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novthirty · 3 months ago

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🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter one]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn

a/n — oh how i wish to leave my academically rigorous life and get isekai-d… next chapter will be sometime next week as i’m on the brink with finals (the class average on the exam is 7/45 we are not okay) i might not reply to all comments but i want u to know i see all of them n blush & kick my feet every time 🥰

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open! series masterlist | part two

chapter one: descent — after finding yourself in an unfortunate accident, you wake up in the world of love and deepspace. you go from burned out college student to secretary at your wit's end. wc: 4k

January snow falls on your tongue, plumes of warm air escaping your breath into the cold. It was just your luck to get saddled with a 7 PM class this semester, relegated to walking home in the late winter chill. You clutch your bag tighter as you walk down the desolate road, devoid of any streetlights— when a vehicle swerves and crashes into you. The impact is that of a sledgehammer to your body, as you hear the crunch of glass and the snap of bones.

This is the end, you think, as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

—————————————————————

You rise to consciousness upon hearing a steady, mechanical beeping— and promptly have a panic attack upon seeing the IV attached to your arm. You feel yourself hyperventilating, the heart rate monitor crashing as a triad of nurses comes in to restrain you. You desperately thrash against their hold, trying to remove the intrusive line from your body, but it’s no use; your injuries and the numerous drugs running through your system hamper your movements. You hear muffled explanations— inaudible to your clouded mind— before they decide to sedate you. You drift back into slumber.

Sometime later, you wake up again, this time with the IV detached and a familiar face sitting casually by your bedside. You do a double take at the silver-haired man. And you laugh. You must be in some sort of dream or coma-induced hallucination. Because why was Sylus, a love interest from Love and Deepspace— the game you have been obsessed with for the past few months— sitting here in flesh and blood? You say as much, and he deigns you with the response, “Did you sustain brain damage on top of your other injuries?”

You shake your head at the absurdity of your delusions, quickly falling back into a medically-induced sleep. Things should be back to normal when you wake up.

—————————————————————

Newsflash: they weren’t. As days passed, you gradually had to accept that— whether reality or not— you were going to be stuck here until you figured out how to return to your world.

Sylus visits you from time to time, the strange girl who landed in his backyard and claims to be from another world. It turns out that the place you’ve woken up in is not a hospital, but Onychinus’s medical ward. Your conversations are minimal, mostly veiled threats as he questions your intentions and identity. “I’ll give you one last chance,” He exhales in frustration as he interrogates you for the hundredth time, “To explain why you’ve trespassed here, before I decide for myself.”

“…I didn’t want to die?” You answer meekly. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s not being as menacing as he thinks he is, hovering over a patient confined to their hospital bed. You take a spoonful of your pudding when he looks away. Better than hospital food back home, at least.

There's little you can say that won’t make him think you’ve gone mad. But, maybe you are. A strong part of you believes that any moment, you’ll be waking up in a padded room, wearing a straitjacket.

You spend your days drifting in and out of sleep, staring out the window into the underbelly of the N109 Zone. Each day you awaken to the sight of the dark cityscape fills you with disappointment and dread, as you realize this may not be a dream. You miss the warmth of your own bed. You miss the soft daylight streaming into your apartment. (You miss home.)

When you’ve healed enough to be discharged, you have nowhere to go. So you turn to the only person you’re familiar with in this world.

You corner him in the hallway outside your room, dressed in the ill-fitting clothes given to you. (The ones you wore during the accident couldn’t be salvaged, they said, handing the torn and bloody garments to you. Your only possessions in this world, now ruined.) You fidget with your hands, daring yourself to look him in the eye. “I don't have a lot of work experience, but…” You earnestly list off all of the projects and internships you’ve undertaken in the previous years, selling your skills with the desperation of someone who has nowhere else to go.

You were just a college student, months away from graduation before you found yourself here. Your life was tiring; an endless backlog of readings and back-to-back assignments waiting for you at the end of each day, the pressure to succeed constantly weighing down on your conscience. But despite it all, it was a fulfilling life; working every day to the bone in order to achieve your dreams.

Now, it fills you with spite— how everything you had worked hard for was taken away in the blink of an eye. But you push the bitterness aside, offering whatever skills you have to Sylus so he doesn’t kick you out. You know that this world isn’t kind, the N109 Zone being one of the worst places you could have ended up. A normal civilian such as you wouldn’t be able to survive here alone.

You don’t spare a breath until the very end of your spiel, “—and, it would only have to be until I find a way to return home,” You finish. All the while, you’re hiding your anxiety; because how exactly do you get home? (A part of you cruelly whispers: if you can.)

“Pretty please?” You add with a grimace, when the silence becomes overwhelming.

He looks at you with cruel amusement, chin tilted down like a king with a peasant at his feet. The Sylus of Love and Deepspace may have been a devoted lover, but the man in front of you now is a cold and ruthless criminal. He takes a step forward— you think he plans to rid you from his sight, when he says, “Don’t make me regret it.”

—————————————————————

Though you don’t have much to contribute to a criminal organization, you’re grateful when Sylus offers you the job of his personal secretary.

The past few weeks before the accident had been spent in the post-holiday rush of schoolwork. With only your job to keep you occupied now, you’ve never found yourself with so much time on your hands. Years of building time management skills helps you to cope with the high-paced nature of this world, so you put your whole blood, sweat, and tears into this job, repaying Sylus’s generosity with your efforts to earn your keep around here.

As his personal assistant, you have no precedent to follow because Sylus just… does everything on his own. Despite the number of minions and associates he has at his disposal, when it comes to his personal business, Sylus is a one-man army. So, you insert yourself into his workflow and commandeer his schedule; the man doesn’t even have a calendar, for crying out loud. Although you don’t have much work experience, your previous internships and methodical nature help you to excel at this job. Never has the leader of Onychinus been so…. organized, his colleagues and associates observe the stark change in the following months.

“Miss Secretary,” Luke and Kieran affectionately call you, “What’s your secret to dealing with the bossman?” They ask, in dramatically hushed whispers.

Sylus was untouchable— unrivaled at his job— which often enabled his imperious disregard for everyone else’s time and patience. Being late or completely missing meetings if something he deems more important arises (an auction for a vintage record is not something you deem important enough over an executive meeting), expecting his minions to accomplish the impossible in a matter of days. “I did the heavy lifting, surely you can manage the scraps,” He drawls from his leather, ergonomic chair, looking bored to bits.

Though you already knew this from your time playing the game, it was different to experience it, and extremely more difficult to tolerate.

But you’ve dealt with worse in the form of freeloader group mates and hard-headed cousins. Over time, you whip him up to shape, scolding him when he arrives late to meetings, making sure he actually calls back when he says he will. “And what if I don't?” He asked with an edged smile on his face, the first time you admonished him.

As you learned with your experience with children over the years: disappointment hits harder than anger. You cross your arms, holding back your true frustration. “Well, you’d be making mine and everyone else’s job ten times harder. And I would think much less of you.” You thought you’d get sacked the moment the words came out of your mouth.

But instead, momentary shock flitted through his eyes— a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Well, I can't have my lovely secretary think so lowly of me, now can I?” He gave you a demeaning pat on the head, your irritation coming back in full swing.

Over time, you grow to have a deeper respect for Sylus and how he runs Onychinus. He surprisingly takes criticism very well. At least, when it comes from you. You vividly remember the time he used his evol on an associate who dared to criticize his business practices. (He was being rude, anyway.) Neither is he the type to exaggerate his capabilities, easily admitting to his limitations. “I suppose I’ll have to learn then,” Is his attitude when it comes to his shortcomings, and you admire it.

However, none of this stops him from being a bastard from time to time and making your job harder than it needed to be.

—————————————————————

Once Sylus started entrusting you with more responsibilities, you started handling his work line. His business partners now call his office to be greeted by a chirpy voice, “You’ve reached the Onychinus hotline, how may I help you? Oh, Sylus isn’t here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

This especially came in handy when certain little rats wouldn’t stop bothering him on the phone. “You want to know if he’ll attend the anniversary ball on the 21st?” You made eye contact with him across the room. He immediately shook his head, as he caught wind of the brown-nosing colleague who couldn’t take a hint. “He’s not here right now, unfortunately. I'll get back to you through email as soon as I can.” (You never did.)

Another new responsibility you’ve been given is to mediate dissatisfied clients. You’re surprisingly good at it; sometimes he wonders if you’ve taken some sort of PR training before. With how you handle these grown men acting like children without offending them, you’re either the most patient person to exist or very discreetly planning murder. He would’ve just resorted to threats of maiming (and execution of said threats when necessary). It makes things a lot easier since— according to you— his abrasive personality creates more problems than necessary.

He initially gave you this job as more of a placeholder role, so you can occupy yourself with the illusion of real responsibility while he investigates his suspicions about you. Where did you come from? Who sent you? And most importantly, how did you manage to infiltrate his base right under his nose? But his investigation leads him to the simple truth: there was nothing on you. It’s as if you materialized from thin air. No records, no blood ties, no evidence of your existence before you walked into his life.

But if reincarnation can be fact, and dragons more than legends, why deny the possibility of other realities? This, more than anything, makes him inclined to believe your claims.

Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be… useful, he can admit. You easily adjust to his nocturnal schedule; like another little crow chirping from his shoulder at all times of the day.

“Chop chop, Sylus! You have a 9 o’clock meeting at The Nest and it’s already 8:30,” You storm into his office to remind him. You can count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to overhaul his schedule into oblivion because of a single missed meeting.

“Don’t worry, dear,” He idly spins in his chair, with no intention of leaving anytime soon. “It’ll only take me fifteen minutes.”

You whipped your head at him in alarm, “I’d rather you not break the speed limits to get there on time.”

It takes you one look at his daily schedule to nag him about his more concerning eating habits, even going so far as to ask his preferred meals to inform the chefs in advance. “Are you going to explain to me why you’ve spent two whole hours on a single meal?” You sit across from him at the table; stunned would be an understatement at how you feel seeing all the empty plates surrounding him.

He huffs. It’s not his fault his more… draconic habits carried over into this life. “Can I not even have my lunch in peace?”

“At least space your meals out. Or eat dinner. You’re going to get hunger pangs before you go to bed, at this rate.”

Sometimes, you even resort to physically forcing him out of his office the moment noon hits, in an attempt to prevent him from overworking, “Sun’s up, boss. It’s time to hit the sack.” He’s long since learned not to fight you on this. Even if your attempts to push at his back are puny, at best.

Your days together go by in this peacefully chaotic nature; your presence likening to a storm that has come to uproot his life. He pays you egregious amounts of money to make his job easier, and in turn, you make sure he’s fed, well-rested, and most importantly, aware of his goddamn schedule.

It helps that your office is connected to his, although it's less a room and more an alcove he cleared away when he gave you the job. You have a small desk, a fluffy swivel chair, and a shelf covered in the trinkets you spend your salary on. (Another thing you have in common with Mephisto, he notes to the ever-growing list.)

He could shut the doors to your “reception area,” as he likes to call it, but he finds amusement to idly watch you during his downtime. Your desk is in the perfect position to observe you from the corner of his eye. It had been a strategic decision, when he knew nothing of you or your intentions. Now, it’s become a pastime for him to watch you and your silly habits. Twirling the strands of your hair and chewing your pen, as you talk on the phone about weapons shipments and insuring someone who lost a finger in an operation.

He’s not accustomed to being in such close quarters with someone, to letting someone into the crevices of his life. Yet slowly but surely, you weave your way into not only his work, but into the threads of his everyday existence. You leave your mark all throughout his home; from small trinkets magically finding their way onto random surfaces, your sweater claiming its new home on the couch armrest, a new mug in your favorite color left in the kitchen sink. Sometimes he can tell you’ve just left a room, when he inhales the lingering traces of your perfume.

Your presence slips its way into that of his found family, too. The moment you laid eyes on Mephisto, the mechanical crow had immediately claimed a soft spot in your heart. You affectionately call him Mephie. From feeding him tiny bites of your dinner (he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he can’t digest food), to finding shiny trinkets such as coins and jewelry to add to his collection, you’re very close to displacing Sylus as the crow’s favorite in the house.

Despite only being a few years older than Luke and Kieran— the exact middle between their and Sylus’s age— you both indulge and scold them. You join in on their pranks (you’re often the key to setting it up, what with your way around his schedule) but become extremely disappointed if their fun results in collateral damage; from a broken vase, to a rescheduled mission. Similar to Sylus, you keep them in check but stand right alongside them in the chaos.

Contradictory to his initial expectations, you prove yourself in a professional capacity and cement your place in the ranks of Onychinus.

—————————————————————

The snow melts and spring creeps in, marking three months since you found yourself in this strange new world. Most days feel like a haze to you. Your secretarial duties keep your mind occupied, leaving little room for sorrow to settle in. But when you clock out and are left in solitude, your thoughts become your worst enemy. For that, you linger around the base a lot. Commandeering the kitchen to make midnight snacks, playing cards with Luke and Kieran in the living room, bothering Sylus when he’s cleaning his quarters. You toe the line for how much sleep you need to make it through the day— a bit hypocritical, you admit, given how you scold Sylus when he works at his office late into the night.

Misguided as it was, maybe it was a drop of fortune that you found yourself in his world. You’ve read stories of being transported to other worlds— of lions, witches, and wardrobes; of tornados, munchkins, and wicked witches. But the rabbit hole you’ve fallen down has been nothing like those tumultuous journeys. Your days in the office are warm and lovely— far from the crazed rush of deadlines and youthful chase of dreams you were living out in university, but a quiet contentment, nonetheless. Over time, you find yourself growing attached to the new life you’ve built, to the new family you’ve found.

But the moment your head hits the pillow, it is the image of your family glued to the back of your eyelids. You see them worried sick about your disappearance, posting missing papers and wondering where you are, if you’ve become another statistic. (You don’t want to face the possibility that they may not be worried at all. That they may know exactly where you are, buried you there themselves.) For every smile and moment of laughter is a whisper in the back of your mind: Don’t you miss us? Don’t you miss home?

You invest all your guilt and spare energy into combing through the hoard of resources at your disposal. The reach of your information is almost endless, with Onychinus being the reigning authority in the N109 Zone (and secretly, some cities, too). Yet, there’s nothing. Your search feels futile, each failed lead adding to your ever-growing hopelessness.

During the day, no one would know any better; with how you hide your inner turmoil, composing yourself into your role as Sylus’s secretary. But your ghosts ambush you into the night. Nightmares plague you throughout your intermittent slumber, as you constantly arise from vivid memories of the accident and of your past life (of waking up and finding yourself six feet underground). Your anxieties have evolved from a restlessness to return to a growing fear of what might await you.

