you fail to respond. Mud splashes over your tunic as his heavy boots stamp the floor. 

Not glancing back at you once, the man takes long strides towards your father’s castle. 

⚔

The stench of the creature’s innards still clings to you as you race through the stone hallways of the castle. No matter how much your chambermaid assisted you in scrubbing yourself raw, the gut-twisting scent persisted. Heat nestles in your cheeks as pointed looks land on you, lips curving upward in poorly restrained smiles.

You are the princess, yet your smell is potent enough that even servants and courtiers can barely hold in a laugh as you hurry past them. 

Annoyance sears your insides when you finally reach your destination. 

Your eyes travel to the middle of the throne room.

The air is drained from your lungs at the sight of the silver-haired, grumpy giant from before. The black plates of his armor are still stained with blood and entrails. His white locks spill over his shoulders, caked with dirt and grease.

He smells even worse than you do.

His saffron gaze trails your steps as you shakily advance. When you scowl at him and almost lose your balance, a crooked smirk unfurls on his lips. 

It angers you. Before, he ignored you and now his acknowledgement comes with contempt and mockery. 

You regain your composure by lifting your dress and turning away from him. Still, his eye on you is heavy and it makes your stomach clench in discomfort.

You know his reputation all too well. He may have saved you but he’s a brute, a murderer. A butcher. 

Your father acknowledges you with a lingering, judgemental stare you try your best to ignore. For one reason or another, his disapproval always ends up finding you. His ire is never quite far behind.

Whatever you do, no matter how hard you strive to make him proud, the king always finds fault in your actions.

Today’s another one of those calamitous days where your behavior draws a frown upon your father’s weathered brow. 

It’s no matter. You’re almost certain you slighted him beyond measure the day you were born by simply missing a cock. Your brother’s demise on the battlefield made matters even worse. It reminded him that instead of a suitable male heir, a second son, he only has you.

Your very existence is your father’s greatest disappointment.

All he looks forward to is marrying you off to whomever lord will strengthen his rule most. Then, maybe, you will be useful to him. 

"Apology for my daughter’s tardiness, Ser Geralt," your father notes dryly. Daggers pierce your skin when he glares at you, raising his voice, "And much gratitude for saving her from her own foolishness. Even now it astounds me that mine own daughter does not know what a woman’s place is." You plop into the seat next to his, twitching as humiliation scorches your insides. The wood beneath you is hard and uncomfortable, bereft of the nice pillows scattered on your father’s throne.  

It’s not the first time you’re scolded for your coarse behavior, unbefitting of your station. Your actions are a perpetual source of strife between you and your father. 

If one were to ask the king, even the way you draw breath is lacking. 

Your father continues discussing terms with the man. Despite the prickle you feel on your skin, you carefully avoid crossing the stranger’s gaze. 

Lost in your churning thoughts, you catch the tail end of your father’s sentence. 

"...So we are in agreement, whatever you wish to have once the scourge of hell beasts is dealt with, you can have," your father states. He snorts, a clever glint lighting his orbs. "Within reason, of course, you cannot ask for my crown or all that sits in the treasury. Other than that, you may ask for anything you want, witcher."

The mysterious man hums low in his chest. Silence fills the hall and you lift your head in curiosity. Immediately, his honey orbs lock with yours.

A cold shiver shoots through your spine. 

"Anything?" Geralt echoes with a small smile.

"Within reason," your father emphasizes.

You scratch the back of your hands nervously, lowering your eyes again. The expression on the witcher’s face unnerves you, making your chest seize.

He grumbles in acknowledgement. Then, after a few moments, he says, "I’m gonna need a bath."

⚔

When the sky darkens above the castle and all is quiet, you sneak out of bed, as is your habit. Grabbing your cloak and the sword below your bed, you tiptoe outside your apartments. Nihma, your chambermaid, nods at you as you brush past her. No word is exchanged as she slips inside the room while you step into the chilly hallway.

She will get underneath your blanket and snore loudly enough to fool any guard doing a casual patrol. You will give her ten ducats for her troubles, almost two weeks’ worth of wages in a single night, a more than fair trade for the simple task of impersonating you.

You need those ephemeral getaways.

Life within those castle walls isn’t just tedious…it’s stifling. Your father’s expectations and all the duties you’re expected to perform suffocate you.

You dream of freedom and adventure, of sleeping under the stars and living off what the land bestows. 

Instead, you are fated to wither away in a cold castle, forced to push out some stodgy lord’s spawn for the remainder of your days. 

You shift the heavy sword beneath your cloak, hiding quickly inside an alcove as a guard strolls by. 

A sigh of relief departs from your lips when the stomping of his boots dwindles. 

You leave your hiding spot and head towards the weapons’ room. It’s always empty at night. When you were younger, it’s where your brother taught you so your father wouldn’t find out. It took so much begging but, in the end, he couldn’t resist you.

Twice a week, you would wake him up and drag him through the dim hallways to practice your swordsmanship. 

Your shoulders slump as you let your fingers caress the pommel of your brother’s sword. 

The thought of him, slain on the battlefield the year prior, elicits a painful twinge in your chest. 

You enter the room and nudge the door closed in practiced silence. 

The cloak is tossed over a nearby wooden chair. 

You waste no time, beginning as soon as you lift the heavy sword. 

You run through each drill, slashing at air on staggering feet. Sweat beads on your forehead as you wave your sword at an invisible opponent. The weight of the steel alone fatigues your limbs. Halting your motions, you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand.

"Your form is shit," a deep and unfortunately familiar voice utters at your side. A sharp gasp escapes your throat as you whirl in his direction. He walks alongside the stone wall, his honey gaze sizing you up and down.

His attention causes your stomach to wrench uncomfortably. Your eyes linger on the loose-fitting, white blouse he wears and the curling dark hairs covering his broad chest where it opens.

