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sleepingdeath-light · 1 year

Note

hey:D ‼️ slashers x a femme bimbo reader? i would love michael, tommy, vincent+ bo, and jennifer? (whoever else u choose is fine) please and thank you!

Bimbo S/O Headcanons | Multiple Slashers (18+)

thank you for requesting, anon!

reader is assumed as being female and a bimbo

there’s no sex described, but there’s a lot of sexual talk around the reader, hence the smut tag

this includes : billy lenz, brahms heelshire, carrie white, jennifer check, michael myers, the sinclair twins & thomas hewitt

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

billy lenz

billy is a pervert by nature and would have sexualised you irrespective of how you acted or what you wore (when there’s a will, there’s a way and all of that)

but you being a bimbo made it all so much easier and so much more enjoyable for the unknown voyeur

it seemed like everything you did have him an erection as he stared at you through cracks in the ceiling and walls and doors

how your short pink skirt would ride up and show your pretty panties whenever you bent over or sat down

how your tight white shirt did little to hide your breasts or the fact that you’d opted to go braless

the way you frequently stumbled and tripped in those pink heels — exposing your ass to him more often than even he could have wished for

all of that was enough of a dream come true, but the moment you picked up the phone and he got a true exposure to your delightfully ditzy and naively trusting persona this man was a goner

you were his dream-girl through-and-through

his pretty piggy who’s only good at taking billy’s thick cock into her dumb holes

his bimbo that has no chance of escaping him or his lewd calls and comments

of course you were his the moment you stepped foot in his house, but you continuously exposing yourself for him (as he perceived it, anyway) just gave him the go ahead to claim you entirely

and you’d best believe that he’ll want you dressing as sluttily as possible at all times

bo sinclair

although he tends to present himself as the perfect southern gentleman at first glance, bo is a verifiable pervert with pretty much no shame

it would have taken a remarkable amount of self restraint for him to keep up the act in front of your group — especially with you looking and acting like that

tight shirt, mini skirt and a body that he just wanted to lose himself in

god it was like you were made for him, but that could wait until he had splintered your group

but until then, he sated himself by glancing down your top whenever you leaned forwards, lifting up your skirt whenever he got the chance and catching you whenever you tripped (getting away with many less-than-innocent touches due to your obliviousness)

his advances get more and more aggressive and obvious as your group is picked off one by one until you’re the only one left untouched and somehow still oblivious to your situation

and bo finds himself torn between keeping you around as an alibi and a good fuck, or just using and discarding you to vincent as he’d done before

in the end, of course, he ends up deciding to let you live whilst putting on a whole show of wooing you so that you think you’re staying willingly — justifying it by saying you’ll help future “tourists” feel at home

but his brothers can tell that he’s grown more than a little fond of your presence (beyond, even, your sex appeal and naïveté — shockingly to all involved, he actually seems to care)

brahms heelshire

you were not what anyone in the heelshire family were looking for when they sought out a nanny

you were clumsy and naive; not being able to do much in education or housework without inevitably messing something up

you were a veritable slut without the intent; with tiny skirts and translucent shirts that could barely even be considered clothing and that certainly weren’t conducive with the image they wanted to present as a family

but, to brahms, you were perfect

the perfectly dainty damsel in distress for him to leer and gawk at from behind the walls as you went about your day hopelessly attempting to abide by his schedule

and whilst you frequently forgot certain rules, he let you off — equally because he knew you weren’t acting intentionally and because he loved watching you too much to let you go

his favourite times of day were those that necessitated you coming into contact with water or bending over because they gave him the most wonderful views of your body that often appeared in his masturbation fantasies

loves the way you coo over and jokingly scold his doll — actually just loves hearing you say his name and talk to “him”

is much more possessive and protective when it comes to anyone bringing supplies to the house because of, well, everything about you

like it’s all well and good having a pretty little thing with nice tits and ass to stare at all day and night, but issues arise when somebody else gets to look at what’s his

and even if you’re too ditzy and naive to recognise the grocery boy’s intentions, brahms is all too aware of what goes on in a man’s head

and he may just take it upon himself to show everyone, including you, what happens when someone touches what belongs to him

carrie white

carrie was brought up in a highly conservative christian background — so, needless to say, your presence itself would be a significant shock to the poor girl