One night, you find yourself near-suffocating under plush sheets, thrashing as you dream of dirt piling on top of you. Sorrowful figures shoveling you into the ground and muffling your pleas, I'm here. I'm still here. Your terror carries over into reality, a scream leaving your throat as you jolt up in bed, once again finding the sight of the cityscape before you— now a source of comfort, rather than despair.

An imaginative mind is a gift at best, and haunts you at worst. You stumble as you leave your bed, heart racing and the fictional taste of dirt still in your mouth. You feel that you will vomit if you stay here, in sweat soaked sheets and stuffy air. So you grab a coat and make your way to the rooftop, where you find that someone had the same thought as you.

“Can’t sleep?” Sylus asks with his back turned, having sensed your presence before you could make yourself known.

You ignore his question, breathing in the dew and the early March air, breezing past even in the barren cityscape of the N109 Zone. “It's late, why aren’t you in bed?”

“Why aren’t you?” He retorts, scooting over in a silent invitation. You shiver as you take a seat beside him on the cold metal bench.

“It’s nothing, really,” You shake your head, voice trembling as you try to voice the terror that had taken over you, “Just nightmares, you know. They happen sometimes…”

Bathed under soft moonlight, he quietly admits, “I understand. I get them, too. I often find myself here when I can't go back to sleep, when it feels too stifling inside.”

“Before, I used to be mad at myself for falling asleep. I had to pull a lot of all-nighters for college, back then,” You explain, hitting your feet against the metal leg of the bench. “There were only so many hours in a day, but so much left to do… It’s ironic. Now that I want to sleep, I can't.” You laugh, but it’s hollow and empty.

“What is it that you dream about?”

You muse upon it, “Home. My family and friends. I dream of my childhood home a lot, but those are the good dreams. But then there are ones about all the things I'll need to catch up with at university, when I return,” Everything you have lost. Everything that was taken away from you. You laugh, thinking about it, “Those are the real nightmares. My to-do list is going to be taller than me once I get back. But what about you?”

A bittersweet smile paints his face, “Oh, the usual. Just about everything I've done wrong in my existence.”

You gasp dramatically, slamming a fist to your chest, “The great ole’ Sylus, ruler of all that breathes and crawls in the zone, feeling guilt?”

“Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He playfully rolls his eyes, before turning somber once again, “I feel regret, maybe, at what I could have done differently. Sometimes I dream of turning back time.” He dreams of his days inside the chapel, a short refuge within a terrible era of this world. Is it so wrong that he wishes to return to it? To live within that bubble of peace forever?

“That’s interesting. I don't know if anything would change if I could turn back time… I have a feeling I'd still be where I am.” Unease grows within you the more time passes. That however hard you try, you are bound to the direction you’re headed in. (That you have been for a while.)

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence, as the two of you gaze at the nocturne before you. You stare into the sea of lights glittering below, headlights and neon signs glowing within the city that never rests. They blur together, these lights. Soft colors of blue, green, red, growing ever duller until you find yourself falling back into a peaceful slumber.

—————————————————————

He sits in quiet tranquility, your slumbering figure resting on his shoulder, the smell of your shampoo overwhelming his senses. Once you’re sound asleep, he carries you back to your bedroom, careful not to disturb the long sought-for sleep you had just achieved.

What was once a potential threat is now precious cargo in his arms, muttering incomprehensible murmurs in her sleep. How can someone be so harmless and lovely? He thinks, brushing aside your stray wisps of hair. As he walks down the opulent halls of his home, he muses on how, like a storm rolling in, you have swept your way into his life. He lays you in your bed, tucking you gently underneath the cotton sheets.

It happens here, during the first breath of spring after winter, as he gazes upon your soft form. For the first time in a millennia, he feels the quiet stirrings of his heart, beating for something he cannot yet name.

—————————————————————

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yourstrulyrani · 3 months ago

Note

Simon Riley who causes your jaw to lock mid giving him head? ( or maybe an individual reaction list thingy for the tf141?)

my jaw dropped when i read this (enough for it to lock up ;).. get it?) ANYWAY this is my first dirty request ever and first 18+ work ever...i know it's gonna suck (no pun intended i promise), so please cut me some slack :')

taskforce141's reactions to reader's jaw locking mid-head session. cw: mdni. 18+ content ahead. mentions of oral.

simon relishes in the feeling your tongue swirling around the soft skin of his tip, coating it with enough slick to get yourself ready to let himself hit the back of your throat again. "wrap your lips around it, baby. put it in deep for me." you go ahead and try close your lips into an "o" shape until you realize you can't. simon realizes and snickers, removing his tip from your mouth. he pulls you up on the bed to sit with him. he inspects your jaw, massaging it with the tips of his fingers as he says, "you did so well for me that i locked up your jaw, love." he doesn't hesitate heading to urgent care. when you arrive and they ask your reason of visit, he speaks up saying "she just yawned too hard, doctor," rubbing your lower back soothingly... or teasingly. or both. definitely both.

gaz has you lying on your back with your head hanging off the edge of the bed, pumping gently and slowly in and out of your mouth. your mind is hazy with pleasure at the way he feels. all of the desire depletes when you realize he's starting to go too faster and harder and your jaw can't shut. you tap his arm two times, one of many gestures the both of you agreed on way back when as you discussed boundaries during intimacy. gaz instantly becomes aware of the tapping and quickly responds by sitting you upright, sitting by your side. your jaw is locked enough for your words to become slurred. he understands and apologizes, "i'm so sorry, love. i didn't realize." after resolving to a quick google search, he applied a warm compress to your jaw. he gives you a bath as aftercare since both of you know for a fact that was enough for tonight, as your jaw slowly starts to relax.

price has himself laid back on the bed, legs apart and his hands clasped behind his head. you're in between his knees as your head bobs up and down, one hand taking care of the rest of his shaft. a proud smirk on his face, "just like that, pretty girl." his gruff voice praises out to your movements. you usually make noises, whether you're gagging just right or trying to moan with your mouth full, but john notices the noise that comes out of your mouth this time and it's not normal: it's of discomfort. his smirk falters and his eyebrows furrow in concern. his hands unclasp and move to take your mouth off him. he wastes no time going to the kitchen to grab painkillers. with his carefulness, you take the medicine. after, he moves his body so he's laying on the bed again and your back is against his chest. he massages your jaw, enough to ease the pain also thanks to the medicine. "don't worry. i'm here for you. let me know if i can help any more, lovely." he presses a kiss to the curve of your jaw, helping you fall asleep.

johnny let you take control of the pace this time. you decide to go all out, deep and fast because you thought he deserved it after a harsh deployment. "so well, sweetheart." his fingers glide along your hair, careful not to damage his gorgeous girl's hairstyle. he's so close and you both know it, but when you feel the ache in your jaw you couldn't help but to get off him. at first he thinks you're lying to tease him but when he knows you're not bluffing, he justs bursts out laughing. "there's no way. this can actually happen?" like gaz, he uses google to search for a remedy. unlike gaz, his search led him to a youtube video of a bbc show called 'bizarre er' of your same dilemma, which was solved by placing popsicle sticks inside the mouth to tire the muscles, forcing them to shut eventually. johnny giggles as he shows you the video, but knowing your man, you trust him in his popsicle stick plan. (it works out in the end).

(yes that video mentioned in soap's part is legit on youtube, look it up LMAO. this request made me remember i watched it ages ago when i was little and i thought soap would be someone to attempt it idk)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

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gallavichsreddie1128 · 2 months ago

Text

If She Knew.....2

Description: Ellie hears Y/N and Joel having sex and debates on whether to confront them or not.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 1,357

Part One

Author’s Note: I am taking my own route with this instead of following the series for obvious reasons....

“You know if she was to walk through this door right now, we would never even have to tell her.” Y/N said as her and Joel cuddled. He chuckled, it was the first one of the night. Joel was still upset about Ellie and Y/N was trying to cheer him up. Ellie was somewhere off with Dina and that left them the house to themselves even if she lived in the garage. He stared at Y/N as she laid her head on his chest. She felt him chuckle and that made her smile, “There it is.” She sighed, happily. “What?” “You chuckled, I’ve been trying to put you in a good mood all night after the party.” She said and gave his chest a kiss.

“You could always put me in a good mood.” He told her and she lifted her head with a smirk. “Really now?” She asked and shifted so she was straddling him. His hands went to her hips and rubbed them, her eyes stared into his with this lustfulness to them. Her hands gripped his and moved them under her shirt, she gasped at the coldness of his hands going over her stomach and to her boobs. He squeezed them and her jaw dropped, her head thrown back as his cold hands played with her nipples. “Take this shirt off.” He tells her and she does, throwing it somewhere in the room.

His hands went back to play with her hard nipples, “Joel.” She moaned softly and gripped the headboard behind him. He pulled her closer and his mouth attached to one of her nipples while the other one was still in his hand. She pulled his head closer and sighed. He mumbled something against her tit but she couldn’t make out what it was and was too blissed out to care. Her pussy was dripping in her panties and she started grinding on him. She was angled right against his clothed cock and he groaned against her. His hands gripped her panties, almost wanting to rip them off so he can fuck her but she stopped and removed them before he could.

He watched as she pulled down his boxers, his hard cock sprung up against them. She threw his boxers with her shirt and soaked panties. She gasped as his finger came in contact with her throbbing clit, “You’re Soaked darlin’” He said and pulled her closer so she was right above his dick. Her juices leaked onto him before she decided to line him up with her entrance. Both of them moaned loudly as she gripped him tight. His hands went to her hips and didn’t waste any time dragging her against him. He was deep, so deep inside of her like usual but she never got used to it.

Each drag of her hips a moan left her lips, each time getting more intense. “So beautiful.” He groaned to her. Neither one of them heard the front door, Ellie looking for her sister. She heard a series of moans and her eyes widened when she realized that Joel and Y/N were in the bedroom together…fucking. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Her sister was 28 and Joel was 61, they had a huge age gap. She wondered how long this has been going on and if they would have ever decided to tell her. She was mad, pissed actually, Joel was having sex with her sister and she wasn’t sure how to feel about Joel right now. She left the house and went to the garage to get away from the loud moans and she sighed in relief once she was in the garage.

Meanwhile, oblivious to all of that, Joel and Y/N continued having sex. Joel now on top of her as her eyes rolled back. His hips were moving fast making the bed squeak. One of his hands was placed on the headboard and the other cupped her blissed out face. “Joel, I’m close.” She whined but he could tell. He grunted and kept up his speed, her pussy was clenching around him. Her moans got louder and louder and his name fell from her lips before she came. Her eyes rolled back and her orgasm came in waves. Just the sight of her cumming was enough to push him over the edge.

Ellie stared at her desk, zoned out from what she heard. She felt betrayed and lied to, even though she never asked her sister if she and Joel were having sex. She never had a reason to even assume that. Her sister always liked older men but she never would have thought that Joel would be her type. She thought back to all the times that her sister would laugh a little too hard at one of Joel’s bad jokes, when her eyes would linger on him a little longer after he was done talking. Was she oblivious to everything? Had this been right in front of her face the whole time? A knock at the door broke her out of her thoughts, “Come in.” She said and Y/N opened the door. “Hey, how are you doing?” Y/N asked Ellie.

Ellie stared at her for a second, just thinking about the fact that she was having sex with Joel 20 minutes ago. “Ellie?” She asked and she shook her head. “Yeah I’m good.” She lied, she was far from it at this point. “I’m sorry about everything at the party. Joel and I know you can handle yourself.” Y/N went on but Ellie stopped listening after she heard Joel and I. “All good.” Ellie told her and Y/N gave her a smile and clapped her hands together.

It was then that Ellie noticed the ring on her finger. So they weren’t just hooking up, they were engaged? She wanted to scream and ask her sister all types of questions but fought against it. Maybe the ring was for something…but she knew that she was just coming up with excuses because she couldn’t accept Joel and Y/N together. “Tell me about you and Dina.” Y/N teased her and sat down on the other chair in the garage. Ellie shook away the thoughts about her sister and Joel and began telling her.

“Dinner’s ready.” Y/N yelled into the garage. Ellie had been avoiding them all day, trying not to think about them. It was hard and she wanted to tell Dina but she couldn’t bring herself too, not yet anyways. Ellie left the garage and went to the dining room where Joel was setting the table. She wished that she didn’t promise her sister that they would all have dinner together once a week. She looked at Joel a little too long and wanted to punch him. She bit her lip and sat down at the table.

He wasn’t wearing a ring but she figured that they would try to hide it. Y/N wasn’t wearing her ring either tonight. She smiled at Ellie as she brought the food in, Ellie gave her a half ass one. Joel noticed that Ellie was quieter than usual but he just figured that she was still mad at them. “Okay dinner is done.” Y/N announced as she set down the food. Ellie was always first to grab food but today she just sat there. Y/N looked at her confused, “You okay?” She asked, voice laced with concern.

Ellie looked at her, “Yeah.” She said and got her food. Joel and Y/N exchanged a look with each other. Ellie ate her food while Joel and Y/N got their plates full of food. Ellie would least talk to her sister but she couldn’t erase the noises she heard them make from her head, she couldn’t unthink all the things she’s been thinking about the situation. Y/N was worried about her, the last thing crossing her mind was that she knew about them. Ellie looked at them as they talked and about the future and what was to come. The thought of telling them she knew or hinting at it crossed her mind. What would the looks on their faces be?

#joel miller the last of us #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou season 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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wriothesleybear · 2 years ago

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~warnings: pussyeating, squirting, overstimulation, fem! reader, pussydrunk!Wriothesley, MDNI!

Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you sit on his face. It's his favorite position. You smothering his face with your weight turns him on more. He usually gets too into it that he overstimulates you. When you try getting up, his beefy, strong arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he continues to eat. You try moving but you just end up grinding on his face, his nose hitting your clit as he sucks on your hole. It causes you to squirt on his face, but he doesn't mind. That was his plan all along. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you squirt on his face. He groans into your pussy every time you do. He eagerly laps it up and continues his meal. You're usually blabbing nonsense at this time, mind breaking and tears running down your cheeks from the sweet pleasure he keeps giving you. Eventually, you cant keep your upper body up much longer and he notices. This is when he detaches his mouth from your pussy and you sigh in relief, glad to finally have a break. He helps you lay down on the bed and makes sure you're comfortable. Once he does, he opens your legs and he lays down between them, getting comfortable himself. He places his mouth back on your pussy, going back to feasting like he's a starving man enjoying his favorite meal. You are of course his favorite meal. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you close your thick, beautiful thighs around his head, almost like you're trying to crush his head, which he wouldn't mind. You comb your fingers through his hair, nails softly scratching his scalp causing him to groan into your pussy. The extra stimulation to your pussy causes you to pull his hair, making him groan more. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you can't decide whether to push his head away or pull him closer, looking for more stimulation, which he is more than happy to give. When you pull his head closer with your hands as you wrap your legs around his head, heels of your feet digging into his back, he takes this as a sign to up the pleasure. You cry out in pleasure as you once again fall over the edge, squirting on his face and tightening your beautiful thighs around his head. Your legs eventually grow weak, not being able to stay wrapped around his head anymore, making him whine in disappointment. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves to put his rough hands on the back of your thighs, pressing them against your chest, opening you wider for him. Your mind is too numb from the pleasure to care about the embarrassing position he put you in. He latches his mouth to your pussy, sucking and licking and using his tongue to explore your insides. You have no where to go as he uses his incredible strength to hold you down. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley loves when you cry and scream out as you once again squirt on his face. He shakes his head as he continues to suck and rub his nose against your clit. You squirt over and over as he doesn't stop. He finally stops and removes his mouth. He looks up at you, breathing deeply as your juices drip from his chin. Your thighs slightly shake as you try to steady your breathing. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and leaves a kiss on your forehead. He lays down, gently wraps his strong arms around you, and holds you close. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, praising you for doing so well as he rubs your back. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep. He admires your adorable, sleeping face for a while until he kisses the top of your head and closes his eyes. Pussydrunk!Wriothesley can't wait until you two can do this again later.