As your gaze drifts down to the black leather pants, latching onto the unmistakable bulge in his crotch, flames bloom in your cheeks.

You lift your eyes to meet his smirking face. A frown wrinkles your forehead as you point your sword at him. 

"Did you follow me here, witcher?"

Geralt’s brow arches as he inches closer. He doesn’t seem threatened by you, just amused, mirth twinkling in his saffron orbs. 

"You’re hiding…which means your father wouldn’t approve." He appraises you while tilting his head. "That sword is far too heavy for you…" Pearly white teeth shimmer in the darkness when he grins. "and you’re holding it wrong."

Anger overflows, spilling over to your shaky grip. With purpose, you lunge at him. He dodges all your thrusts, gliding over the stones and sidestepping you with ease. 

"I do not need help from a murderer," you hiss, angling the blade towards his middle. Again, he avoids your attack. As you lose your balance, the floor fastly approaches in your vision. 

You await the inevitable collapse but it never arrives.

Geralt catches you. While one of the witcher’s thick arms snakes around your waist, curtailing your fall, the other wraps around your wrist holding the sword. 

You audibly exhale as your back presses against Geralt’s chest, warmth leaking from his frame to yours. You squirm but he is stronger, his solid grip keeping you against him. 

His lips skim over your earshell.

"Would you prefer the monsters roam free and eat your people?" he taunts. 

You take a pause, breathing through your nose. His musky scent fills your nostrils, turning your head a little.

Your voice bursts out a quivering hush.

"I’m talking about Blaviken. The people you slaughtered."

Who hasn’t heard of the infamous Geralt of Rivia and his senseless acts of butchery? Before you can go on, more insults burning your tongue, his fingers tighten around your wrist.

A grimace of pain distorts your features as you almost let go of the sword, but Geralt doesn’t let you. 

His raspy baritone rolls along your skin as he lowers his mouth to your neck. 

"You’re slow, princess. Perhaps you’re more suited for needlework than fighting."

"My brother taught me. He was a great warrior," you retort, your pride wounded by his scathing observation. 

He scoffs, "So your brother was either a shitty warrior, or you’re a shitty student. Which is it?" A puppet in his embrace, you quake when his warm breath raises the hairs on your neck. "You’re holding it too low. See? This…" He directs your hand, raising the sword while your arm trembles. "Would be better. You want to aim for the neck."

You gasp when he moves the blade horizontally in a perfect line. The decisive, powerful strike could have brought down an actual enemy. 

Slight awe radiates through you as you lament, your brows crumpling, "I can’t…I can’t hold it higher."

"Of course you can’t," he whispers. His timbre then lowers, too soft and intimate for your liking. "Like I’ve said…this isn’t right for you."

Bells clamor within you when something stirs against your back, something thick and hot beneath the leather of Geralt’s pants. 

You know little of men but enough to sense this isn’t right. 

You tear from him abruptly. His arms open, that conceited smirk still engraved on his lips. Meanwhile, your brother’s sword clatters at your feet, slipping from your grasp, or rather Geralt’s you suppose.

Avoiding his disarming stare, you scurry to grab your cloak and rush to the exit. 

"It’s late. I should return to my chambers," you quaver, too afraid to glance back at him or wait for his response.

⚔

The following days, you exert tremendous effort to avoid the witcher, mostly confining yourself to your apartments. Returning to the weapons room after what transpired is out of the question.

Your heart still races and your face heats whenever you recall the warmth of Geralt’s body as it wrapped around yours. 

So you attend to your daily routine, your tedious duties.

Prayers in the morning, then breakfast with your ladies-in-waiting as they prattle on about some gossip or upcoming tournament that fails to catch your interest. 

At noon, you must pray again. Then in the evening, you practice embroidery and meet with potential suitors.

None of them please you, each one of them dull pretenders, leeches who do not see you as a person, but a tool to wrest more power and influence for themselves and their houses.

Father will be upset you refused yet another string of matches. One day, he will tire of simply asking you to do your duty. He will impose, and you will have to oblige, for he is not just your father, he is also the king. His word is law. His suggestions are commands.

By the time night comes, you’ve swallowed the burning urge to run away more times than you can count. 

Yet you don’t. You fall asleep, dreams plagued by golden eyes and silver hair. So you wake up angry, frustrated.

It peeves you.

Your dislike for him burns bright, searing your insides. The thought of him is a sour one. Geralt of Rivia makes you sick. Yet he’s at the edge of every one of your thoughts. The ghost of his smug smile haunts your days.

It’s the sight that flickers in your mind as you prick your finger today.

"Princess?" Nihma calls, plucking the needle and wooden hoop away from your fingers. She kneels before your chair and dabs a handkerchief on the blood trickling down your fingertip. 

You blink, the daze clearing out. You peer down at your chambermaid’s concerned expression. 

"The king awaits your presence, your highness," she informs.

Your brows knit.

"Me? Whatever for?"

⚔

A week and a day. It’s how long it took the witcher to slay the hell beasts, having found their queen’s nest and chopped off her head.

Head that bounces at your father’s feet when the witcher tosses it. He looks a fright, bathed in mud and blood, his silver mane black with the monsters’ remains.

You squeeze your fingers in your lap, quelling the shudder the gruesome spectacle inspires. The crimson eyes are open wide and the beast’s jaw parts in a scream that never will be. Your insides lurch. 

"Well, witcher, the realm thanks you for-" 

The witcher interrupts your father’s speech, impatience brimming from his tone. 

"The deed is done. Now I may request what I wish."

"You may. Within reason."

Your father smiles, as usual thinking himself the most clever man in the room. The breath stills in your lungs, unease prickling your skin. You do not know why but trepidation clogs your throat. 

Your hands are tightly clasped in front of you when Geralt speaks again, his deep voice echoing decisively in the throne room. 

"I want her."