everything about you is a complete upturning of the values she was raised with, from your personality to the way you dressed

god, the way you dressed was sin personified and every time she caught herself staring she’d mutter a quick prayer for forgiveness

tight white shirts, short pink skirts and high pink heels — a recipe for disaster that she found herself drawn to

those miniskirts would so frequently ride up your thighs and expose your tiny pink panties to anyone who dared to look whenever you stalled in readjusting them (though they were always short enough to expose those thighs of yours)

those shirts that would turn wonderfully transparent whenever you got even slightly damp (be that through rain or spillage) and exposed your otherwise bare chest to prying eyes

those heels that were the cause of so many incidents like those above

and, values be damned, she was more thankful for your obliviousness than anything else as she didn’t know what she’d do if you recognised the way her peers leered at you

how she looked at you with so much lust, with eyes that lingered too long to be innocent on your chest and the apex of your thighs and your ass

how she thought of you whenever she touched herself, one hand balled up in a fist that she bit down on to muffle herself whilst the other crept between her legs to toy with her puffy lips and swollen clit and seeping hole

you, in all of your naïveté and clumsiness, were at the centre of all of her fantasies and she wanted nothing more than to keep you in the dark about it all for as long as possible

jennifer check

you and her will almost inevitably end up sharing clothing and/or accessories because your styles match so well

date nights will consist of you sharing skincare routines and doing each other’s makeup

she uses your nature and appearance to her benefit, ramping up her sexuality with you in public to help lure in men for her to kill and feed on

she repays you with plentiful sex, affection and spoiling with money she gets from her “boyfriends”

will shamelessly ogle you whenever you lean forwards or bend over and gets a kick out of flustering you just as much as when she gets away with being a complete perv

gropes you in public like all of the time and usually plays it off as innocent or accidental — would stop if you asked, though

50/50 whether she lets you in on what she’s doing so you can help or strings you along as an accomplice

loves how oblivious you are and gets off on the power dynamic between you and her as the more experienced, dominant partner

buys you the most transparent, slutty, short clothes that she can find for you both so you can match, she can get food, and she can see as much of you as possible at all times

she will shift targets on a dime if she notices someone getting too close to comfort and taking advantage you in the same way she does — and she makes a point to show everyone that you’re very much so taken

makes you wear underwear that she chooses so anyone else ogling you gets a blatant reminder of who you belong to

michael myers (any)

initially michael found your demeanour more annoying and inconvenient than anything else

you were attractive, of course, but your clumsiness and obliviousness just made him frustrated — made him want to stalk you to force you to notice the word around you

and he did. for well over a month

even going into your home and standing over you as you slept, rearranging things in your house, anything to get you to notice that something was up

but you never did

even when he confronted you on your walk home and started following you, very obviously, you just chatted with him as if nothing was wrong and how much of a coincidence it was you were going the same way

you even complimented his mask — which immediately made you more tolerable

and almost made up for the dozen times he’d watched you trip over thin air or otherwise expose yourself to people unintentionally

after a while he even became somewhat protective, targeting people that were sexually aggressive or otherwise weird towards you to get his frustrations out before returning to his routine of stalking you

at one point he began to masturbate to the sight of you — which he’d never been able to do given his life being spent entirely in an institution with no privacy

he takes full advantage of your naïveté to tease and manipulate you, especially after you realise who he is

he just signs that he won’t hurt you if you let him stay with you and don’t tell anyone he’s there

and you oblige

and he doesn’t hurt you

the only real change is having to deal with him shamelessly staring at you all of the time, but after you get together you don’t really mind so it’s not really that big of a deal

thomas hewitt

everything about you seems perfectly engineered to turn this poor man into a flustered, red-in-the-face, 404-ing mess

you’re not exactly what his mother had raised him to look for in a woman but that made you somehow more attractive? like a forbidden fruit in a sense

your high high heels that you constantly tripped over weren’t exactly made for life in their rural town but your confidence in them made him reluctant to have you change

those teeny-tiny shorts and skirts left nothing to the imagination when it came to those smooth, long legs and those brightly coloured thongs you wore and caused him a lot of trouble whenever he caught a glimpse of you and ended up dropping his tools