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact smut

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serawritesthings · 9 months ago

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COERCION, AND OTHER SUCH TENDENCIES

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Longing for you seems to have become a daily habit for Arthur as of late, amidst work and rest, and while he could honestly say watching you from a distance was enticing enough, there were a few things he desired more. Tags | fluff, a pining Arthur (as per usual) Word Count | 4.8k A/N | Hello again, lovelies! I wrote together a shorter fic about Arthur that's a bit more lighthearted than the stuff I usually write. Hope you like it! <3 By the way, feel free to throw in some requests if you'd like <3

It was smooth—so smooth, like thick honey filling his ears, soothing every ache and doubt, every pain and hardship. Like cough drops eased his throat, your voice found its way into his head, numbing his mind until it turned to a sickly syrup when the familiar, bashful laugh quietly filled the air. He damned every bird that sang, every crow that cawed, despised Swanson’s drunken rambling, for it distorted your soft murmurs, keeping him from imagining you were right beside him, whispering the words in his ears instead.

A soundless chuckle left Arthur as he realized the absurdity of his thoughts when he, for once, let them drift away, unwilling yet drawn to them. He couldn’t deny, though, that there was a certain allure to think of you this way, to direct any thoughts that could be even remotely romantic to something so good—so pure. Longing and a fair bit of desperation were surely in play, ever the dreamer and, more often than not, a procrastinator.

“Fool, Morgan,” he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head to rid himself of these thoughts when his imagination became so vivid he could almost feel the touch of your hands on his skin.

The gazing sun blazed unforgivingly when he opened his eyes, a shudder running through him when you could be heard closer than before. He basked in your voice’s rich, hushed tones as your figure appeared before him through the trees separating you. Droopy eyes followed along your silhouette as you slowly passed him in the distance, sinfully following along the tiny show of curves your clothes allowed. Against his will, they drifted to the place where your apron had been tied tighter than usual, following along the cotton until they caressed the part where your dress pushed against your bosom, squinting his eyes to try and see the supple flesh that now seemed so inviting, so soft and heavenly.

His lids closed once more when warmth started seeping into his veins, bringing his arm to rub against them so the image of you would wishfully leave. Utterly and fascinatingly dumbfounded is where you had brought him, whether you were aware of it or not, and while he could honestly say it was unlikely you were, somewhere he damned you for bringing him to his knees so effortlessly. Who would have thought he could plow through men easily, neither afraid nor with an ounce of difficulty, yet somehow, you made him feel both of those things the moment you crossed his mind.

It was absurd, really, and Arthur was not a man familiar with the sole thought of being uncomfortable. Yet, you managed to make his skin prickle until it felt like bugs scattered through his body, so distraught—barely recognizing himself when your eyes found his, both mind and body limp.

“Oh, Arthur,” Startled, he perked up by the sudden noise, blinking a few times as he removed his arm that had shielded him from the evening sun. Quickly, you leaned down over him where he had perched himself against a tree, deciding that snoozing away would be the most productive way to spend the rest of his day, even though the bark scratched against his sore back— the distant howling of Reverend irritating his ears.

“How did this happen?” Nimble fingers found their way to his cheek, lifting his face so you could inspect him thoroughly. A look so displeased formed on your face that if anyone else had been the reason for it, he wouldn’t hesitate a second to bury them ten feet underground. He almost chuckled at the thought, all too aware of your hatred for bodily harm and other such nonsense Arthur himself saw as chicken feed. Yet, he couldn’t help it; it was entirely too endearing for him to belittle you for it, finding your immense vexation heart-warming—when it was directed at him, of course.

Your soothing caress, though, reminded him of the throbbing pain that pinched his jaw, and as he moved it to get rid of the stiff sensation, he hissed, downplaying it by tilting his hat further down, relaxing against the tree. He did not care to remove your hand, though, secretly basking in the softness of your skin against his tender, pulsating one—tongue growing limp in his mouth as his mind grew blank, losing the art of speaking he otherwise had quite a knack for.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he mumbled, sleep lingering in his voice. It wasn’t just nothing, and he was pretty sure you knew that, too, because he could almost hear the way your brows furrowed at his seemingly grumpy answer.

You only sighed, frowning deeply when your hands left his cheeks to grab his hat, which you carefully put on the moss-filled ground. Softly, your fingers brushed the sweaty strands of his hair from his forehead, flattening out the harsh lines that had almost become a consistent part of his face by now.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” you retorted, sitting on your knees to better examine his purple bruise. “Is it sore? You’ve bled, you know.”

He could almost laugh at the worry that laced your words, hidden behind your careful wording. How very usual, and not any less unbecoming of you to notice every scratch and cut on his skin like your eyes could see through clothes and metal. More than that, he was still bewildered that you could see deeper than that, through both flesh and bone, like you had skinned him alive and examined every part of him. It was, to many extents, terrifying—being so bare and naked in someone’s presence, even though he was clothed to the till.

“Mmh,” he ruffed out a sound of acknowledgment. He was too deep in thought to feel your stare, which should have made the hair on his body stand straight up in fright if his eyes weren’t closed. More so, he grew lost in how your fingers caressed his face, stomach almost turning upside down when they found their way to his hair, dragging through the honey-blonde strands.

“Long day?” You had to admit defeat, deciding that irritating an already grumpy Arthur would ruin both yours and his day. Although you were still not pleased he kept the reason for his beaten face from you, but when it came to Arthur, it could have been all of the above. You should have become used to it, but it grew more complicated to deal with as time passed, just as it did having to ponder his whereabouts. Not once did he tell you of his misfortunes; the only way it would get through to you was from the other’s talking—surprised faces turning towards you when they figured Arthur never let you in on their daily business and various mishaps in the form of bruising and worse, a red, dark liquid only you seemed to find distressful among your dear friends.

A huff was your only answer, and as you gazed at him for a few seconds, you could almost believe he’d gone back to sleep. Slowly, a small smile grew on your face, all too aware that he’d not been back at camp for a few days, which was surely the reason for his aloof nature, deeming it a valid reason for snoozing off. Truly, he wanted nothing more than to feel the grasp of slumber pull him back down, but sleep could never rival you, and the tender touches you left on his skin made him believe he might be dreaming. But again, most of his dreams these days consisted of you, whether of the nightmarish sort or not.

As your fingers graze his scalp, a shudder runs through his body, his thoughts cast far away, fingers twitching where they lay at his side, itching to reach out to you and to pull you into his arms so he could feel your body against his—feel the skin that hid underneath your clothes. Or, perhaps, he should say those damned clothes, which hugged your body so beautifully. Arthur often wondered if you were doing it on purpose, pondered if you’d picked it out simply to torment him—as if he wasn’t a man made to suffer already.

There were days when sleep was so far away he could almost swear that, in his deluded and exhausted state, he could feel the same caresses on his skin that he felt now. The ghost of your lips caressed the juncture of his neck, only to realize that his hair strands were blowing against his skin from the soft wind. He couldn’t decide if it was in his favor, growing more miserable than anything when he realized you hadn’t been there. Torture and some other types of depraving punishment were what it was.

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbled, tired hands lifting slightly to invite you in, beckoning you to crawl into his embrace. His mind was jumbled, and he hadn’t had much sleep as of late, and your touch—your addictive, mind-numbing touch—managed to set his head askew. Oh, how he always wanted more of you, realizing slowly that the thought of not getting what he now wished for would leave him in horrendous anguish.

“What?” Your smile faltered slightly, confusion now written on your face at his sudden words.

“I said," he muttered, a mild annoyance lacing his voice as one hand reached for you. “Come ‘ere.”

“You should rest,” you answered, blushing at his sudden display as you removed your hand from his hair. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced at him, finding his half-lidded eyes gazing at you. You had trouble admitting it to yourself, yet his lap seemed more inviting when your eyes faltered to find somewhere else to look, trying to ignore his one hand that patted his thigh to beckon you further.

“To hell with that,” he muttered, frowning when he saw you move away from him.

“Well, there’s, you know…” you said quietly, looking behind you through the trees, trying to spot your camp members through the foliage. “Someone could see, Arthur.”

“Come on, sweetheart, it’ll help with the pain.” You gave him a ridiculous look as he moved his jaw and pretended to hiss from the pain, not amused by his blatant lie and laughable attempt at coercion.

“Oh?” Despite his poor endeavor, you couldn’t help but see the corners of your mouth lifting against your will, hand intertwining with his reaching one as you glanced behind you again, conflicted.

His heart warmed at the sight of you, your bashfulness and avoidant eyes only making him long for you harder. It wasn’t unusual for you to avoid his advances, to glance or walk away when he neared you, too shy for your good. Certainly, perhaps he came to you in moments where physical contact might not be deemed appropriate. Yet, the thought of your careful eyes that gazed around you, the small hitch of your breath when he stepped closer than usual in the presence of others, was addictive, bordering on a selfish enjoyment, perhaps.

Without a single notice, you were suddenly tugged forward as you cast a last glance backward, expecting someone to wander further into the surrounding woods as many of you do to escape the merciless sun, finding yourself toppling over Arthur’s body. Gasping slightly, you craned your neck to gaze at his now closed eyes, an amused smirk covering his lips when the palm of your hand hit his chest slightly, sitting up on his lap so you could gain some distance.

“Beatin’ an already wounded man?” His tone was mimicking bafflement, yet the corners of his mouth he couldn’t quite bring down gave him away, and as you scoffed at him, huffs of laughter he tried to quiet down escaped him. “I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt?” Your arms crossed, unamused by the teasing that seemed to grow more frequently as you spent more time with him.

“Well, it does, but it don’t hurt when you do that thing with your hands,” Oh, how unfair it was, twisting and turning his words to make you speechless time and time again. Yet, you should’ve known; Arthur always had a way with words you couldn’t quite understand. “Y’got some kind of witchcraft goin’ on, or what?”

“I might,” you said, narrowing your eyes when his hand squeezed playfully on your waist, wondering what suddenly got him in such a mood after his previous nonchalant—and incredibly grumpy—self. Yet the slight flutter in your stomach persisted as his admittance rang in your ears, tickling your insides when he let his palm rest against you instead of moving away.

Arthur only raised his eyebrow at your words, enjoying the gasp that left you when he suddenly, deliberately, let his legs shift upwards, rendering you nowhere else to fall than towards his chest. The warm, rumbling of his chest against the side of your face when he laughed quietly was infuriating, yet all the more enticing when both hands covered the small of your back, firmly caging you in his arms so you couldn’t possibly move away.

“Arthur-” you started but found yourself being cut off.

“Well then, don’t stop those magic hands of yours if that’s what you're doin’,” he mumbled, lifting you further up his chest to rest his head against your shoulder, secretly enjoying how he finally had your body against his. A job very well executed, he’d say.

A sigh left you as you surrendered, arms wounding their way around his neck as his grip tightened around you and, in the process, pressed you further against him when he felt your hands slither their way into his hair once more. As you combed through the soft, wild strands, you felt the breeze caressing your skin, the distant, low rumble of clanging pots, and Uncle’s loud complaints mingling in the air.

“What really happened today, Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“With your face, I mean. What happened?” He only sighed at your question, and while you had expected to get no answer like usual, it surprised you when you got one.

“Ran into some fellers with John, that’s all. Y’know them Lemoyne boys, right?”

“Mmh,” you hummed in acknowledgment, feeling his thumbs slightly rub against you where they rested.

“They sure ain’t tough, but he got a lucky punch, I guess,” Arthur grumbled, obviously displeased with the poor fellow’s moment of luck. “Punched him a whole lot harder, though.”

Raising, you caressed his cheek softly while Arthur leaned his head against the tree to gaze down at you, his expression losing the irritation. With careful movements, you placed a kiss against the tender, slightly purple skin that stretched across his jaw, letting your lips hover for a moment as your eyes closed.

“Good,” you whispered, focusing on the faint flutters that seemed to travel across the place where he let his touch wander. “My tough outlaw,” you drawled, eyes glinting as your eyes met his, the corner of your lips lifting slightly, yet a certain tenderness hiding in your voice as you spoke.

“Yeah?” he squinted his eyes at you, hands squeezing around your waist once more, his touch not quite as lighthearted as before but slower, almost kneading the supple skin through your clothes. “You think so, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, feeling your heartbeat slow as the air around you shifted, turning humid as a shiver passed through your body. “I do.”

Letting your eyes falter from his, you stroke your fingers over his jaw, letting them slowly make their way down the slope of his neck until they trail over the specks of hair that covered the skin uncovered by his unbuttoned shirt. Slowly, you hooked your fingers over the button, pulling slightly on it so the fabric tightened around his shoulders, feeling his gaze heavy on you.

“What?” he smirked when you paused. “To shy?” You couldn’t tell if he meant to speak the words teasingly, for his tone appeared darker and lowly, eyes testing you carefully.

“Of what?” you retorted, watching his chest move as you took notice of his breathing that had grown heavier beneath you, finding his hands gliding lower down your waist so they now gripped onto the sides of your hips.

A quiet, strained laugh left him as you released his shirt, preparing to lean away slightly when his presence became too much—too imposing. Yet, you didn’t get the chance, only finding Arthur to straighten his otherwise slouching back to lean towards you, arms circling your waist so you wouldn’t fall back in surprise.

“Arthur…” you mumbled, feeling small when he suddenly towered over you. The sides of your thighs rested snuggly against his waist as your skirt gathered around you, the mossy ground damp against your bare knees.

“Mmh?” he hummed, raising an eyebrow when you spoke his name. You felt his hands flex restlessly, eyes plastered solely on your lips—as if his mind was further away than he let on.