Your jaw slackens as your eyes bulge. Geralt’s sizzling gaze lands right on you, unwavering and clear in his request. 

Of all he could ask for, Geralt of Rivia asked for you. 

Your heart bounces when he smirks at you roguishly. 

There’s tension amongst the guards surrounding your father. They’re at the ready, hands at their sides, ready to draw their swords. 

A laugh of disbelief bursts out of the king. His fingers drum anxiously on the armrests of his throne. A warning is laced in the stiff smile he addresses the witcher. 

"You can’t possibly…we can offer you horses, gold, maybe a new sword. Our royal smith is renowned-"

"I want the princess. Nothing else."

The determination in his words staggers you. 

"Why?" your father roars. Your chest clenches. Geralt has offended your father. Blood will be spilled today. 

A lopsided, cocky smirk twists the witcher’s lips.

"What does a man want with a woman?"

Your eyes widen. Your father’s jaw ticks, a scowl distorting his features. Suddenly, he bolts up from his throne, barking orders at the men around him. 

"Guards, arrest him!"

Only one word is uttered by the witcher, annoyance oozing from it. 

"...Fuck."

Chaos unleashes in the throne room. 

The guards lunge at Geralt and you watch in horror as he uses his uncanny magic and extraordinary battle skill to cut each of them down.

They topple to the floor with gargled sounds, falling like flies.

It’s a haunting, macabre dance, the way the witcher moves, his leather boots gliding across the stones, each of his strikes unwaveringly brutal and precise. 

Your father gapes at the display with an expression mirroring yours.

You sidle against a wall, your chest heaving, turning away from the carnage before you. You creep along the stones and almost reach the exit, hoping to sneak away through one of the castle’s many secret passages. 

But your attempt at a getaway is ruined when, all of sudden, you’re swept up from the floor. The loss of equilibrium makes your head spin. You realize you are staring at a broad, muscular back, one that is dreadfully familiar.

The witcher sighs, adjusting you across his shoulders as you hit and scratch any part of him within reach. He barely flinches as he marches out of the castle while carrying you. 

Two more guards try to stop him but Geralt stuns them with that witcher trick again, and slices their throats in a matter of seconds. 

You grow dizzy from your upside down position and the bile rising up your throat.

"Unhand me, you brute," you shout.

Geralt ignores you, finally letting you down once he reaches his horse. Before you can try to flee, he ties a rope around your wrists and lifts you up on his horse. 

"You’re heavier than you look," he notes flatly. He climbs on the horse and grips the reins. The animals neighs as Geralt’s boot claps against his side. He briefly turns to flash you an impish smile. "Do try not to fall, princess. I would hate for my pretty prize to break her neck."

It’s the only warning you’re afforded as he takes off on the horse with you at his back.

⚔

You writhe against the sturdy ropes confining you to the oak tree. 

Your eyes scour the clearing as your heart clamors in your chest. You swallow and your hoarse throat aches with the motion. No matter how much you screamed, no one came to your rescue.

A few feet away, your captor's hunched over a river. You look away, cheeks heating as he undresses and washes the blood and grime off his body. 

Thoughts screech inside your head, panic singing in your blood. You’re at the witcher’s mercy. And his words from before echo sickly in your mind. 

You shudder at the prospect of him touching you again, in ways that cannot be erased, in ways that would brand you forever. 

You must escape.

Clarity pierces through the veil of fear as you devise a hasty plan.

The sizzling weight of the dagger against your thigh emboldens you. After your nightly encounter with Geralt, the pressing need for protection bloomed inside you. You have carried the blade beneath your dress since, secured by a leather strap around your thigh.

Maybe if you wait for the right moment, seize opportunity when it arises…

"I’m going to untie you. Will you be good, princess?"

You gasp, your head turning toward Geralt’s. He crouches before you with one knee bent. You note he’s dressed down in black leather pants and a loose blouse, having shed his armor. Hints of his hairy chest peeks from the shirt. Droplets of water still drip from his long, silver mane, the damp locks clinging to the sides of his face. 

You nod, your heart slamming wildly. Geralt begins to pull the heavy rope loose. Tension courses through your taut limbs. You keep a careful eye on him. 

When the rope falls in a heap around you, you rise on tremulous feet. 

You stagger before him, struggling to regain your balance. You rub your throbbing wrists. 

You examine him. He bears no weapon at his side. It’s now or never. The only chance you might get.

You swallow nervously, taking a deep breath.

Then, abruptly, you shove Geralt with all your strength.

He stumbles backward but doesn’t fall, not like you hoped. 

Your feet leap as you dash across the clearing, running without glancing back.

You hear him grumpily mutter "Fuck" under his breath. 

You don’t hear him move but you’re caught and thrown into the grassy dirt before you can get too far. A trembling hand gathers the dagger below your skirt.

You wave it in the air blindly. 

Geralt crawls over you, scoffing as he grabs your wrist.

He smirks.

"Go on. Aim for the throat."

Your hand quakes in his steely grip as you keep trying to stab him. Desperately.

One of your aimless slashes finally meets flesh, grazing the witcher’s face. It leaves a bright red welt that drips crimson trails over his cheek. 

He huffs and pins your wrists above your head. The dagger slips from your grasp.

Helplessness blazes within you as you flick terrified eyes toward the witcher. 

He caresses the side of your face, a slanted smile dancing on his lips. His honey gaze drags up and down your shuddering frame, lingering on every part of you.

A deep sigh rumbles through his chest. 

"You’re exhausting the well of my patience, pretty princess."

You squirm and scream beneath Geralt as his wide hand latches around your throat. He pins you to the ground, trapping you between his knees and beneath his broad, heavy body. You gasp at the taut, throbbing bulge between his legs.  He presses himself against your stomach, his shameless desire blatant. 

"Don’t you dare…" you hiss.

He chuckles.

"Such a feisty thing, even now."