your thin white shirts that hoyt always managed to get wet somehow were incredibly form fitting and gave him the perfect view of your chest

but whilst your body and sexuality haunted his mind and left him wanting and guilty when he’d reach between his legs for relief at the end of the day — it was your demeanour that captured his heart and endeared him to you

your naïveté kept you up and out of the way of the family’s dirtier dealings and meant they didn’t have to hide anything too hard as you believed whatever they promised to you

he felt bad for lying but he also knew it was a necessary evil

and your clumsy nature meant that any guests felt more at ease around you, joking around and letting their guard down to flirt with you which made his job a whole lot easier

so, needless to say, you were definitely a good investment for the family even if you kept unintentionally torturing poor thomas with your displays of sexuality and femininity throughout the house

vincent sinclair

you immediately caught vincent’s eye when you entered ambrose because of how different you were from your companions

your clothes were more revealing and feminine: all light colours, cropped edges, frills, pastels and the whole nine yards

definitely a far cry from the muted neutrals and heavy jumpers that he usually saw

more artistically inspiring, barbie like even

it made you attractive, certainly, but it also made him want to preserve you as an art piece even more — he wanted to capture your beauty permanently

but then your personality endeared you to him

you were immediately kind and trusting towards his twin, which painted you as a very naïve person but the genuine way you defended him and scolded your friends for interrupting the “funeral” caught his heart

hell, even bo seemed taken a back by your demeanour (before trying to look down your shirt, of course)

and then there was the clumsiness that gave him the perfect view of each and every angle of your body that those short, tight clothes did little to hide as you stumbled and tripped over your heels in the museum

even gentlemen have their limits and, from what he justified as artistic curiosity, he indulged himself in plenty of looks

you even made him chuckle a few times when you apologised to the figures you fell onto

all of it, to him, made you seem so much better than your companions — someone worth saving and keeping as a living art piece in ambrose

it wouldn’t be hard to convince his brothers, they were always talking about needing some company

and, beside, you didn’t strike him as the sort to be hard to lie to

so if you believed your friends abandoned you, maybe you’d be happy to stay with them — and, maybe, you’d never have to learn about the truth of ambrose and it’s wax museum

and he’d get to ogle you all he liked from behind the safety of his mask (only as an artist, of course! he’d never sexualise you… or at least he tries to claim as much to himself)

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cleo-fox · 2 months

Text

Conquer

Part 1 of 3

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson smut

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 3 months

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Yanderes in a Zombie Apocalypse...The Kind Survivor

Imagine the zombie apocalypse starts and suddenly the entire world itself is turned upside down. Those who survive are the ones who can adapt quickly or be lucky enough to be dragged by the former. You re some of the few that adapt turning everyday items into tools and weapons to guarantee your survival. While you could go at it alone you don’t. Shaking your coworker or classmate out of their horror-stricken state and saving them from being eaten.

“Hey you better move it or you’ll end up just like them.”

Maybe you know you’ll be lonely or that you can’t leave someone behind or maybe it's because it's them. Always so forthcoming and so kind to you before the world turned into this. Maybe you consider this payback for their hospitality, either way, you’re leading them away from the danger to regroup somewhere safe.

“T-thank you (Y/n).”

“It's fine, Wendall. Just keep moving we can’t rest here.”

“Right!”

He’s the Kind Survivor, the one who holds onto his sweet, trusting persona. Leaving you to be the untrusting hardened protector. Your roles become clear as you unwillingly are added to a group of fellow survivors. Of course, it’s him who proposes staying with the team still silently accepting your unspoken alliance. Even when the group discards your opinion for their own plan, he advocates for them, soothing your anger.

“I don’t trust them Wendy!”

“(Y/n) we can’t do this alone! We have to trust in them!”

“Until we can’t. What do you plan to do then?!”

“T-then we can leave. Okay (Y/n)...I’ll start thinking about us….about you more okay?”

“Thanks… I’ll be more open-minded.”

For a while, this will work, with your Kind Survivor becoming an important voice in the group while you gain their respect and reverie. Wendall couldn’t be happier, falling into a sense of normalcy as he watches you grow emotionally. For a while, this feels right.

But this doesn’t last.