“What are you…” you trailed off, words coming out in a breath as you moved slightly to escape the buckle of his belt that dug into your lower stomach, stilling when you heard a low grunt leave his chest, the damp skin of his forehead meeting your shoulder as his head fell limp.

Your breath hitched as you felt Arthur’s arms circle your waist, hugging you tighter against him while taking a deep breath to secretly breathe in your scent—internally groaning when he felt the curves he dreamed of not too long ago as his hands slowly caressed your sides. Cheeky, sure, he was all too aware of it, yet the sole thought of having you in his lap like this without naughtily copping a feeling would be a lost opportunity he would feel saddened about if it passed.

“Oh,” he heard you mumble in surprise. “You know, this could be seen as a violation of private space,” you said matter-of-factly, petting his head in jest. “Also, it’s very unbecoming for a man to throw himself on an unsuspecting woman like this, more so in the middle of the woods, you know.” The rest of your words turned into nonsensical babbling, with no words registering, yet he enjoyed the sweet purring of your voice that vibrated against his cheek.

Arthur, being more prone to being a standoffish man, surely did his part to surprise you at times. Some would say hot or cold; you would say it was more of a tug between his responsibilities and wants, whereas the previous, more often than not, won. Unfairly, for that matter, yet you felt you had no say in it and, therefore, letting the parts play themselves out. You felt, though, that you had every right to be baffled by his twists and turns, careful of his moods, and worrisome of the nature of which he seemed to stretch the sanity of his own self.

“What do you say in your defense, mister Morgan?” you asked righteously—craning your head back in preparation for his answer as you wished your thoughts away.

“Mmh,” he mumbled against your skin, in actuality not having processed a single word that left your mouth, only reveling in the soft murmur of your voice that now surrounded him when you spoke, feeling the warm skin of your neck against his cheek that felt so soft. He would worry about rubbing it raw with his beard if not because he, at this particular moment, couldn’t think of anything but the swell of your hips that rested in his lap and the soft, pudgy thighs encasing his own.

“Mmh,” you quoted, “is not a suitable response-!“ Your last word ended in a small shriek, cut off by the realization that you were suddenly pushed towards the ground, your back meeting the soft moss of the forest floor. A breathless laugh left you at the motion, a small thrill traveling through your body when you felt Arthurs’s lips place themselves in the juncture of your neck, humming slightly as he did.

“Hey,” you said softly, gripping the hair that littered the nape of his neck to lift his head so he would finally look at you. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sure,” he drawled, casting you a glance before letting his head fall back down, pushing his weight further into you.

It had been a dangerous move to gaze at you, as it always seemed to be, he’d come to find, and the sight itself made tiny, almost unnoticeable tendrils of warmth climb their way up his skin. He only got lost further into you, feeling the corners of his mouth rise when your legs found their way to his waist as if unconsciously. A dangerous invitation, indeed, yet one he couldn’t refuse even if it would mean his death, for it let him rest more comfortably over you, feeling the soft curvature of your body behind the heaps of clothing.

With a quick glance down amidst the small kisses he placed tenderly on your neck, he almost groaned at the sight of your bare legs that were now visible thanks to your skirt that had gathered above your knees. He imagined for a short while running the palm of his hand slowly among the meaty flesh of it, trailing his way to the inside of your thigh where you would be so sensitive—so responsive.

“No, you’re not,” you sighed, smiling when he once more met your gaze, your features softening when you felt his hand travel down your arm to intertwine your hand with his, unbeknownst to you the reason solely so they wouldn’t find their way down your bare thighs.

You had to admit, his persuasion tactics were entirely too well executed, and against your proper nature, they wronged every rule you had set for yourself—including being straddled by a man in the middle of the woods. Yet there was always something unrecognizable in his gaze, like molten coal swimming deep in his eyes, the light glow of embers burning at times as if caressed by the wind. Addictive, and there was no other way around it, no way for you to part with the thought of him.

“Well, ” he paused momentarily. “It ain’t my fault.”

“Oh?” you scoffed. “Then who’s fault is it?”

“Yours,” he said confidently, raising his brows in fake mock when your eyes suddenly squinted at him, the lines in your face deepening in disbelief at his accusation.

“My fa-” Once more, you were cut off; this time, Arthur’s laughter vibrated deep in his chest as if your reaction in and of itself amused him.

“Alright, alright,” he mused, another snicker leaving him when you turned your face away from his kiss. “Easy there, tiger. Quite feisty today, aren’t you?”

“Arthur Morgan, you are being incredibly difficult!”

He only hummed at your scolding, placing his lips on yours when your head turned towards his once more, unrespectful yet non-complaining. Slow and deliberate, the palm of your hand rose to protest but only ended up pressing lightly against the side of his chest to savor every second—the very sensation of being close. It didn’t help that his hands that were still on you created a warmth that seeped through your clothes and lingered on your skin, and as you lay there, tangled together on the forest floor, every passing sound seemed so far away, like a distant murmur that couldn’t quite reach you just yet.

For but a moment, you opened your eyes when the familiar graze of coldness you always felt when Arthur’s lips left yours spread. A smirk formed on his lips as his voice dropped into a low, raspy murmur, vibrating against your skin in a rumble.

“What’d I say? Like taming a tiger,”

You exhaled a soft laugh, but you couldn’t possibly ignore how your heart was racing—almost growing paranoid he could feel it from being pressed so intimately against you.

“Arthur, you can’t just–” you started, but the words faltered when his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, not failing in making your thoughts that had been so carefully planned scatter away like dust being swept away by the wind.

“Can’t just what?” he said, the faintest tone of teasing in his voice yet molded with a certain huskiness, a low hum of desire bleeding through the soft murmurs. Rough, of course, as it always was, but there was a certain gentleness you’d never been able to get used to that only peeked out when he spoke to you.

“You know exactly what.”

You could almost roll your eyes at the cockiness that shone through him, but the warmth that spread through your body betrayed any attempts you made in resistance. It’s simply not fair, yet there was only so much stubbornness left in your body that you could keep up, knowing very well this was where you longed to be the most—encased in his arms

Arthur only chuckled softly, shifting his weight as his other hand slid carefully down to rest on your hip, fingers brushing just below the hem of your skirt. His eyes caught your attention; the blue shades of his eyes almost seemed to darken as his chest moved steadily, almost daring you to protest when he slowly felt the skin underneath the pads of his fingers—just about to speak before a brash voice cut through the air.

“So this is where you hide, with clothes to be washed and dishes to clean!”

The sudden outburst made you feel like your heart jumped through your skin—jolting up in surprise so you almost hit your face against Arthur’s shoulder when he didn’t move a single muscle at the intrusion.

“Miss Grimshaw!” you gasped, pushing against Arthur’s chest when you found that he didn’t attempt to move, instead only raising his eyebrows as he gazed at the scandalized woman who glared at you from a few feet away.

“So do ‘em,” Arthur mumbled in annoyance, seemingly not caring if the woman had heard him or not. He directed his gaze towards your red cheeks before glancing at your frantic hands, which hit slightly against him, causing a small smile to take over his lips before the previous irritation filled his mind once more at having his time with you interrupted.

“I just-” you started, cut off by an unamused Grimshaw.

“I don’t care to hear it,” she said, hand placed firmly on her hip as she beckoned you over, turning around to walk towards camp with determined steps, muttering angrily to herself as if you’d committed a cardinal sin—or a few. “Behaving like teenagers.”

Crawling away from Arthur’s arms surrounding your sides, you quickly stood up, running a hand through your hair that had tangled something terribly at the back of your head. How embarrassing, you thought, closing your eyes momentarily before gazing at her fading figure, feet setting into motion the second she turned her head towards you.

The coercion that man harbored was all too ridiculous, yet you had to applaud his tactics, for they sure did the trick in rendering you willing every time. Curse him, and curse you for falling for it. Yet, as you glanced back at Arthur, you found your eyes growing smaller as you saw him once more leaning comfortably against the tree—like he’d never moved from his earlier position at all.

“Your skirt,” he said, making you stop in your tracks to throw him a confused look.

“What?”

Opening one eye, he glanced at your legs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk you could only explain as insufferably irritating, before closing it to place his hat over his eyes. Following his gaze, you found your skirt now twisted and wrinkled, having gotten caught, so it now showed a large portion of your one leg.

A terrible heat crept up your neck as you tugged at the fabric, hastily straightening it as you damned Arthur’s smugness while berating yourself over this mortifying moment that he didn’t seem to bat an eye at.

“Real helpful,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a chilling look that was meant to wound his ego—yet you doubted anything could pierce that thick skull of his.

Turning your back on him, you tried to walk with a sense of purpose, as if you weren’t still reeling from your racing heart and tangled hair. But that woman—terribly unimpressed—already stood waiting for you in the distance as if she could sense your hesitation. The look she threw you stung, and you couldn’t help but feel like a scolded child under her gaze despite your age.

“Best hurry up before she rips into us both,” Arthur’s voice came for behind, teasing but low. You didn’t dignify it with a response, only picking up your pace as his laughter—soft and lazy—followed you all the way back to camp. You were sure there’d be words exchanged soon, ones you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with today. Though, despite this, you felt a small smile take over your frown, damning yourself for falling for his coercion time and time again.

“Damn you, Arthur Morgan.”

#arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fanfic #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine

703 notes · View notes

ccazimi · 7 months ago

Text

Nightingale

read pt. 2 here

CW: stepcest, noncon/dubcon, f!reader, dacryphilia, handjob, playing with panties, biting, degradation, slapping, cumplay?, reader is a bit insecure, modern au, lmk if i missed anything else WC: 4.3k 18+, MDNI a/n: props to anyone that knows the title's reference

You sit in your room, mouth open in a small O as you concentrate on meticulously applying a few finishing touches of mascara to the ends of your lashes. The warm light of the lamp illuminates the wash of color on your cheeks and lips, a floral chypre perfume hanging redolent in the air.

Careful, spread the lashes evenly-

Your door swings open and in bursts your menace of a stepbrother Sukuna, causing you to lose your steadfast focus and smear some of the mascara on your upper lid.

Immediately you feel rage snap in you, gritting your teeth and grabbing an earbud to pour some micellar water on it to try and erase the black marks as cleanly as you can.

“Hey,” he greets you as he saunters across your room and sinks onto the mattress of your bed like it's his own. “So what’s my dumb little sis getting all dolled up for? Or should I say who?”

You take a deep breath, focusing on soaking the earbud in the makeup remover. He's just trying to rile you up as usual.

“Stepsister,” you correct him calmly. “And that’s none of your business.”

“Do you want me to come over there and slap you?” He's lounging across your bed as he casually threatens you, arms crossed behind his head.

You wince, not wanting to find out whether he's bluffing or not.

Truth was, you're intimidated by him.

Your parents might be blind to it (routinely giving the three of you sappy lectures on how it didn’t matter now that you were “step” siblings and that you should consider each other as blood), but both Sukuna and Yuuji know.

Yuuji being the good sibling he is, takes it upon himself to shield you from Sukuna’s antics whenever possible. But with the end of the semester nearing, he's been busier with classes lately, leaving you alone here with his older brother.

“I have a date,” you sigh. “So if you could please just not bother m-”

“’Sukuna, please leave me alone!’” he mocks your voice before laughing meanly, a deep sound that threatens to heat your cheeks a little more than you’d like to admit. “Shut up. God, you’re such a spoiled fucking brat.”

You purse your lips, trying to focus on dabbing away the mascara and keeping his words from stinging you.

But they do, maybe because you know that it's somewhat true. After all, it's the very reason why Sukuna feels entitled to the room you have to yourself while he has to share one with Yuuji. It's not your fault you're treated as such, and while you are grateful you do also feel a bit guilty.

“Well at least my stupid little sister’s finally getting some play,” he laments, sitting up over the edge of your bed and stretching. “Twenty-one and still a virgin…as a girl too.”

Whatever that means.

You finish removing the smeared mascara and sit back, hoping the warm lighting and painted blush will conceal the hints of pink creeping into your cheeks.

“How would you even know if I was a virgin or not?” you try to defend yourself. But a falter in your voice when you catch his large frame making its way towards you in the mirror gives away your trepidation.

You weren’t like Yuuji or Sukuna, a bit quieter and shyer than the two of them. You especially couldn’t live up to Sukuna who was, unfortunately, actually quite good-looking and knew it too - hooking up with random girls every other weekend and coming back home disheveled, covered in the smell of women’s perfume or with lipstick stains on his skin.

You feel outclassed, perhaps part of the reason you’d decided to put yourself a bit more out there and had landed a date with some funny mutual you’d met in college.

“Oh, come on.” Sukuna kneels beside you and it takes all your willpower not to flinch when he runs darkly painted nails through the locks of your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. “Its so embarrassingly obvious you’ve never been with a man. I mean look at how stiff you are with me right next to you right now.”

He's too close to you for your comfort right now, and you catch your body instinctively tensing away. You drop your eyes, unable to meet his in the mirror. They're the most peculiar shade of brown you’ve ever seen -closer to red if anything- and if you don't control yourself, you’d get lost looking into them a bit too long.

“I need to brush my hair,” you mutter, hoping to loosen some of the air constricting itself around your chest. “I’ll be late.”

This was a lie, of course. You’d begun getting ready so you could take your time and still be fully ready by the time your date came to pick you up at 8. It's currently only 6:45.

You reach for the wooden brush on the dresser but Sukuna catches your wrist before you can grab it.

“Let me.”

His tone is low and velvety but you know it's more of a demand than an offer from the glint in his eyes.

Did he always look so…hungry?

“I wanna brush my little sister’s pretty hair.”

A lump had formed itself in your throat that you now try to force down. You're not stupid; you've damn well caught onto the fact that he's mocking you, that this act is just an imitation of gentle affection for what would normally be a wholesome act between two siblings.

“You...um…you really don’t have to…”

Sukuna just chuckles as he tightens his grip on your wrist and stands, forcing you to rise to your legs alongside him as he drags you to the edge of the bed in front of the mirror.

“I don’t have to do anything. I only do what I want.” He sits and pulls you down unceremoniously onto his lap before you can resist. “Do whatever I want, and take whatever I want.”

You stifle a small gasp, heart in your mouth at the uncomfortable position you're suddenly in- between his spread legs.

Unfortunately, he feels you trying to stand back up and delivers a swift swat to the side of your thigh. “Sit properly.”

You oblige, more out of intimidation than anything else, that gnawing feeling in your gut only growing as you position yourself on his firm thigh. The faint scent of his cologne curls into your nostrils, a cold woody masculine scent mingling with the sweet fragrance of your own perfume that clings to your skin and hair.

This isn’t weird…right? He's only brushing your hair, much like your mother used to do when you were younger.