Your chest seizes, fright pulsing through your blood, as he shuffles out of his pants above you. He hikes up your skirt, his large, callused hand plucking at your warm center.

Your cheeks blaze. You’ve never been touched there. 

He swipes his fingers across your folds, tarrying on a tiny, particular spot that has desperate whines unfurling from your throat. You squirm, tears pricking your eyes, as thick fingers explore you roughly. Your toes quiver as he glides over your soft, tender spots.

He does that for a while, collecting a slickness that starts dripping from your core and spreading it over your folds. You keen at the invasion, water and salt hazing your vision. 

It worsens when the pain and discomfort begin to blur into something…more horrifyingly pleasant, warm tingles bouncing through your flesh. Your hips undulate and your lids flutter.

Geralt teases that delicate spot, coarse fingertips caressing your folds. Your thoughts scatter amidst the lustful fog.

"What is…what is going on…" you mumble, scorching breaths rattling through your chest. 

Geralt hums, his sharp teeth grazing your shoulder.

"I suppose you truly are a maiden in every way."

Although the blanket of the night has yet to wrap around the sky, stars twinkle in your vision. A sharp wail ripples out of your throat as you clench around Geralt's thick fingers. You wonder if you’re dying, falling and soaring all at once, fiery sparks traveling across your entire being.

His warm breath ghosts over your neck. 

"I shall have all your firsts, princess."

Geralt rubs his veiny length up and down your slick entrance, groaning against your shoulder. You cry out as the tip of him pushes inside you. He’s already so large, stretching you painfully. You wonder how the rest of him could possibly fit. 

"Fuck, you’re tight," he grunts, straining to bury more of himself inside you. Your core protests the sudden intrusion.

"Geralt, Geralt, please…"

He swallows your tearful pleas with hungry kisses. 

"Yes, princess, utter my name just like that, until there’s nothing in your head and on your tongue…but me."

You whimper when he sheathes himself inside you to the brim. Fire consumes your walls. Tears flood your vision as Geralt snaps his taut hips into you bluntly.

The wolf pendant dangling from his neck sways above you. 

He gives you no time to accommodate him, snarling as his large body ripples above yours, his damp, silver locks sagging over your chest. 

After a long while, you quit begging. It yields no results. In fact, he thrusts into you more ferociously, his honey orbs darkening with lust whenever you demand he stops. 

He remains inside you for hours. The crisp forest air grows chilly and the pale moon crests in the sky above your writhing forms. 

Yet the witcher’s hunger never abates. 

He robs pleasure from you until you’re on the brink of collapse, time melting amidst the befuddling surge of sensations. 

And when you do collapse, it’s with Geralt’s cock inside you, still pouding your core, his animalistic growls vibrating along your flesh and his heat mingling with yours. 

⚔

The smoky scent of meat tickles your nose as the light of dawn pierces through your shut lids. You stir awake with a frown, an aching soreness etched in your limbs. Your chest twinges as you peer down at your torn dress and the mess of dried blood and cum still staining your thighs.

As your gaze darts about, it lands on Geralt’s broad back. He’s tending to the fire, already clad in his black armor.  

Alarm engulfs you. 

You suck in a sob and strangle the flood of tears. Agony escalates as you crawl over the dewy grass, inching towards the edge of the clearing. 

"You can either warm my cock or be supper for the wolves. Your choice, princess."

You freeze at his nonchalant warning. You whirl toward him, bolting upward with an enraged scowl. You vacillate, your abused core aching whenever you move.

"My father will hunt you down…" 

Geralt finally turns. He rises to his full height. Your stomach sinks. A slanted smile decorates his lips as he leers at you. 

"The same father who sought to sell you off like a donkey?" he mocks. Your face ignites with shame as you shoot daggers at him with your gaze. "You meant little to him as a maiden, and now that you're sullied… I'm guessing an actual donkey would be of more use to him." Geralt approaches you as you stumble backwards. Your mouth squeezes in disdain when he tilts up your chin. The rough leather of his glove scratches against your delicate skin. "The way I see it I did you a favor, pretty princess. He’d have married you off to the next lord of bad breath for more soldiers and gold."

Your forehead creases.

"Where will you be going now?"

His eyebrow arches. 

"Where are we going?"

Shock parts your lips as your eyes bulge. 

"You mean to keep me? I thought-"

"What did you think, princess? That now that I had what I desire, I would leave you be…" Glimmers of mirth sparkle above a sea of gold. "What makes you think one would ever tire of such a sweet royal cunt?" The sinful dip of his baritone unleashes goosebumps across your skin. 

He frees your face and goes back towards the makeshift camp, collecting his scabbard and other meager belongings. Feet rooted to the grass by stupor, you stare as Geralt saddles his horse. 

"Little town a day's away on horseback. Bruxa problem. Hefty reward." The corners of his mouth lift slightly. "Nice brothel with cozy rooms."

"So I'm to be your whore now?"

Geralt snorts.

"Better a whore than a donkey."

"I could slice your throat in your sleep, witcher."

Geralt walks towards you again. Once he’s in front of you, he surprises you by wrapping a warm cloak around your shivering frame. 

His knuckles drag along your cheek. 

"Then I look forward to those peaceful nights, princess," he replies dryly. 

Your pulse thrums. There’s not an ounce of fear in the words he just spoke. In fact, there might even be a hint of thrill.  

⚔

I do not have a taglist anymore. Follow and turn up notifs for my sideblog @straytales to know when I post something new.

[ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist]

Daddy Knows Best Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: StepDad!August Walker x StepDaughter!Reader

Summary: August Walker and your father were once friends. One mission, a single decision, made them enemies. August decides he needs to get his revenge. And what better way, than to become your new Daddy? {DARK FIC}

Dividers by: @saradika

Cover Art by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Spotify Playlist is here. 

YouTube Music playlist is here.