The first betrayal ruins him opens his eyes. One selfish member's actions put everyone at risk but who suffers the most is you. Led out on a fool’s errand only to be swarmed and backed into a corner. Nothing but your wits and survival instincts to let you lead the remaining scouts with you. You’re holed up in a roof for days, forced to stay quiet, stave your hunger, and remain vigilant. As you hoped, Wendall and the surviving group arrive with food and medicine as everyone reunites.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)!”

“Hey, Wendy.”

“Oh, my–(Y/n) you can’t believe how happy I am to see you!”

“...I trusted you’d come…and you did.”

No one’s more happy to be reunited than your Kind Survivor who doesn’t dare relay the frustrating tale of that one’s betrayal. Only holding you close and rubbing his face against your head as he burns your scent into his memory all over again. It's another member who tells you while Wendall lasor focuses on checking you for any and all injuries. You don’t seem all that perturbed–your inclination to trust the others was right—all was well. Sure there was betrayal but you didn’t like that one member much at all so it wasn’t much of a deal to you. The same cannot be said for your Kind Survivor.

“I’m okay Wendy. I’m fine.”

“You haven’t eaten in days I wouldn’t call that fine.”

“Wendy I–”

“Hush. Eat before anything…please.”

He’s still so sweet. Always so kind. But something's…amiss. The other members feel he’s not the same. Those on midnight watch find his eyes staring at your resting form, not even moving away when they joke with him. When he does turn to look at them, there’s something fiery, something dark lingering behind those eyes before he hides them with his typical amicable smile. They begin to fear him.

“Ah, Wendall-san?”

“What is it? Jjitjg?”

“Uh, nothing never mind.”

The members have a right to. Wendall is dealing with an anger he’s hardly ever experienced. All his life had been a constant string of highs—working his dream job, meeting you, getting to hang out with you. But then the world turned mad which didn’t initially scare him as much as it should. Somehow being saved and haphazardly comforted by you it still wasn’t so bad. He thought the same when you both joined the group. But when that one member betrayed the whole team it shattered him. How could they?! Leaving his (Y/n) out there! When they so courageously followed the so-called leader on this goose chase!? What was his baby doing now while they simply huddled in fear of that one?! How were you feeling being so far for so long?!

He? He was dying.

Would you be disgusted that your Kind Survivor was truly contemplating letting all the others die while he went to search for you? Disgusted in knowing that it was he who was behind that one’s sudden psychosis? He didn’t care!

But when he saw your smiling face he was relieved but still fuming. This..band of wretches was why you were bedded for a week. These worthless meat sacks were using up the supplies meant to take care of you. These fleas were eating all the food that should have rightfully belonged to you.

It was a rising resentment. Pushed down and suffocated every time so that he could steer this group right and properly encourage your latest streak of compassion. It made you so much more integral to the group, as a protector and a leader.

It made his skin crawl. He was so proud of you.

It was another member’s incompetence that puts the nail in the coffin–the entire group’s coffins. Since the death of your old leader the group was out of sync; squabbling and running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Of course, the most incompetent one volunteered for the role; forcefully pressuring the others to follow their lead. It led to chaos. The chaos that relied on you to save everyone again. Again, forcing you to risk your life.

“This–this–this is the second time–”

“That I’ve survived the impossible? Don’t know, guess I’m just the best human shield there is.”

“No! This is the second time you’ve almost died because of them! I can’t–I can’t!”

He snaps.

You can calm your Kind Survivor all you like but the damage has been done. He’ll bow and apologize to everyone who’s witnessed it. But he’s not sorry. He’s determined. At a moment's notice, he fights to free you from them even if you resist. Physically you might be able to overpower him but he shouldn’t be underestimated. After all your Kind Survivor has learned so much. So many ways to subdue you, so many ways to trick the group; running off with you will be easy. With so much time to plan he’ll get his plan off without a hitch.

By the time he’s done, you’ll both be miles away from the ruins that were this ragtag team.

“I’m sorry (Y/n)...I thought we’d be safe with others. Now I know we’re better off on our own; where only we can trust each other.”

Your Kind Survivor has grown a lot and he’s learned not everyone’s worth both of your compassion. In fact, he’s made the executive decision to actively keep it and you all to himself.