“Start at the ends,” you tell him, hoping to get through this ordeal as quickly as possible.

Your hair doesn’t have too many knots anyway, it's just freshly washed and a little disarrayed.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” And as if to prove a point, he drags the brush down all the way from the crown of your skull. “Just sit there and look pretty, okay?”

You shift uncomfortably, mentally cursing yourself out for being so stiff. Why were you so uneasy?

You don’t want to entertain the thought that he's getting you worked up- not before a date, and most definitely not because of your stepbrother.

Either you have more tangles in your hair than you’d thought or Sukuna just really doesn’t care to make the process of combing it painless. He guides the brush through with firm strokes, going straight through rougher or more matted areas, causing you to squirm on his lap as your scalp stings with the pull of strands.

“Ow! Sukuna that hurts, can you please be more gentle? You’re gonna rip out all my hair,” you whine trying to claw at the brush, earning another slap to your thigh, harder than the last. “Hey!”

“Aww, it hurts does it?” he coos, voice dripping with taunting pity. “Poor baby. I’ll make sure it hurts a lot worse if you don’t stay still.” He emphasizes his point with a particularly harsh yanking of the bristles through a small knot near your neck.

“Why are you being like this?”

“What do you mean?” The major knots are mostly out now, but you still have to suppress some whimpers as he drags the comb through patches of remaining tangles. “I just want my little sis to look good for her first ever date. Maybe after getting a taste of some dick you won’t be so much of a stuck-up prissy bitch anymore.”

You stiffen at his words, crass and shameless as ever. “Huh? Is that what you think of me?”

“You really wanna know all the things I think of you?”

“No, I’m sure I don’t,” you say quickly, shifting your hair so that it covers the burning tips of your ears.

Finally the long drags of the brush come to an end, and to his credit your hair does feel silky despite the pain you’d been put through.

Sukuna stares at you for a second before breaking into a smirk and pushing you off his lap like he didn’t seat you there in the first place.

“What are you wearing?”

It would be a fair question if you weren’t already dressed in the outfit you’d chosen- a black corset top and an elegant laced skirt that dropped till your ankles, complete with a sheer black cardigan.

“Well…this is what I’m wearing,” you mutter uncertainly, suddenly unsure of your outfit of choice and doubting yourself.

Were your clothes too formal? Did you put on too much makeup? What if you bored your date?

It hits you that this is the first time you're ever going out with a guy and suddenly you can feel your nerves fraying.

You hate it, but you are inexperienced just like how Sukuna always agonizes you for.

Sukuna’s smirk grows, sharp canines proudly showing themselves off. “I meant underneath, you dumb girl.”

Your brain short circuited as you try to process what he's talking about. “Wha-”

Sukuna abruptly hooks a finger at the waistband of your skirt and tugs it downwards to reveal the new pair of lacy blank panties you’d saved just for tonight.

“Ohh, scandalous. I like those,” he purrs.

Your skin burns as his salacious eyes rove across the fabric before you finally pull out of his grasp and jerk your skirt back into place, a familiar pinch in your sinuses warning you of the tears that are threatening to well up in humiliation.

To make matters worse, he's unmoved and cold as ever. “Too bad such sexy lingerie is wasted on a girl with no experience. That poor fucker doesn’t know what he’s in for.”

“We’re not even going to have sex!”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. You don’t wear panties like those for yourself- I bet even your bra matches.”

….How did he know that? Were you really that predictable?

“Stop it!” You tried to blink away droplets that began to blur the corners of your vision. "What the hell is your problem, Sukuna?"

“You’ve never even seen a dick in real life, have you?”

In real life.

Well, he got you there. Again.

His tactic had worked, leaving you to feel stupid and inadequate, especially when confronted about it by Sukuna and put to shame.

Tears finally cascade and you quickly turn your cheek, desperately wiping so he won’t catch them.

But it's too late.

“Aww, are you crying?” he asks with what might’ve sounded like concern if it weren’t for the wicked pleasure painted all over his face. “Of course you are, that’s all you know how to do. Cry and whine pathetically now that there’s no Yuuji to white knight you. You’re so fucking pathetic.”

The pressure in your head builds painfully until you can no longer contain it and you turn away, rubbing your nose on your sleeve and crying even more once you realize your makeup is probably ruined, only adding to the mess.

It's stupid, he's just saying mean shit on purpose, but god does it burn in all the right spots.

Having had enough, you twist away and bolt towards the open door so that you can cry out the rest of your tears away from his unbearable presence.

But somehow his arm's wrapping around you as you’d barely made it through the doorframe, and lifting you up over his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare walk away when I’m talking to you. Where the fuck are your manners?”

Teardrops continue to roll down your cheeks as he carries you back into your room and drops you on the ground before sitting back on the bed.

“What…what do you want from me?” you choke out, looking up at him from where you're crumpled on the floor. “You’ve ruined my date before it even started. Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?”

Sukuna peers down at you over the bridge of his nose, the black tattoos framing his face seeming sharper than before.

“Take off your panties.”

Your blood goes cold, face draining of color before the heat returns even more intensely, burning at your cheeks.

“Are you…you’re not serious…” You let out a high laugh, sure that this is another sick joke he's playing to further torment you.

Your stomach sinks when his gaze only hardens, taking on an unsettling, almost predatory quality.

“Do I not look serious to you?”

The air feels like it's rapidly leaving the room, and suddenly there isn’t enough oxygen in your lungs, the last of your breath stuck inside your throat.

He sighs. “I won’t ask again.”

You scramble to your feet, anger now beginning to surge through you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? This isn’t funny. I’m gonna tell mom and da-”

Within the blink of an eye he gets up and a crack cuts through the room in time with a sharp stinging across your cheek. You stare at him in shock through wide glossy eyes, heat blooming across your skin where his palm had connected with it.

You’ve never felt so disrespected, so demeaned. One would only dare lay hands on another like that if they considered them less than human.

It reminds you of how your mother used to slap as you as a child.

And with how coldly he's glaring down at you with nothing but a glint of amusement in his piercing eyes, your tears overflow once again before you can stop them.

“Take. Them. Off.”

You try to steady your breathing despite the concoction of hurt, disgust and shame roiling in your stomach.

“You’re fucked in the head, you know that?” you spit as he sits back down and you bend to lift the length of your skirt, reaching for the hem of your panties.

“Better than you think, princess.” He flashes you a sleazy grin, watching intently as you drag the underwear down your legs, draping your skirt over your cunt to preserve some modesty.

Finally you lift one foot to remove it entirely, and then another. You bunch the cloth up in your fist before either of you can get a good look at it.

But Sukuna grabs your arm, pulling you harshly back into his lap like before but this time with his leg slotted between yours. You cringe inwardly at the feeling of your now bare pussy rubbing on the thin fabric against the shape of his leg through his sweats.

“What are you doing?” you question shakily, heart jumping erratically in your chest.

Sukuna snatches the bundled ball of your panties from your fingers in response, eliciting a yelp from you.

Your phone buzzes from where it lays on your dresser though the noise goes completely unheard by you.

“I’m gonna show you how to please a man, doll,” he breathes against your ear, depraved words dripping with something dark and ravaged enough to send a shiver down your spine. “My cock is gonna be the first one you ever touch.” He presses you further into his lap, pushing up something long and hard against your ass.

Your mind blanks again, fresh tears collecting at your lash line at the feel of his hard dick against you, a reminder that seals your fate of whatever's going to happen.

“I don’t want this…Please stop, I won’t tell mom, dad, or Yuuji, or anyone I swear. I’ll even give you my room, anything,” you try to bargain desperately though deep down you know it's all to no avail.

Sukuna only laughs and holds up your panties, unfurling them to inspect the crotch.

To your horror it's considerably damp, your slick reflecting in a thin sheen that tells you it's fresh too.

“Don’t want this, huh?”

You screw your eyes shut, too chagrined to even defend yourself or excuse it as just normal discharge.

Even though that has to be what it is, because there's no way in hell your body was actually turned on by this.

And you absolutely refuse to acknowledge the warmth slipping out from between your thighs right now.

“Hey.” He lightly slaps your cheek. “Open your eyes. No looking away.”

You force yourself to open your lids, immediately wanting to close them again when you find him lifting your underwear to his lips. He sticks out a tattooed tongue, dragging it through some of the wetness that you’d left on it.

“Oh fuck yes.” Sukuna lets out the most obscene groan of pleasure, and you blush as you feel his dick twitch beneath you.

It's fucked up and disgusts you to no end, yet you can’t deny the smallest sliver of pleasure seeing that he clearly likes your taste.

He quickly fumbles with the waistband of his pants, shifting them low enough to slip his erect cock out. You let out a small gasp at the sight of his manhood- it looks angry, with a fat weeping reddened tip and branches of veins that crawl up the sides of his massive girth.

And is that a tattoo around the base-

He laughs cockily at your reaction of being so taken aback by the sight that you’d temporarily stopped crying. “Like what you see lil sis?”

You open your mouth planning to say ‘no’, but nothing comes out except a stupid noise somewhere between a cry and a squeak.

“Jerk me off with your panties.”

“Huh?”

“What, are you dumb or something? Want me to say it in another language?”

The audacity of him to look at you like you're the problem here.

To be fair you do feel effectively stupefied right now, panicked eyes shifting between his dead serious face and leaking dick. “I don’t know how to…”

“Right, how could I forget what a prude my sister is,” Sukuna sighs.

He takes your panties, wrapping the damp part of the crotch around his shaft under his fist, and begins pumping.

Somewhere in the distance your phone buzzes again, but you're too absorbed in how he breathes out in relief at the pressure, eyes growing hazier before he stops again. “Like that. Your turn now.”

You swallow and without thinking, curl your fingers around the fabric to hold it in place as you grip his cock. You begin moving your hand up and down, copying his motions, a bit hesitantly at first.

His lips part, hot breath ghosting across your face as his breathing becomes heavier. “Fuck, do it harder.”

You tighten your grip and speed up your movements, reveling in the effect it has on him.

“Ahh, yes, that’s a good girl.” He grips the side of your thigh, nails digging into the soft flesh. “Keep this up and you might actually be worth something for once.”

You bite your lip, hating that you aren’t hating this whole thing as much anymore. Despising the way you feel more wetness seep out of you, nipples stiffening underneath your bra.

Sukuna’s large hands are roaming now, grabbing the flesh around your ass and trailing up to grope your chest through your clothes. He squeezes your right tit harshly, causing an involuntary moan to fall out of your mouth.

Oh god, you were really losing it now.

“Mmm, I wish those pretty noises were the only ones that came outta your mouth instead of that bitching and whining you do all the time.”

Even when he's in the middle of getting pleasured he's so mean to you, and you hadn’t even realized you're crying again as you jerk him off with increasing fervor.

You vaguely think about resigning to not let out another sound for his satisfaction but the idea is quickly snatched away from you before you can even consider it as he dips his head to place open lips on the hollow of your neck under your jaw.

A wet tongue runs across the surface before he starts hungrily sucking the delicate skin wherever he can, as sloppily as possible.

“You’re so lucky your first time doing something like this is with your older brother, don’t you think?” he murmurs against your skin. “You should thank me.”

“You’re disgusting,” you whimper, watching sticky precum continuously leak from his slit. “Ouch!”

He bites your neck, causing a sharp pinch where his teeth press painfully down into the skin, threatening to break it. “Say it, bitch.”

“Th-thank you…”

You squeal as he nips your neck again, even harder. “Thank you for what? And address me properly.”

Your cheeks burn even more if that's even possible, but the thin stretch of sore skin held between his teeth has the words rolling off your tongue. “Thank you for letting me jerk you off, big brother.”

You cringe at what you’d just said as his hips jerk up, thrusting his cock into your fist.

“Oh, you’re so welcome my darling little sister,” he drawls.

Sukuna lifts his head and you steal a glance at his drunken face. The look on it has your own pussy reflexively clenching around nothing, against his leg. You quickly shift, praying he didn’t feel the movement, but of course,

“Even your poor little pussy’s begging for my cock right now. Should I give her what she needs?”

You draw in a breath as your stomach flips, about to panic when the sound of a car pulling up into your driveway gives you something different to freak out over instead.

“Sukuna, I think…I think my date’s here…” You slow your movements to reach for your phone, now registering the buzzing that had been coming from it earlier.

But he wraps his own hand around yours and squeezes, rapidly picking up the pace and forcing you to jerk him off with increasing intensity. “You’ll just-fuck-have to make me cum even faster then, huh?”

Your eyes widen but you comply, trying to ignore your anxiety as you reach a thumb over and it grazes his tip, spreading the liquid that had collected there and dragging it down with the movements.

“Oh, shit-” He throws his head back as with a final thrust of his hips, his whole body tenses and suddenly ropes upon ropes of hot cum are spurting out, most of it catching on the inside of your panties he's wrapped around his tip.

After a few entrancing moments he stills and you look incredulously at the white that paints the fancy new pair of underwear you’d bought.

“Sukuna! I just got these-”

“Wear them.” He holds them up to you, black lace now a stained, dirtied mess.

“What?”

“Seriously, are you hard of hearing or something? I said wear them. Don’t wanna keep your date waiting, do you?”

“Sukuna…” you plead through a new wave of tears, unable to even look at the soiled panties now.

“Keep crying and I’ll get hard again. Which you’ll have to take care, by the way.”

You don’t bother to wipe your tears, just letting them fall as you snatch your underwear from him and stand to hastily slip it back on. The sensation of his drying seed against your folds sends a shudder through you, the liquid cool and tacky now.

It feels fucking filthy.

Even dirtier when you think of how you’ll be wearing his cum stains as you sit across from your date in a nice restaurant, realizing that there's no chance you could show them off now even if you wanted to.

You can’t stand to face Sukuna, the most lecherous grin wiped across his face at you trying to collect yourself after the ruined state he’s left you in.

Your phone rings and you quickly pick it up, the call from your date just like you’d expected.

“Hey! I don’t know if you saw my messages but I came to pick you up a bit earlier than expected, if that’s alright.”

You look at the time. 7:30.

You turn away from Sukuna and clear your throat, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible. “Oh, sorry I was in the shower. It's alright, just give me five and I’ll be out, okay- ah-”

You stifle a yelp as you feel a large hand suddenly shoved into the waist of your skirt, long fingers pressing against your mound to rub the dirtied fabric against your cunt, smearing his cum along your damp skin.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” you say a little too quickly, stomach twisting at how he's touching you while you're on the phone with the man you're about to go out with. “I’ll be out.” You quickly hang up as Sukuna’s hand slips back out from under your skirt.

Your cheeks burn in shame as you turn towards him, wanting to say something, anything, to Sukuna who’s already tucked back into his pants and heading for the door. But it'ss all too much and you end up remaining utterly silent in your overwhelmed state.