Parts: I - II - III - IV - V (possibly on hiatus)

My Masterlist

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!feysand x closeted!reader: Drunken Promises[***]

A/N: This follows on from Drunken Mistakes but can be read on it’s own :) (Drunken Confessions continues this story!)

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, pussy-eating, face sitting, smut, threesome fmf.

You crack your eyes open, then squeeze them shut.

The sunlight is pooling on the bed, crisp white sheets blinding to look at. Your eyes flutter with the weight of early morning fatigue, and you nestle further into the warmth of the duvet. As you turn onto your front, you brush against skin, and you stiffen, peaking open your eyes again.

Feyre lays beside you, features calm and peaceful. Radiant as always. It takes a moment for you to realise how odd it is to wake at her side, but things are usually a little out of place after a night out with her.

It’s only when she shifts in her sleep that you see she’s bare, the sunlight warming her chest as it spills across the smooth skin. Your eyes widen and you shift back a little, startled. And you bump into another body.

Oh gods.

You turn around and—

Rhysand.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

What the fuck happened?

You jolt when he sighs in his sleep, blue-black hair soft and ruffled from unconsciousness, so different to his usual neat and tidy persona. His arm slings over your waist, tucking you against him, slotting beneath his jaw.

He’s utterly bare—

And so are you—

Boiling Fucking Cauldron.

You start into action, scrambling away from him but his arms lock and you’re dragged back against his chest. A laugh rumbles across your back and you feel as he shifts, lowering his mouth to your neck as he places lazy kisses down your skin. You stiffen. He must think you’re Feyre.

Panic and humiliation burns across your skin.

Gods, what’s he going to do to you when he finds out you aren’t his mate—

“Rhys,” you hiss, trying not to wake the female up. His hands drop to your hips, rolling you over then pulling you back to him as he meets your gaze. Your eyes go wide as they peer up into soft violet, warm in the morning light. You brace for fury, for the utter rage of invading his space, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, his hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing against you affectionately as he presses his mouth to your forehead.

You still, not quite understanding his wildly inappropriate behaviour. You shift to press your wrists against his chest, careful to avoid touching him too intimately as you try to gently push away.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lynx?”

You flush beneath his intent gaze, how it dips to your mouth, running over your throat, peaking at your breasts.

You bring your arms closer to your body in attempts to hide yourself from him—you can feel that neither of you are wearing a single ounce of fabric, so Feyre probably…

You desperately try to remember what happened.

You swallow, “I was going to get up and get out of your way…” You manage to look him in his eyes, trying to shift so you can crawl out of their bed. He laughs at that, and you flinch in case it wakes Feyre. “We didn’t even tamper with your mind, and you’ve forgotten all of it, haven’t you?” His hand brushes hair from your face, pushing it to the side so he can look at you with those damn eyes of his. “You always do.”

Your brow furrows as you peer up at him, pushing a little harder at his chest as you attempt to wiggle away from him, get out of his possessive hold.

“But not this time,” he sighs, watching you with that hungry gaze. “You promised.”

And his hand is drops to the swell of your ass, squeezing appreciatively, making you gasp, flinching at the proprietary touch. The entitled arrogance at the presumption.

“Don’t move.”

Then his mouth opens over your own and you’re paralysed by shock as he plies your lips apart. His grip on you tightens, pulling you flush against his chest so he can feel the soft plushness of your breasts. A longing groan drags from the back of his throat, loud enough to snap you out of your gaze.

You shove at his chest, breaking the kiss, and your skin begins to buzz.

“Wh—”

His mouth descends on yours again, chasing after the warmth of your lips, the flavour of them that still coats your tongue. They made sure to use you thoroughly.

The buzzing turns into light zapping, a frenetic pulse inside of you as you continue shoving and pushing desperately. A whimper bleeds into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, humming with satisfaction as he takes what he wants with leisurely grace.

Your head begins to pound, hard enough you can’t concentrate on pushing away from him, body going lax and pliant beneath his powerful hands.

The ache fades almost immediately, leaving a dull tingle running along your seems as he pulls away to look at you. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself if you don’t listen to us,” he murmurs against your lips. His fingers move to trace between your breasts, over your sternum. “You can move.”

Your head dips down to peer at his hand, and you spot the dark ink that symbolises a bargain being struck. “Rhys—… What happened?” You ask, fear uncoiling in your stomach.

Bargains are serious things. You should never make one unless you have to, or you trust your life with the sharer. Even then, it’s discouraged.

He gives a dark laugh that slides down your spine. His hand lowers to the back of your thigh as he hooks it over his waist, allowing you to feel the invasive press of his cock against your front. “You promised yourself to us. Whenever we want, for whatever we need, you’re ours.”

Rhysand’s hips shift, pulling away so he can align himself with you.

You flinch when you feel his tip pressing against your slick entrance, still aroused from the night before. “Rhys!” You panic, shoving hard at his chest but he’s gripping you too tightly. “Rhys, stop it! You can’t—”

His hips push upward, guiding himself inside and you gasp in shock, tears welling at the edges of your eyes before he’s rolling you to be seated atop him. Your hands land flat against his abdomen and you tense as you feel him inside of you.

“Rhys,” you whimper, crying out desperately as he keeps you perched atop his hips, his grip like iron. “Please stop. You can’t—… I don’t want this!”

Beside him, Feyre stirs, and undiluted terror slices through your gut. She’ll get the wrong impression. She’ll think you’re trying to take Rhys away from her. She’ll think you’re forcing him.