By any means necessary.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere zombie apocalypse #yandere survivor oc #yandere original character #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #male yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere survivor x reader #yandere survivor #yandere male oc

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heizouz · 8 months

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begging for sub lyney + praise kink i'd do Anything

nsfw sub!lyney + gn!reader, praise, lots of praise, dumb lyney

this isn't my favourite piece but lyney is all i can think about recently so i just had to get this out as fast as possible. thank u SM for this req bc it's just made me think abt how much of a praise kink he'd have lorddd... n e way i hope this is okay!!.. <33

"you did so good today."

lyney thinks he will burst if one more compliment falls from your lips. you're close—too close. your hands are all over him, teasing the buttons of his shirt, tugging at his belt loops, tracing along the lines of his jaw. he's so flustered, worked up, adrenaline still flooding through his body from his previous performance.

his hat and shoulder cape have been discarded on the makeup desk behind him, your eagerness not giving him any time to take a breath as you'd hurried him into his dressing room and painted his face with needy kisses. lyney had laughed, pushing you away to cheekily ask if you'd enjoyed the performance that much; his cockiness soon fading once the praises started tumbling out between desperate kisses against his skin.

your thigh is between lyney's parted legs, his back against the makeup desk; hands fisting the material of your shirt at your shoulders as he grinds against your thigh. he's whimpering, soft and embarrassed—a complete switch to his usual confident on stage persona and you can't help but feel the wave of pride at the way lyney can't seem to look up, fixated on the way he moves so obediently for you.

"look at you." you sigh, head tilting as you watch him fall apart against your leg. your eyes are soft but dark, taking in the desperate cant of his hips and pretty gasps with every movement.

you're not even doing anything. lyney does all the work—working himself along your thigh, fingers curling into your shirt, eyebrows furrowed with concentration to make himself finish.

he'd been so stressed for his performance, so it'd been your plan all along to let it be known how well he did. the relief of finally getting his act done was clear as lyney was so accepting to relieve himself, to let you reward him for such a good show.

"just like that," you whisper. your hand tilts his head to finally look up at you, his eyes glassy and needy, "my pretty lyney."

lyney flushes at the praise, breath hitching, "st-stop, please." though his thrusts never seem to slow, hips only stuttering a little.

you take note of that, eyebrows raising when you flicker your gaze to his desperate grinding, "you want to stop?" you press your thigh harder against him, leaning impossibly closer across body, "but you're doing such a good job for me, darling."

"mh-hah-" lyney whines, loud, at the feeling of your thigh pressing hard against his cock straining against his shorts. he doesn't seem to realise how pitchy he's getting, brain fuzzy and too focused on you and your close body and the praises and his need to show you how even better he can be.

lyney can't think when you press your hand over his mouth to stifle his increasing moans. your chest presses against his and although he never seizes to slow the movement of his hips, your close proximity and the weight of your body pressing him hard against the makeup desk forces his eyes to roll back at the friction of your thigh against his cock. he can feel himself dripping against the material of his shorts, so incredibly close to breaking from just the press of your thigh alone. the thought would've flooded him with embarrassment if he could think properly.

you force him to keep eye contact, his eyes lidded and glossed over, the only thing separating you being your hand covering his mouth. your eyebrows furrow a little at the halt of his hips, "hm? don't stop, dove. you're being so perfect for me."

he feels so hot, his throat is closed up, unable to form a coherent word except the muffled whimpers and whines. his brain is muddled, the previous anxiety of a bad performance completely erased because now he's being good for you, he's so perfect, he's doing such a good job.

and to top it off, you lean in close when he starts to rock his hips at your command, whispering the words, "good boy." and lyney could cry.

lyney's eyes threaten to close, eyebrows scrunched and pretty breathy whimpers bleed past your hand over his mouth at the words, hips stuttering against your leg. purple irises gloss over with tears of pleasure, everything all too much and all you can do is smirk a little at how fucked out the usual suave and charming magician is.

"'m gonna-" lyney mumbles behind your hand, breath quickening and he pleads with his eyes, words stopping halfway to moan noisily.

"ah-ah!" you rip away his chance suddenly, hand dropping from his mouth and you back up slightly so you're no longer situated between his legs. lyney whines, bucking into the air at the loss of friction, eyes pooling with tears.

"n-no, please, please." lyney's desperate, voice broken and whiny.