He stops by you, giving you an almost endearing pat to the head with a shit-eating grin. “Have fun, lil sis.”

With that, you're left alone in your room, like nothing had even happened.

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

omg ok idea! James or Sirius with a gf whose chatty but just not super crass and May be she comes home drunk from girl's night and is just openly trying to seduce him and he's just so taken aback like who is this person?!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: intoxication, dubious consent but nothing more than kissing

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 717 words

Sirius has never received such determined kisses in his life.

He turns his lips from yours, smearing them over your brow in consolation when you make a piteous, dejected sound he’s going to pretend for your benefit isn’t hilarious. You keep planting kisses on his jaw, his neck. Sirius catches your wrists in his hands when you start pulling up the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, hey,” he laughs. “What happened to ‘hello’? Is this how we greet each other now, sweetness?”

The kisses had begun the second he’d shut the door on your friends. They’d chatted for a minute before that, and you’d had this strange smile on your face as you waited for them to go. At the time, Sirius had chalked it up to your obvious inebriation, but now he knows it for depravity.

“Preferably,” you mumble, mouth busy with the bits of chest you can get at by pulling down the collar of his shirt. Sirius isn’t sure whether you can’t stand on your own or whether you’ve just decided pressing yourself fully against him is the way to go. Any other time, he really wouldn’t be opposed.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, delighted and exercising every ounce of self restraint in his battered soul to keep from kissing you back. He starts pulling you towards the couch, your uncoordinated feet following behind.

You pause in your ravishment to grin up at him. You look positively impish. “Like, d’you want a list?”

Sirius laughs, astonished. “What happened to my shy girl? Were you freaky fridayed by someone in the club?”

“Freaky fridayed in the club.” You snort, flopping down onto the couch when he does and immediately getting into his lap. “That could mean lots of things.”

Sirius feels a tug on his mouth. “Such as?”

You bury your head in his neck, voice vibrating against his skin. “It’d make a good band name.”

“It might,” he agrees, taking your face between both hands and removing you from him like a leech. A very pretty, beloved leech. “Do you feel like it might be time for bed, lovebug?”

Your eyes spark. “Yeah,” you say heartily.

“To sleep,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” Your face falls. “Well, no. I thought we could have sex first.”

Sirius guffaws, the sound short and loud, and his amusement really only worsens when you frown sullenly.

“Baby,” he tries gentling his tone, “I would love that, but you know why we can’t.”

“Why?” you ask obstinately.

Sirius pushes his thumbs into your cheeks, making wishful dimples on either side of your frown. “Because of what’s gotten into you.”

“But I want to,” you whine.

He pouts right back at you. “Me too, darling. It’s a tragedy.”

“Not even a kiss?” you ask, tilting your head in his hands and looking up at him with huge, sweet eyes. Have you been able to do that this whole time? Fuck, he’s lucky you’re not often feeling bold enough to use it.

“I could do a kiss,” he concedes.

“A nice one,” you demand.

Sirius feels his lips pull up. “Agreed. A nice one.”

You close your eyes, expectant, and he bends towards you, pressing his lips to yours sweetly. You taste like all manner of booze, but still his girl. You make a soft sound in your throat, lips parting for his, coaxing him in. In an extraordinary show of willpower, Sirius pulls away.

“Hey.” You look betrayed, and he can’t help himself, planting a quick peck on your nose that makes it scrunch adorably. “You said it’d be a nice one!”

“That felt pretty nice to me,” he says, laughing when you try to move in for more and he has to dodge you. He turns his head to the side and catches at your hands when they go for his shirt. “That’s it for tonight. If you want more kisses tomorrow, I promise to let you have as many as you like.”

You sigh, giving up and hooking your chin on his shoulder. “Your lips were, like, buzzing,” you mumble, wistful. “It was nice.”

“Pretty sure that’s just you, sweetness,” Sirius tells you kindly, breaking his promise once more to press his lips to your hair. “Ready for bed now?”

“To sleep?” you ask despondently.

“Yeah, baby. To sleep.”

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9iavolo · 1 month ago

Text

BE QUIET ⋆˙⟡♡

a/n: thank u guys for all of ur love from my first post! because of u guys, i decided to write this just for u all!

snyposis: mark going feral when he's beneath you. and you make him thank you for it. warnings: smut, fem!reader, dom!reader, sub!mark, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, p in v, no protection, creampie, handjob, mark crying and begging (again) wc: 2.4k

────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱⋅⋆ ──────

Late at night.

The storm raged outside of your apartment, but it was nothing compared to the one inside Mark.

He sat on the edge of the bed, mask removed, elbows on his knees, his suit damp with sweat from the last patrol. You were still geared up—half-armored, eyes sharp, movements loose and silent like a predator who'd already picked their prey. Mark glanced up at you once, then quickly away.

Rookie mistake.

You noticed.

He always looked away when he wanted something he knew he shouldn't ask for.

You stepped forward, slow and soundless. His head tilted slightly at the shift in air, but he didn't move. Didn't run. You almost smiled.

"You're quieter when you're bleeding," you murmured, stepping between his knees.

Mark looked up, lips parted, his breath shallow. He swallowed hard.

"I—"

You hooked two fingers beneath his jaw, lifting his face until your eyes locked.

"No talking," you said. "Not unless you're begging."

His lips twitched into something defiant, but it was too soft, too honest to hold up. You could see the tremble just under his skin. His restraint.

You leaned down, your mouth brushing his before he could process it—hot, deliberate, slow.

He whimpered the moment your teeth scraped his bottom lip.

You pulled back just enough to catch the sound in your ears and smirked, eyes gleaming. "That loud already?" you teased, thumb stroking his chin. "We've barely started."

His hands gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white. He was trying so hard to be still.

"Mark," you said, your voice a dangerous lull. "I said no talking, but you didn't promise to make noise."

You pushed him back gently but firmly until his spine hit the mattress. He let you move him like that—because part of him wanted it. All of him did, really. You could feel the tension coiled in him, humming like a live wire, begging to be touched. Broken down.

You crawled over him, knee pressing between his thighs, hands on either side of his head. His lips trembled under yours when you kisses him again—deeper this time, tongue slow and controlling, not asking permission but taking. And he gave. God, he gave so easily.

A sharp breath left him, and then—

"Ah—"

A choked, desperate little sound, loud enough to echo in the small room.

You grinned into his mouth.

"You're gonna get us caught, baby," you murmured against his lips. "What would they think hearing their hero whimpering like this?"

His face flushed deep red, but his hips shifted up just slightly, betraying him. You chuckled darkly, the sound low in your throat.

"Maybe I want them to hear," you whispered, dragging your mouth along his jaw to his ear. Your breath made him shiver. "Let them hear what you sound like when you fall apart under someone who knows exactly where to touch you."

He tried to suppress another noise by biting his lip, but it only made you kiss him harder. Kiss him until he was gasping against your mouth, until the bed creaked under the weight of the tension and surrender.

And when he whimpered again—helpless, beautiful, and loud—

You rewarded it. Pressed in; closer than before, letting your presence devour the space between you. Letting him feel how little control he had in this moment

Letting him know it was yours now.

He was yours now.

And you'd be the one in control.

Always.

The bed creaked beneath you both, its metal frame protesting as you leaned over him like something wild and inescapable. Mark's breath came fast, chest rising in shallow pulls, his body already betraying him with how hard he was pressing up into your thigh. His hands hovered midair like he didn't know whether to push you off or pull you closer.

You settled that for him.

You grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, leaning down so your mouth ghosted over his again. He looked up at you, wide-eyed and flushed, lips swollen from how you'd kissed him.

"You gonna stop me?" you murmured, smirk curving slow and dangerous.

He didn't answer.

Your knee pressed harder, nudging into the bulge straining under the fabric of his pants—and the sound he made was somewhere between a gasp and a whine.

That was enough of an answer.

"You're shaking," you teased, releasing one of his wrists just to slide your fingers down his chest, slow and deliberate, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Not scared, are you?"

"I'm—nngh—" he started, but your hand slipped under the fabric, dragging across bare skin, and the words crumbled in his mouth like wet paper. His head tilted back, exposing his throat, voice catching in a quiet, "F—Fuck..."

That one made you smile.

You took your time stripping the shirt off him, watching the way his muscles flexed under your touch—tense, coiled, too ready. Too responsive. His abs twitched as your fingertips skated across them, light, teasing.

"Thought you were strong," you murmured, brushing your lips down the center of his chest, not kissing—hovering. "What happened to that pride of yours?"

"I am—" he tried again, throat dry, voice cracking under the pressure. "I could—stop you..."

Your eyes flicked up, amused. "Oh yeah?"

You scraped your teeth lightly over his sternum, and he choked on the breath he tried to take.

"I—I could," he whispered, hands gripping the sheets now instead of your arms. His body said otherwise.

You straddled him fully, rolling your hips down just enough to make his body arch. His head snapped back with a stifled groan, muscles locking as heat rippled through him.

He was unraveling.

And he hated how much he loved it.

Mark's mind was spinning. He was supposed to be strong. Supposed to be the one in control. But every time you touched him—really touched him—his thoughts short-circuited. His instincts screamed to resist, to fight for dominance. But that voice was drowned under the tide of how good it felt to give in.

You leaned over his ear, your voice pure sin.

"Then stop me."

He didn't stop.

Didn't breathe.

And you laughed—low, wicked, and satisfied. "That's what I thought."

You kissed him again—harder this time, rough with purpose. He kissed you back with something like desperation, like the last thread of his control was slipping through his fingers. His hands finally came up, but instead of pushing you off, they gripped your waist, holding on like you were the only steady thing left in a world that had spun out from under him.

He moaned into your mouth—high, helpless.

And loud.

Too loud.

You pulled back just enough to speak against his lips. "You really want someone to walk in and see you like this?" you whispered, grinding your hips down in a slow, punishing roll. "Red-faced, panting, begging for more?"

Mark whimpered. There was no hiding it now.

You leaned close, biting at his neck just enough to make him jolt.

"They'll see the truth," you said. "That their hero—Invincible—melts the second someone knows what to do with him."

His nails dug into your hips in response, like he wanted to protest—like he wanted to find some last but of fight. But he didn't push you away.

Instead, he lifted his head, breath hot against your jaw. "Then shut me up," he said, voice cracked and raw. "Do it."

And you did.

You crashed your mouth against his, kissing him with a hunger that made his whole body twitch. He gasped into it, and you swallowed the sound greedily, one hand sliding down to the waistband of his pants—slow, deliberate, all dominance.

He arched beneath you when your fingers brushed just below his waistband. His hands flexed on your hips, tense, like he didn't know whether to grip tighter or let go.

You didn't give him the chance to choose. His options were slipping, and you were already stripping them away.

With a quick, practiced motion, you slid your hand beneath his pants, going towards his boxers, inching close to his cock that it twitches from just the brush of your fingertips. Skin to skin.

His back lifted off the bed with a strangled moan. "Nngh—!"

"Be quiet," you murmured darkly against his mouth. "Or I stop."

His eyes shot open—wild, desperate, almost betrayed

He tried. God, he tried. Bit down hard on his lower lip, chest heaving, hips jerking up into your touch with quiet, trembling restraint. But he was already falling apart under your hand, every stroke making his body seize with need.

You slid his pants down slowly, along with his boxers, baring him completely, watching the way his cock sprang free—hot, throbbing, tip flushed with beads of pearl leaking. He flushed all the way down his chest, shivering from your eyes—hungry and unrelenting, breath hitching when your fingers wrapped fully around his cock again.

"Look at you," you said, voice thick with heat. "All this strength, and I barely even had to touch you."

He tried to speak—tried to say something sharp, maybe defiant—but it died in his throat the moment you moved your hand again, your fingers spreading his pre-cum like lube around his length. A broken sound spilled out of him, and his head dropped back to the mattress with a thud.

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, watching every twitch, every shiver, every failed attempt to stay silent. His jaw clenched, breath catching on every exhale. He looked so beautiful like this—completely wrecked, body trembling from the effort of not begging.

You leaned down again, dragging your tongue along his neck, whispering low into his ear. "You like being under me, don't you?"

Mark shuddered.

"I—I don't—" he choked, voice hoarse.

You grinned.

"You do."

You dragged your nails lightly along the inside of his thigh, just enough to make his whole body jolt.

"You want someone to take the control away from you. Take the weight off. Make you feel good without asking. Just—do it."

He whimpered again—louder now, completely unable to help it. His hands clutched at the sheets like he might tear them in half.

And then your hand stopped.

He let out a frustrated cry, hips bucking.

"P—Please—!" he gasped before he could stop himself.

You tilted your head.

"There it is," you said, satisfied. "Beg."

His eyes widened, chest heaving.

You kissed down his stomach, letting your breath ghost over his skin, and he bucked again with another noise that sounded far too close to desperate.

"I said—beg, Mark."

He squeezed his eyes shut, shame and need colliding in his voice. "Please—... don't stop. I... I need it. I need you."

You gave him a dark smile, lips brushing just above where he arched most.

"Good boy."

And then you took him in your mouth—sucking his cock slow, steady, unmerciful.

His cry broke the silence like thunder, raw and unfiltered. He slammed a fist against the bed's frame, panting so loud it echoed in the tight space. His legs trembled under you, muscles tensing with every flick of your tongue, every hum from your throat.

He was gone. Unraveled. Completely, utterly yours.

And you weren't stopping until he broke again.

Mark was still gasping, mouth parted, skin slick with sweat. His hips twitched with aftershocks, but you weren't done.

Not even close.

You rose slowly from between his thighs, your lips glistening, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. His eyes followed you like he was dazed—like he didn't know if he should be afraid or begging again.

"Too much?" you asked, voice velvety and sharp like the blade you usually carried.

He swallowed hard, chest still heaving. "I... I can handle it," he whispered.

You stared at him.

Liar.

But a beautiful one.

"Prove it."

You grabbed his thighs and dragged him further up the bed until he was beneath you again, flat on his back, completely stripped of armor and ego.

You shed the last of your own clothes—not slowly. Not seductively. Just with purpose. You didn't need to tease. He was already trembling.

When you straddled him again, his breath hitched so hard it sounded like a sob.

"No more thinking," you whispered, guiding his cock to your entrance, your slick heat already ready to take him. "Just feel."

And then you sank down.

He cried out—loud, sharp, unguarded. His hands flew to your hips, but not to stop you. Never to stop you. He was trying to ground himself, but there was nothing solid left in him. Just shattered pride and overwhelming sensation.

You didn't move at first. You let him sit in the feeling—of being completely inside you, of being owned, claimed. His fingers dug into your skin.

You leaned forward and cupped his cheek with one hand, surprisingly gentle.

"Still strong?" you whispered.

He nodded—but then you rolled your hips once, slow and deliberate, and he broke.