“Fey…” you plead. “Fey, it’s not what it looks like. Please, I don’t want—”

Instantly she’s pushing up onto her knees, cupping your face in her soft hands as she cradles you. “Hey, hey,” she shushes, “what’s the matter? What’s wrong?” Her eyes narrow as she shoots a glare at Rhys, “why’s she crying? What did you do?” Her lips pull back from her teeth, “I swear to the mother Rhysand, if you did anything—”

“She’s fine,” he reassures, glaring at you for getting him in trouble with his mate. “She’s just enjoying the ride, aren’t you, little lynx?” Feyre turns to look at you for an answer, but when you go to shake your head, he subtly rolls his hips, his cock touching a spot inside your sensitive walls that has heat flushing your skin. You lips part in pleasure and the High Lady relaxes a little.

“Just feeling good, huh?” She soothes, stroking your cheek tenderly, “Rhysie making you feel good?” You attempt to shake your head but he rolls his hips again, your arms weakening with the force of the pleasure.

Feyre snaps her head toward Rhys, “I was talking to her.” He shrugs nonchalantly, repeating the action just to get a rise out of her. A startled moan slips from your mouth as tears fall.

“Fey…” you manage, reaching toward her shakily, “Feyre…”

Her gaze switches to you and Rhys bucks his hips sharply in return, your eyelids fluttering at how full you are. You’re sure you would be able to feel him should you lower your hand to your abdomen.

“What is it, birdie? Do you want me somewhere? Where do you want me?” She’s as attentive as always, and you cry harder.

“Make it stop—… Please, make him stop,” you weep, beseeching her with hot eyes. She thumbs beneath your lashes carefully, but shakes her head. “He’s your High Lord,” she tuts, the pad of her fingers swiping across your lower lip, “don’t be ungrateful now. You were so eager last night. What happened?”

She watches as the blood drains from your face. “What happened last night?” You wail, shakily raising a single hand to cup hers and you tremble. “He— He won’t tell me.”

“No? You don’t know about your promise to us?” She murmurs, fingers dropping to trace the skin between your breasts. “You’re ours now. Properly ours.” You shake your head in denial. You wouldn’t have done that, you wouldn’t have made such an obvious mistake as to promise something like that. Even to them.

“I think she needs reminding of some of the events, Feyre, darling.” Rhysand drawls, slamming you down on him suddenly, causing a startled moan to fly from your lips. More tears flood your eyes as you shake your head vehemently. “No! I don’t want to—” He’s pounding into you, pulling you down against him as he bucks up into the wet heat of your cunt.

“But you begged so beautifully, don’t you remember?” Rhys purrs, continuing his assault on your senses. “You were so filthy, pleading Feyre to let you taste her, pleading me to fuck my come into you over and over and over.” Each word is accented with a forceful buck of his hips and you nearly collapse.

“You did something to me,” you cry, throwing out the accusation. “I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing!” Feyre glares at Rhys angrily. “You’re making it worse for her,” she snaps. Then your High Lady returns her gaze to you and it softens, “why don’t we quiet him down, hm? Give him something to do with that snarky mouth of his?” She growls the last part at the High Lord as she swings a leg over him, setting herself down on his face.

You can make out the way his tongue eases into her, lapping over her clit with a familiarity you shouldn’t be seeing.

A soft sigh of contentment puffs from her lips as she rides his mouth, grinding her hips over him as she indulges in the early morning pleasure. “Is that better, birdie?” She asks, fingers entwining with your own, affectionate as always. “Make him stop,” you beg. “I want to go home. Please, Fey.” You squeeze her hand in silent hope she’ll help you.

She merely frowns. “You’ll be staying with us from now on. Why would we live together but leave you out of it? That would be mean, don’t you think?”

“No,” you pant, vision blurring, “I don’t want to live with you. I want—”

Feyre yelps as Rhys lifts her from his mouth, just enough for him to snarl at you. “Ride me.” And then the buzzing returns, zapping with frenzied excitement beneath your skin, burning and blazing until you can’t take it any more.

You gasp as you lift your hips from his and begin slamming down against him just to relieve the pain. Your breathing quickens, becoming harsh and desperate as the pleasure boils and bubbles, so near it’s perfect state of euphoria. Your fingers dig into Feyre’s and she moans as she watches you ride her mate, just as he commanded.

The High Lady curses beneath her breath at the pleasure already overwhelming her. Rhys’s silver-tipped tongue working her to that beautiful edge, lapping and flicking over her clit then fucking into her with relentless desperation. Your own lips are parted and Feyre needs to taste you, needs to have her mouth over yours. So she does.

You whimper when she kisses you, her fingers locating the sensitive apex of your thighs as she touches you gently, keeping in time with your rhythm. “You’re so good for us, aren’t you? Just needed a little encouragement and look at you. Already working so hard. Such a good girl.” You want to scream that you don’t want to be theirs, want to scream at her to let you go, but you can’t do anything aside from slam your hips down to meet Rhys’, helping drive his cock deep inside of you.

Her blue-grey eyes meet yours, and you want to cry. She should be helping you escape.

“Please…”

You’re trembling with the effort to continue through the pleasure, the invading pressure of him combined with Feyre’s soft touches to your clit has you cresting a height you aren’t prepared for.

“You want to come, huh? Want to come on his cock?” Her hand raises from between your thighs, in favour of settling over your ribs, pulling your upper body forward a little. “Come on, tell us what you want.”

“Please, Fey. I need it, need it so badly.”

She presses a hot kiss to your mouth, tongue lapping over your lips as she pushes inside, tasting you as she wanted before pulling away. ‘What do you think, Rhys?’ A wicked laugh sounds in your mind and you shiver, nipples peaking with sensitivity and anticipation. ‘I think I’ve been exceptionally benevolent to our girl, and she hasn’t uttered so much as a word of thanks for her treatment.’

Then he’s in your mind, and you can feel him kissing along your shoulder, pressing against your back, fucking up into you, feel his tongue lapping at your nipples as he bites and licks, suckling at your clit, kissing you senseless. The overpowering sense of him fills you up until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin.

‘I’m thinking I want to see her cry, and plead, and beg for us to give her that pleasure. I’m thinking she needs to crawl for it, swear she’ll never be so disobedient ever again. I’m thinking that if she can be good today, we can let her rest tomorrow night.’