His head slammed back against the pillow, a strangled whimper ripping from his throat. "I—I c-can't—"

"Yes, you can," you said, voice firm now. Unrelenting. "You said you could handle it. So take it."

You began to move—slow at first, grinding down on every thrust, watching his reactions, studying the way his mouth fell open, the way he whispered your name like a curse and a prayer.

"F—Fuck, fuck, oh—God," he gasped, body arching. His thighs trembled beneath you, his stomach clenching as you rode him harder, deeper, taking everything he had and giving nothing back until he earned it.

"You feel everything, don't you?" you whispered, dragging your nails across his chest. "All those nerves, all that power—and now it's all mine."

He was gone. Eyes rolling back, lips red from biting down too hard.

And then—

He came again. Uncontrollably. Without warning. Just a broken noise from his throat and a twitch of his hips as he spilled inside you, helpless and undone.

You didn't stop.

His eyes shot open, panic and pleasure colliding. "I—I can't, I—!"

"Yes, you can," you said again, voice low and dark, almost cruel. "You will."

You kept going.

And he cried.

Not from pain. Not even from overstimulation.

But from the complete loss of control.

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear as he writhed beneath you, his body a raw nerve, his heart wide open.

"You're mine now," you whispered. "Say it."

He didn't answer.

So you dragged your hips slow—so slow he whimpered—and made him say it.

"I—I'm yours," he finally gasped, tears in his eyes. "Please... please..."

You kissed him—deep and slow—soothing him even as you wrecked him.

And you whispered again—

"Good boy."

#smut #mark grayson smut #mark grayson x reader #invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible smut #I NEED THAT INVINCIDIHH SO BADLY #mark grayson #YOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND HOW DESPERATELY I NEED HIM🙏

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draconym · 10 months ago

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in my experience, if someone is asking "are you mad at me" they've already decided I am and no matter what I do it's going to end in a fight.

Human behavior is vast and complicated. If you honestly tell someone you are not mad at them and they do not believe you, you may not be able to convince them otherwise. But usually when people ask this, they are not trying to instigate a fight. Usually when someone asks "are you mad at me?" it is because they are afraid.

When someone becomes hypervigilant about other people's behavior, whether that's due to present stress or past trauma, it's understandable that they would want to remove uncertainty from the conversation. This "are you mad at me" is a way of asking "are we both going to be calm about this?"

Perhaps the asker does want comfort and reassurance and is afraid to ask for that directly (although, yes, stating that need openly is usually more helpful). If you find yourself responding, "no, I'm not mad at you" often, you might consider asking if there are other ways this person in your life could ask for reassurance more directly, or if there's something you could say or do that would remind them that you care.

Or perhaps they aren't usually good at reading body language, or tone over text. "Are you mad at me" is not usually intended as an accusation--the asker may be trying to prevent a miscommunication.

Or perhaps you, the askee, are unintentionally giving off signals that you are irritated or stressed, and the asker is trying to figure out if their behavior is what's causing that so they can change it.

There is no one universal "are you mad at me." But it would be cool if there were and it always resolved tension and improved everyone's mood. That would be nice.

#i pulled out “are you mad at me” for the first time in about fifteen years and was really very surprised #when it made the conversation worse and not better #the diversity of the human organism!!!#mad at you island

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decaffeinatedcandycane · 10 months ago

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Random headcanons: You set their wallpaper of a spicy picture of you

Featuring: Task force 141

Warnings: suggestive, NSFW

Captain John Price:

He rarely unlocks his phone during the day, so you assume it is safe to set his wallpaper to you wearing nothing but his hat, sitting on the bed, legs spread, hands tied in the front with a silky ribbon and one of his cigars between your lips.

You did not account for the fact that sometimes Price shows memes to his team or fact checks stuff in front of others, so you can imagine the shock on his face when he unlocked his phone to show Soap something.

Soap: Sir? Is this-

Price: Yes, it is

The conversation ended there, with the Scotsman leaving the room in a subtle, yet fast manner, trying to hide the forming buldge from his captain, who, on his side noticed everything, but decided not to comment on it, in order not to make the situation more uncomfortable than it already was.

Yes, Soap avoided Price for the entire day and they have never spoke about the incident again. Even though the captain notices his Sergent hungrily eyeing you from time to time, which makes his mind wonder of certain possibilities. (If you are into it)

As for you, you did get your punishment, after you spent 20 minutes laughing at your husband story.

Y/N: Poor Soap

Price: What about me? I had to avoid unlocking my phone all day.

Y/N: You never unlock your phone.

Price: There was not a reason for it, luv.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This man is phone rotting, whenever he is away from others and has some free time. Whether it is Reddit, Tiktok, or texting you - obsessively, he is on his phone - period.

For his picture you wear a sexy black lingerie, barely covering you and his balaclava. You are sitting on the sofa, with your elbows on your knees, leaning into the front camera, his dog tags hanging from your neck.

Simon goes feral.

He is immediately finding a quiet place from where he can call you and jerk off, while staring at your picture.

He will beg you to praise him, order him around and guide him in what to do and you can say anything - and I mean, anything.

This man is a slut for you. He is a huge switch. When he turns submissive he is completely at your mercy. Just, please, tell this man what to do and how you want him to do it.

Bonus points if you video chat and touch yourself, while edging him. He will try to hold himself back, but if you push him enough, he will cum within minutes.

This is how much power you have over him. Use it wisely.

And yes, Simon will absolutely fuck you stupid the moment he gets home. And will insist on taking pictures together, so he can keep something while on deployment.

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

He will open his phone in front of Ghost and get lost, staring at the photo of you, hand mindlessly grabbing Simon's tight.

For his picture, you are laying face on the bed, back arched, wearing nothing but tight blue panties with the scottish flag on them. Side boob is slightly showing.

Soap doesn't even register Simon or where his hand is, who is shifting from side to side, but not peeling his eyes off of you, nor removing Soap's hand from his tight.

When the Scottsman finally snap from his trance, he is texting you every spicy thing he can think of and sending you pictures of his, and Simon's buldges with the caprion:

"Look what you did, darling. LT wants to stop for some dinner tonight, now too. Make sure to recreate the picture once we get home. We are gonna put some English in you too."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another chronic phone user. Gaz is on his phone 23/19. He is obsessed with animal videos and staring at ya'll pictures. Editing and candid photo stuff is his drug.

You warn him in advance that you will send him something, as he has the habit of showing off his editing skills*ahem* your cutesy couple photos *ahem* to either Price, or Laswell.

The last thing you want is to flash his superiors.

So, you tell him to unlock his phone at a specific time and make sure he is alone.

The picture for him is you wearing his sunglasses, naked, on the balcony. You are sat on a chair, legs crossed. The picture is taken at sunrise, right when the sun is softly highlighting your chest.

Somehow Gaz didn't time this right, he expected a attachment, not a wallpaper - in his defense, and he opened his phone in the middle of a briefing.

The sergeant dropped his phone on the ground while trying to catch it, creating the (trying to hold a hot stone effect). Price shot him a questioning look, but kept talking, pretending not to notice how Gaz picked his phone face down and put it in his pocket.

For the entire briefing Gaz couldn't focus on anything but your picture. He tried so hard, not to get a boner, but knowing you took the said photograph while he was sleeping, maybe 15 minutes before he got up for work - got him wild.

He went radio silent the entire day and when he got home, he didn't bother talking, or greeting you - Gaz just lifted you up from the couch and smashed his lips into yours.

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falseficus · 2 years ago

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I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended

if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on

obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)

the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:

firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”

in the harpercollins version, the line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”

this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized

the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:

in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”

in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”

maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”

both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point

#monstrous regiment #discworld #terry pratchett #the frog speaks

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k-ast · 9 months ago

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not giving him kisses w/ xiao, wanderer, and tartaglia

in which you decide to tease him. gn!reader

established relationship, fluff, kissing

a/n: i saw an instagram reel and had to do this with them! hope nobody's done this already. not proofread sorry 🙏🙏

xiao's head rests between your collarbone and your chin, his chest rising and falling in time with yours. a view always soothes him, whether it's you, or the sun setting below qingyun peak.

it is moments like these that he especially cherishes, when you two sit in comfortable silence. when he's feeling brave, he'll peck your lips quickly, and then go right back to using you as a pillow.

xiao feels brave today. he removes his head from its comfortable spot and his fingertips graze your cheek, aiming to place his lips on yours, but you lay a hand over his heart gently.

"...what?"

confusion is cute on him, but you kind of feel bad about what you're about to do.

"um, yn?"

you just smile innocently.

xiao's expression droops visibly. his hand falls from your face, and he starts to turn away, ears red.

"nooo," you instantly say, giving a small guilty laugh. setting a hand on his jaw, you tilt his head back to you and kiss him, gently and apologetically.

xiao has a tiny frown on his face, eyes avoiding yours. "why'd you do that..?" he asks softly.

"i'm sorry," you say, and you kiss him again. "it was just a prank."

he scowls then. "tch, i thought you didn't want me to kiss you anymore or something."

you grab his shirt collar and pull him to you, to prove him wrong.

"'m sorry," you mumble again. "i love youu." he puts his head back on your shoulder, tracing the lines of your palm.

xiao hums in response to your apology. two minutes later, he connects your mouths again, tasting sweet with a trace of almond tofu.

two minutes later he does it again.

and again.

you won't be going back to liyue harbor any time soon.

you pull something new on him almost every week.

this time, you walk up to wanderer sitting on the couch and boldly put your hand on his neck, leaning in until you're breathing the same air. one leg is on the couch next to to him and the other rests on the floor.

his eyes dart between yours and your lips, evidently confused but not complaining. hands find their way to your middle.

you lean in like you're about to kiss him, but just when he's about to meet you halfway...

wanderer stares at you when you just get up off of him, but he pulls you by your waist back down. you tumble onto his lap, with his scrutinizing gaze above.

"what do you think you're doing?" he asks in his signature no-bullshit voice.

"sorry," you say cheerfully. "prank." you decide to snuggle into his shoulder instead.

"tsk..." he flicks your forehead. "you and your silly pranks. you beg for my kisses all the time, but you try to pull this on me?"

you roll your eyes. "so can i have a kiss?"

"nope," wanderer says haughtily, "you had your chance!"

so you give him your best pout, playing with his hand in yours until he gives in.

mr king of snark grumbles, "fine, i guess you can have a kiss..."

his lips are warm, unlike the cool hands on your waist. just when you start prodding for entry with your tongue, wanderer pulls away.

"nope, that was all you get."

"whaaat! baby, i said sorryyy..."

"nope."

of course, he relents later. the man would do anything for you, after all.

"okay, baby, you've gotta go to work!"

he doesn't budge.

"baby. you're gonna be late."

tartaglia rests his face on his palm, elbow propped up on the kitchen island. "aren't you forgetting something?" he asks with a stupidly gorgeous cheeky smile.

"um..." you know exactly what you're forgetting, but you say, "oh right, your coffee! here, love."

he blinks.

then rises from his chair to lean in and kiss you, but a hand on his chest stops him.

a tiny laugh leaves his chest.

"whaaat, yn?" when you don't reply, he leans in again, but you push him away.

your boyfriend drops his head on your shoulder, giving you a cute pout. "give me a kiss," he whispers.

you only smile, not moving.

"does my breath smell or something?"

"no," you giggle.

then a hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you to him, his lips meeting yours. he kisses you fiercely, over and over. laughing into his mouth, you tap his chest gently to signal that you can't breathe. tartaglia attacks your neck instead, burying his forehead into your skin when he's done.

"finished?" you giggle.

a kiss on your jaw.

"you have work, love."

another on the corner of your smile.

"ajax tarta-"

"okay, i'm going!!"

hope ygs enjoyed this!!! maybe will do different characters?

#genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #genshin fluff #xiao x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #xiao #xiao x you #childe x reader #tartaglia x y/n #childe #tartaglia x you #childe x you

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welcomingdisaster · 8 months ago

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things to do in valinor when you're visiting for the second time

go for a walk

look at the new bushes they've planted in the gardens and the dew-drop flowers light in your hands as a butterfly's landing

walk circles around the white city, running your fingers over the buildings left empty

think about vinyamar

try not to think about vinyamar

make a removed artistic critique of the new statue that they've carved, of king standing before the gates of formenos, his chin raised defiantly against doom

try to look dad in the eyes

breathe in the rose-scent of the perfumed pillow

sleep for 3 days straight

try to ignore the whispers of the servants

go for a walk

go for a second, longer walk

bet on horseback races

lose

try to make new friends

think about a poem you want to share with curufin

remember the shit curufin pulled

vividly imagine pushing curufin off a cliff to the wolves

feel kinda bad re: cousin murder daydreams

decide the cousin murder daydreams aren't that bad if they let you out of mandos with them

have a nice family dinner where you don't bring up any dead relatives

write mom a letter you're not going to send

wonder why your little brothers are still caught, somewhere far away, in the dark

go for a walk

cry a little

come up with a really neat idea for an outfit centered around golden cuffs left yet in the ruins of nargothrond

birdwatch

turn to tell edrahil about a red-crested bird and remember edrahil is not birdwatching, as he is dead because of you

cry a little

hum a song maglor came up with

try to decide whether you're mad at maglor or not

go dancing with amarie

feel nothing

stand in square, suffocating in the cold night air

go for a walk

eat a rose in the gardens of lorien

shut yourself in your chambers

journal

try to tell your father about the open chasm in your chest and run out of words

try to remember when you've become the sort of person who runs out of words

go for a walk

return to the doors of the halls of mandos

stare at the blank white marble of the pillars

pick up your chisel

carve

#lena speaks #finrod #my fic #kinda

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hazza3000 · 28 days ago

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No rizz just constant yapping - Stiles Stilinski

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I'm not too sure how to feel about this one but it's been sat in my drafts for so long I finally decided to post it, let me know how you feel!

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Stiles can't stop staring. He's not going to say he has a problem, he does, but he just can't help himself. She's always been there, so effortlessly beautiful and kind to everyone, she was never like Lydia who made fun of him before becoming friends she's always been nice and there for him.

Even though stereotypically she shouldn't be considering she hangs out with Lydia, Jackson and Danny but she never stopped speaking to them. It always used to be the three of you against the world and when high school came and friendship groups changed although you hung out with Lydia's group you never stopped talking to them, showing up to hang outs and inviting them to the parties you threw.

Before he may have stood a chance with saying something but instead in his brain he thought it would be easier to make up this crush on Lydia which he regrets now but hey, young teenage him didn't understand it and when he decided as a young freshman was the year to admit it to you, you started hanging out with Lydia's group.

Now with the supernatural infiltrating your lives, you still somehow smile, when Scott was bit you believed Stiles that he was a werewolf, heck you were out in the woods with them. He likes you, so much, yet you, kind you just see him as a friend.