Through his own senses that are invading your mind, you feel how close Feyre is, practically feel her atop your own mouth, slick coating your tongue as you drink her down, bringing her endless pleasure.

‘Please,’ You cry, falling to your knees in that strange space they’ve created. ‘Please, I’ll be so good for you,’ you plead as you crawl toward where they’re coupling in your mind. ‘Please, please just let me come,’ you beg, crying out for that release that you know will knock you off your feel.

‘You’ll never try to escape? Follow every order without help of our bargain?’ He purrs, and you feel the caress of talons down your spine as he plays with you. You nod desperately, staring up at him from your hands and knees beseechingly. ‘That’s it. Now take what you want from us.’

You could pass out from relief but suddenly you’re slamming back into your body, and he’s pounding into you, Feyre’s mouth over your own as she plays with your breasts while Rhys thumbs at your clit and you just…shatter.

Your High Lord snarls as he feels you fluttering around him wildly, cunt clamping down as pleasure crests over you, soaring to the peaks of the world before dragging you to the depths of the ocean. The sheer intensity washes into the pair, riding your pleasure as they wrap around your senses, spilling across your conscious, into it.

You might have screamed when you came, but you’re too out of it to understand or process anything aside from the feel of their skin on yours and the calming order to cease your movements. The gentle, soft press of the pads of Feyre’s fingertips, and the slow drag of Rhys’ cock against you as their movements slow.

Pants fill the room as pleasure begins to fade.

“How’re you feeling, birdie?” Feyre breathes, thumb swiping over the knuckles of your hand as you gasp for air. You manage a weak nod, but nothing else, too exhausted from the activities.

Slowly, Feyre eases from Rhys’ mouth that’s gleaming with her release. His eyes lock on yours, taking in the heat from your skin, the plumpness of your lips, the bruises at your hips from where he was gripping you. You whimper when you feel him hardening again inside of you, and you move to climb off him but your thighs are trembling too much and you just slide back down, seated on his hips.

A low growl rumbles through his chest as he pushes up from his reclined position. “Feyre, darling,” he purrs, violet eyes remaining locked on yours with sinister malevolence, ravenous hunger writhing in their indigo depths. “I think you should take the next one from her.”

You stiffen, attempting to squirm backward as his lips twist into a feline grin. “No, wait, please,” you beg, breathless and exhausted. He arches a single, neatly groomed brow, “No? You don’t want Feyre between your legs?”

Tension knots in your stomach as you shake your head. You can’t take another one.

His grin turns vulpine.

In one swift movement, he’s flipped you on your back, spreading your legs apart, driving his cock deeper with the movement. “I suppose we’ll be switching then,” he growls. His High Lady catches his direction, crawling over to you in a sultry manner, mounting your mouth like it’s her throne.

Your eyes widen, but you know better than to resist. It’ll only make things worse, after all.

Feyre leans over, allowing her to lock onto your gaze, piercing into you as her back curves, her fingertips skating over your body, playing with your nipples as if she hadn’t been touching you moments before. As if you’re brand new. Something clean and perfect to play with. Something sweet and innocent to corrupt all over again.

“Open that mouth for me.” She taps her nail against your sternum twice, over the bargain’s mark. “Don’t make me use this.”

Your lower lips wobbles but you part your lips, allowing her to settle down, arousal practically dripping, coating your tongue.

Rhys draws his hips back and you squeeze your eyes shut, arms looping over Feyre’s hips.

You’ll need something to hold onto this time.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[mythalsknickers]

This isn't on your list, but might I request an "Almost Died/Near-Death Experience" kiss for DWC? I guess it's similar to a kiss of relief, but without any forethought, and resulting in awkward unintended consequences.... And, of course, the pairing of your choice ❤️❤️

TITLE: The Moment That Changed It All PAIRING: Fen'aslan Lavellan & Solas/Fen'harel, Fen'aslan & Felassan Fen'aslan / Felassan / Solas & Fen'harel RATING: Mature WARNINGS: VEILGUARD SPOILERS, Physical and psychological torture mentioned, physical violence against femme oriented Main Character, Blighted Andruil and Ghil'nain, Near death experience Word Count: 1526 Author Note: Thank you FenxShiral for all your hard work on Project Elvhen, a glossary of any elvhen words used can be found at the end of the work.

Smoke filled the horizon and burned her nose, golden armor glittered against the ashen surroundings, trees cracked and shattered under the burning weight. Quietly she wringed her hands, nails digging into her palms, to her right dressed in all her splendor was the Great mother and protector, Mythal; benevolence made manifest dressed in all the finery of a goddess. Her opaline eyes turned back to the battlefield below them, her breath stilling until she caught sight of pair of wolves; one as dark as the night sky and the other the pale lavender of the morning dawn. Slowly a sigh of relief left her lips.

A deafening quake filled the air, and the shifting of stone slowly showed the Titan, the last they had hunted. Her copper hair caught the breeze of magic as she felt several of the people began to craft the binding spell. The blistering heat of the dragon of night seared her skin as Elgar'nan's thrall took to the field, flame licking stone. It was hard to keep track of Solas, and Felassan on the field, both magic and physical overwhelmed her very senses. There was something twisting in her...a pain unlike what she had ever felt. It was cold and lacking.....her. Her breath quickened and she slowly raised her hand, the tiniest movements of her fingers plucked the song of reality and a warmth flowed through it carrying her hope. Tomorrow they would be safe, tomorrow the Elvhenan would have no enemies.