"Dude your jaw is literally going to fall off" Scott states looking at his best friend with an eye roll, it's always the same thing.

Stiles doesn't hear him to start off with watching as you walk through the hallway, walk feels like an understatement it's more of a strut, confidence and perfection rolling off you. Stiles can't tear his eyes away from the short skirt that rests high up on your thighs, the tight top, the flawless curls. Perfection to describe you is an understatement.

Your face in what almost seems to be a pout soon changes when you spot them stood down the hall, a wide smile breaks out on your pretty lips as you immediately make a beeline over to them. Your heels click on the floor whilst Stiles stares, a goofy grin forming on his face, love struck eyes taking over his expression, puppy love with so much more meaning than any one of the boys could comprehend.

"Hey guys" your sultry voice makes the hallway go silent; all Stiles can focus on is you.

"Hey, hi, how’s your day going" Stiles rambles, stumbling over his words as he attempts to act casual but fails miserably.

In an attempt to save himself from embarrassment he tries to lean against his lockers, trying to perfect the cool guy façade. However, he forgot his locker door is open so instead of his elbow meeting the locker it meets empty space causing him to trip and almost fall headfirst. Your arms move before your mind can comprehend as you catch him from falling, a gasp falling from your lips startled at how clumsy your friend can be.

"Are you okay?" your voice asks startled as you grip him tighter feeling him almost fall from your grasp.

Stiles cringes and groans both internally and externally, yet again he’s made a fool of himself in front of you. The one person who he wishes to impress, the one person who he wishes would see his looks for what they are. Everyone else around them knows that he is totally in love with you, but you, you remain oblivious at this point he can’t tell if it’s on purpose because your too nice to reject him or whether you really are this clueless.

"Smooth, real smooth" Isaac murmurs, feeling pained for him, I mean it's hard to watch.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm great even better now" Stiles stammers standing up straight.

A frown etches across his face as he feels you remove your hands from his shoulders, his body aches for your touch, yearning for you to give him your undivided attention. He goes to say something when his eyes land on the little pink slips in your hands, dusted with glitter and black cursive writing in the middle, invitations his brain eventually supplies.

A ridiculously high IQ slashed too nothing in your presence, really, he should be tested or maybe medicated but the only medication he can stomach is you.

"Now what are those, pretty lady?" Isaac asks causing Stiles to scowl, he doesn't like his tone.

Stiles has never been particularly fond of Isaac; the sassy wolf having caused a lot of problems for Stiles in the beginning, but hatred begins mixing with the jealousy in his stomach at the easy flirtation that comes from the blond beta. Every time he’s around you; he flirts in a way that Stiles wishes he can possess.

Stiles is a smart man but when it comes to you, he doesn’t think, and he most certainly doesn’t hesitate. His hand reaches for his bag itching for the wolfsbane inside, only for emergencies, Deaton told him, and Stiles can promise that it will be an emergency if Isaac doesn’t stop flirting with you. His anger gets put to a standstill at your wide smile taking over the concerned expression that was once there, excitement his brain supplies.

"Oh, their invitations for a party after the lacrosse game tonight" your excitement is contagious, and he isn't the only one who feels it noticing how the rest of his friends begin beaming.

You begin handing out an invite to each of them before stopping at Isaac and giving him four, the blonde wolf frowns at you about to question. Scott smiles widely like a puppy, immediately thanking you. Once again, you’ve turned the mood around knowing that every one of them needs a bit of fun after dealing with the latest big bad.

"Thanks, it'll be nice for everyone to cool off a bit" the teen wolf says with a beaming smile, one of the only parties he's ever been consistently invited to, even before the bite was yours.

"There's one for you, Erica, Boyd and Derek if he wants to come. I haven't seen the others all day, but I wanted them to feel included. Oh, and tell Erica that she can come earlier with the rest of the girls to get ready" you explain, and what could only be described as heart eyes take over Isaacs face.

The way you effortlessly include everyone, not wanting anyone to feel left out or sad, no matter what. It's one of the reasons Derek was a lot nicer to you, your too nice for your own good. Its why Stiles gets so protective over you, it's like you couldn't see evil unless it smacked you in the face, not that he’d ever let that happen.

"Thank you, I'm sure they'd appreciate it" Isaac says, not sure how he's going to tell Derek he's been invited to a party.

Isaac's grin is wide, he's never really had a friend like her before, someone who can invite anyone in with open arms. She was one of the only people when Lydia rejected him to speak up and ask him if he was okay before walking him out. She's a soft spot for the whole pack.

"They don't have to come of course, but I want everyone to be included. Oh, shoot I have to get to class, I'll see you guys later" you wave your hand about to leave before Stiles jolts into action, well with a smack on the back from Scott.

"I can walk you, if you like? I mean we have the same class, and I thought—" Stiles begins rambling not knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

"Yeah, that would be nice" you say cutting him off with a finger to his lips.

He clumsily packs his bag not wanting to keep you waiting before leaving the other two wolves who just shake their heads at him. It's tragic, the way he fails at every interaction, his constant yapping and quite obvious pining, it's painful to watch.

"If Stiles doesn't snatch her up soon, I might have to swoop in" Isaac comments earning a smack from Scott as the two wolves leave shaking their head at the scene—

Said scene being Stiles walking close to you as he begins talking your ear off about something. Your smiles wide as you listen to him intently never one to cut him off and quite happy to listen as it’s usually something interesting. Never one to cut anyone off, always there to listen… your too sweet.

Erica, Lydia, and Allison came back to your house after school to get ready for the lacrosse game and party afterwards and although it was awkward to begin with conversation soon started to flow between the four of you. Cocktails and smiles before the big game tonight, they helped you set up for the party later, parents away as always makes for a lot of parties at your house.

"Here I got you something" Allison says pulling a jersey out of her bag and handing it to me.

I frown looking at the number fourteen on the back and the words Stilinski etched in the top. It's normally the girlfriends of the players that wear the jerseys and I'm about to tell her as much when Lydia cuts of my train of thoughts.

"Come on, just wear it. We're all wearing lacrosse shirts, and we didn't want you to feel left out. Plus, it's clean, Scott washed it before giving it to her" Lydia states nudging the shirt closer to me.

"Did you ask him? What if he gets offended with me wearing it?" I ask with a hint of confusion in my voice.

Erica just shakes her head with a laugh Boyd's jersey clinging to her chest, considering she made me put about a hundred pins in the back just so it would fit her. My frown deepens at her laugh, curious if I said something wrong.

"Trust me, honey. He will be far from offended" Erica says, so I agree with a shrug pulling it on as the girls help me style it too my outfit, whilst their scheming continues.

I can’t see any harm in it if Stiles doesn’t mind, it doesn’t take us long to finish getting ready before heading over to the school. We promised the boys that we’d meet them on the lacrosse field whilst they warm up for the game. Scott waves us over with a happy smile, immediately coming over to Allison and telling her how pretty she is, puppy love it’s adorable.

Stiles, Isaac and Jackson on the other hand seem deep in some form of debate. After hearing Scott speak up Stiles turns and his jaw practically falls of his face, his eyes glaze and his cheeks turn pink. Hunger is evident in his gaze as he looks over the jersey that’s hung over my figure.

When Scott had told him that he’d given his jersey to a girl, Stiles was furious ranting and raving at the thought of you now thinking that he had a girlfriend because some random girl was wearing his jersey. He should’ve have known that his best friend wouldn’t have done that and now his anger with Scott turns to amazement, he could kiss the man.

“Hey guys” I say with a wide grin, walking over carefully so my heels don’t sink to much in the grass.

“Hey” Stiles says too dumbstruck to stumble on his words.

He’s barely able to focus with you wearing his jersey, HIS. A possessive feeling surges through his chest as he thinks about the other students believing he has some claim over you, it almost feels like he does as well, his imagination runs wild as his lacrosse shorts begin tightening. He needs to cool it and quick.

“Sorry about the jersey, you can have it back after—” I attempt to apologise wondering why he’s so quiet.

Stiles is never one to be quiet, he’s known for his sarcasm and inability to shut up so if seeing me in his jersey has made him go silent, he’s probably too nice to say that a boundary has been crossed. I wouldn’t want to upset him, and I would over to take off but I’m not wearing anything underneath.

Isaac and Jackon on the other hand shake their heads, confused on how you can be so oblivious. Jackson is convinced that your just taking pity on Stiles and not wanting to upset him by rejection and he told Stiles as much before you came over hence a debate occurring whilst Isaac believed that you may like someone else, like him, and your too sweet to say anything as you don’t want to upset Stiles.

“No, it’s fine it looks better on you anyway, you should keep it” Stiles blurts out, not even thinking about his words or the implications of them.

His face turns bright red as his brain catches up with his mouth realising that his lack of filter has once again messed it up with you. He wants to take it back but is scared he’ll make himself look more of a dickhead. However, when your laughter plagues his ears, he can’t even form words.

“Thanks, Sti” I say with a beaming smile, placing a kiss on his cheek.

Stiles has to bite back a groan, his knees suddenly feel weak and is it hot out here. You pull back a glossy stain staying on his cheek which he refuses to wipe off, he’s never washing his face again, he’s decided. He hears Jackson snort behind him as his brain comes back online but before he can shout at him the sound of a whistle cuts through the pitch.

Coach. The conversation comes to an abrupt end as coach appears hollering at the boys to come to the field for his usual pep talk which has definitely been stolen from a movie and it always ends with him telling them to win. We bid the boys a goodbye before making our way over to the stands by the bench.

Not too long after that the lacrosse game begins, the game is rough brutal teenagers being hit off here and there the bench becoming sparser as injuries make their rounds. We’ve been neck and neck the entire game. Stiles is sat on the bench anxiously having a bad feeling about this, it almost seems supernatural the way players are being knocked about.

Stiles startles as a hand is placed on his shoulder, looking up to see you smiling encouragingly being able to sense his nerves from behind him. The lacrosse glove falls from his lips as he stares at you for a little longer than what’s socially acceptable, he even seems to miss as another player gets sent off.

“Stilinski, you’re up” Coach hollers at him but Stiles was too busy staring at me to be able to comprehend his words.

“What?” Stiles questions turning to look at coach confused as to why he’s talking to him, he never talks to the bench warmers.

“Do you want to play or—” Coach attempts to rant but gets cut off by me as I stand up nudging Stiles, assuming his lack of words his down to nerves.

“He wants to play don’t you, Sti” I say nudging him forwards, as the words seem to register in his brain his eyes widen.

“Yeah, play in the game, yeah” Stiles jumps off the bench, the supernatural world leaving his brain as he jogs on the pitch.

“Go, Stiles” I cheer loudly, his cheeks turning red as he covers them with his helmet.

The game continues the same for a little while until the last ten minutes. Stiles manages to get the ball, he seemingly stares at it for a moment shock from the fact that he just caught it, he doesn’t run he just stares momentarily.

“Stiles run” I scream loudly, the others on the Beacon Hills side screaming at him as well cheering him on as he finally takes off into a sprint.

And somehow ends up scoring the winning goal, the crowd goes wild as the whistle blows signalling the end of the game as we win, with only one goal ahead. Scott and Boyd immediately run over launching him in the air as the other players pat him on the back cheering celebrating the win.

Family and friends on the stands rush onto the field getting ready to celebrate as coach screams cheering the win. Stiles is beaming with pride, having the moment he has always dreamed of come true feels amazing. I run straight over to him getting ready to celebrate and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he looks around for me, taking his helmet off to help him see better.

He watches as I rush over to him beaming and he picks me up without a second thought, I a girlish shrill leaves my lips as he spins me around happily. He hardly notices Scott and Allison behind him, or the other players jostling us around he has me in his arms and he played in an actual lacrosse game, not only that he scored the winning goal!

“You did it!” I exclaim excitedly a wide smile etched onto my lips as I pull back to look at him.

“Yeah, I guess I did” Stiles says a matching grin on his face.

It’s only then that he notices the proximity, our faces are close together, foreheads practically touching, his jersey clinging to my figure and before he can think about it, he leans forwards closing the gap. His lips find mine without even thinking about what he’s done, it was too easy it wasn’t his fault, and this wasn’t a part of his six-year plan.

A startled gasp falls from my lips as our mouth’s connect, shock written across my face. Stiles hearing this noise immediately pulls away about to apologise, fearing that he’s ruined everything that he’s rushed into this without even asking. Before he can even speak, I grab the back of his neck and pull him in again, my lips connoting with his in a more passionate kiss.

My legs wrap around his waist, my nails raking through his hair as we spend a few minutes wrapped up in bliss. Stiles is in a haze not believing that this is the end to his already perfect night, he finally got the girl. The girl of his dreams, the girl he’s been dreaming about for ten years, and nothing can stop him now.

Hollering breaks, us apart eventually, the team seemingly whooping and cheering as we pull apart, but Stiles isn’t ready for this to end. His lips immediately begin chasing mine eagerly, he’s finally got his moment he doesn’t want anyone else to spoil it.

“Stiles” I whisper, placing my hand on his cheek as he grins at me dopily.

“Yeah” he responds voice hoarse, his forehead moving to rest against mine once again.

“Later” I say placing one last kiss to his lips before jumping down.

His brain finally catches up and his jaw drops slightly at the implication as I begin walking away over to Allison and Lydia before he can question what I mean. Scott and Isaac come over shoving him in congratulations as the rough housing begins, happy that their friend both one the game and got his girl simultaneously.

“You finally did it” Scott exclaims excitedly, and Stiles can’t help but grin.

“Yeah, I did” Stiles replies with the same smile he’s had on his face since he won the game, watching as I talk with the girls.

“I can’t believe you had it in you” Isaac states, looking over at us and Stiles is about to retort snarkily when my voice breaks through.

“Stiles, are you coming?” I ask, calling over to them as Allison makes her way too Scott, all of us about to leave to head to mine for the real party to begin.

“Always” Stiles responds without even thinking, immediately walking over picking his helmet up on the way.

We naturally split off into couples, none of us even thinking about it, completely natural. Stiles is a nervous wreck as we make our way over to the jeep, his hands clammy and before he can stop himself, he asks the question he needs to know the answer too.

“You know I really like you, right?” Stiles asks, earning a snort from me as I turn to face him.

My back presses against the Jeep’s passenger side, as I pull him forward by his jersey his lips caressing mine once again, I run my finger down his jaw before allowing it to dip over his torso nails scraping in their wake.

“I do now” I say, leaning forwards to place a kiss on his lips.

It turns out Stiles can get his dream girl, and good things do happen in Beacon Hills, even too human boys like him that have zero flirting skills and are all talk. And let’s just say if the windows are steamed up and they both arrive at the party late, no one says anything…

Well at least not until the morning as it was her party after all.

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