There had been no warning, no deafening quake, suddenly the land that held the Palace of Mythal gave way. Panicked screams even her own filled the air. desperate strains of the priests and sentinels alike tried to stabilized the ground as sections broke away. She stepped back as she looked for Mythal, spotting her own great veridian dragon. Her eyes darted as she felt the rocks and tile shift there had to be a thread, she reached out in vein to grasp the rocks and keep them in place only to hear no answering note. She plummeted, wind sheering around her face and the delicate robes, darkness consuming her field of sight. Her body smacked into the wooded cliffs, that precious life source oozing from her body. Her breath barely came.

"Look My beloved, Mother's little treasure" Anger, smothering rage filled her senses. She tried to force her eyes to open, the world was too bright and too dark at the same time. Her ears filled not with the sounds of battle but the sickening laughter, the pounding of her own life source, and a ceaseless ringing that did not belong to the great song. "My goddess, she yet lives...see how she struggles to breath" The growing wrongness in the song and the very air grew even more oppressive. She knew these voices, the sickening laughter. Again she tried to force her eyes open. The tendrils of Ghil'nain, priestess of Andruil caressed her face. "Aw that's it da'las open those pretty eyes for your betters" She could see the writhing, pulsating corset that bound the priestess of Andruil, mirrored by a horrifying visage of her goddess, eyes turned to pitch with glowing red irises. Her opaline eyes narrowed, they would not dare. She wore Mythal's brand, and was one of the mother goddess' own priestesses. Clenching her jaw she pushed herself up even as the world still spun, her stomach knotted and tried desperately to retch.

"So Da'las does have a spirit after all and here I thought mother trained her pets properly." With each step Andruil took closer the oppressive weight of the void wound around her the song it sang sickening sweet, twisted from all that was natural. "Please I beg, let me pass. My aid is needed at the Mother goddess--" A clawed hand slapped her tearing skin as she howled, meeting narrowed blue eyes behind a mask that hid who she truly was. Ghil'nain the beauty, so enamored with the void she took bits gifted from Andruil's first hunt and created monsters for her and now both of them struck by the madness. "You will respect Andruil, the hunter of the Evanuris!" Her own opaline eyes narrowed and for a moment she felt the threads of the great song. "I have shown her the respect necessary of my position." Her hand rested against her ribs.

"Ghil'nain leave us. Go to the dread wolf and tell him what I have caught." Her eyes widened No! he was needed in this. She struggled against the void as the priestess joined her kiss, a kiss shared. Her form shifting as she tried to claw her way out. "Oh Da'las where do you think you are going little pup." The arrow sang through the air before it pierced her arm, the transformation halted as it forced her back into the elvhen shape. "You and I will have some fun, and perhaps if you leave this world, your wolf will finally heed my attentions." Another arrow sank into her opposite shoulder.

Time seemed to stand still, the jeering mocking of a goddess turned to madness, the sharp sting of arrows piercing the body, the burning agony of the dagger slicing into her, and the frozen knife inside her twisting, and clawing into her. Her breath was ragged as she slumped against the rocks, her ears rang with laughter sickening, that blighted knife shore her hair short to her shoulders. For no priestess should bear hair longer than her Ghil'nain. That ice pierced her heart as she struggled to breath. Something was taking root in her and it was so cold. The roar of the dragon deafened the laughter as her vision blurred around the edges. Blood and bile of the void mingled in a pool at her feet. Da'len, hear my voice you are safe. Fire washed over the cliff, the void that held her fled and she fell into that fire, too weak to stand as her world drew black.

"Andruil has gone to far." The words echoed around the palace cutting through the song. A hand held hers, the warmth of purpose and the gentle strains of wisdom as his hand brushed over her brow. Elfroot and crystal grace filled the air. "She attacked my priestess in my own domain Elgar'nan." She felt both the men wince as the yelling continued, she groaned trying to turn, her entire body burned with pain she had never known, a scream tearing from her lips.

"Euvniala!" Both the wolves cried out hands going to still her movements. Her eyes watered as she struggled to breath, silk burned and the bed felt too soft. "Vhenan, your are here with us." Wisdom's song wrapped around her and Purpose enfolded them both "Strip her of her armor or I will Elgar'nan!" The very foundations of the palace trembled and she curled into both of them. Fingers tangled in her hair...it was long, another set of fingers rubbed circles into her back. "Ma las." they whispered as slowly the world began to calm, her song timid and afraid. Her eyes closed as they held her.

"She almost died Solas..." Her eyes opened as she heard the whispered strains. "I know Felassan... Mythal was not herself when she left." She stared at the pair of men as the spoke. Generals in the great benevolence's army. "None of the evanuris have been the same since this began....Falon'din slaughters his own people. Elgar'nan nearly burnt June's followers on the field." Her eyes closed as she felt the strains of magic from wisdom, something burned, salt from his tear. She could not go to him, her body still healed from Andruil's cruelty. "You have..." Felassan's voice sounded scared. "I have and I will do the same for you and Euvinala." He said something else but sleep pulled her back into its embrace.

A groan left her lips as she barely opened her eyes squinting against the low light. "Euvinala." Purpose...Felassan he breathed her name a relief. "Solas, come she has awakened." She licked her lips tasting honey and slowly she forced herself to open her eyes. "Euvinala..." She heard the sorrow before she saw him. "Solas" she rasped trying to sit up and feeling Felassan grasp her hand giving her something to push against. He was quick, his feet barely made a sound as he joined them both on bed. Arms enfolding her and she clung to them both as tears flowed from all of them. Kisses sweeter than the confections of the heathkeeper as the both captured her lips. Her fingers went to their hair. She felt Felassan's vallaslin but she could not find Solas.

"Vhenan." They whispered as more of those kisses to sweet pressed into her and she returned them with her own. She had almost been parted from them and that act had changed everything. Her body still ached and that icy part of her soul still felt sore and frozen but the tender kisses of her Vhenans kept her in the room with them.

Whispered words of rebellion, promises she would never be hurt. It began that night.

---------- Elvhen Glossary Da'las - little hope Da'len - little one Vhenan - My Heart(s)