"not yet, dove. 'need to get these off." you play with the belt loops of his shorts, tugging him a little closer. you smile wolfishly, going to pull the material down, "i need to reward you properly."

#i actually dont like this #it couldve been better #but whatever #i want to see him cry and whine #sub lyney #lyney #genshin impact #dom reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader #sub genshin #genshin #requests #send asks #asks #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney smut

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celluloidbroomcloset · 5 months

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There's an exchange in the bedroom scene in "Man on Fire" that I think gets a little lost and is actually very important:

"You saved my life." "Well, I'm glad I could help. I'm sure you'll return the favor next time we're in a near-death situation." "How about we just avoid all near-death situations?" "Yeah, nice idea. Not bloody likely in our line of work.

The exchange gets kind of lost in the mermaid discussion and Izzy busting in, which happens before Ed can say anything more, but it's not an incidental moment. Ed’s greatest fear is always losing Stede - either because Stede is whim prone and wants to be a big famous pirate, or because piracy is dangerous and they are constantly in near-death situations. The moment comes at a time when Ed has discarded his leathers; he no longer wants to be Blackbeard, and it's increasingly clear he doesn't want to be a pirate. But the fear is still there.

Stede has nearly died multiple times since Ed met him. They meet when he’s been stabbed and is bleeding out. Izzy runs him through. Ed himself almost goes through with killing him. The English try to execute him. Every time Ed has been more or less powerless to stop it.

Blackbeard has nearly been the cause of Stede's death. The persona is what Izzy kept appealing to when he tried to get Ed to kill Stede. The night before, Ned Low almost killed them as a result of choices Ed made as Blackbeard. Ed can’t stop Stede from being hurt, even when he tries to keep the attention focused on him. It’s Stede who winds up being able to act, using the awesome power of empathetic listening and worker unionization. Ed can’t protect him and can’t save him, and Blackbeard put him in danger.

This feeds into Ed’s other fears. He spiraled when he lost Stede once, and every time he sees Stede hurt, he starts to panic. He’s been reminded, as they’re lying in bed in the safest place they could be, that their jobs mean that they’ll be in danger - that Stede will be in danger, either because of simply being a pirate, or because of Ed himself. Ed is scared of who he becomes when he has to put on Blackbeard, and he doesn't want to do it anymore. He's also now had it confirmed that Blackbeard is what puts Stede in danger in the first place.

It seems safer for him to run. If he runs, he never has to see Stede hurt, he never has to be Blackbeard, he never has to be worried about his own heart breaking, he never has to be left alone because he's the one that ran first.

But of course he does, because he goes back to the Republic of Pirates and sees the destruction and the first thing he thinks is that Stede is hurt. He hears Stede screaming for help, and he’s not there.

What Ed has forgotten is that Blackbeard has also saved Stede's life. The one time he was able to save Stede from death was by being Blackbeard—the English listen to his call for an Act of Grace because of the persona; they want the accolades for turning Blackbeard from piracy. The persona itself is what saves Stede.

In the end, Ed finds something worth killing for. He puts on Blackbeard again—he kills, willingly, for perhaps the first time since his father, in order to find and protect the man he loves. Much like Stede searching the Caribbean for Ed, there's no guarantee that he'll find what he hopes for, but he'll still hope. He's no longer watching the world burn; he's going to save Stede, or die trying.

#ofmd #our flag means death #edward teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd meta #taika waititi #rhys darby #ofmd season 2 #tw: violence #my wee thoughts #always happy to hear others!

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colossalsquidz · 19 days

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I think my favourite piece of symbolism in rgu will always and forever be the carousel in episode 39. In the intro, you get this awesome shot of Utena and Anthy riding on horses through the sky, and throughout the whole show you’re waiting for that moment to come to fruition.

Horses, of course, are heavily linked to the idea of the prince. Dios is described as a “prince on a white horse,” Touga explicitly states that horses are part of the “prince” persona, Akio and Touga both ride with Utena on a horse when they’re trying to be her prince. And as the protagonist, most viewers will be rooting for Utena to get her own moment of heroism. To break away from Akio’s abuse and become the gallant prince she’s always dreamed of being.

However, when Anthy stabs Utena, this dream is shattered. She says, “You remind me so much of Dios when I loved him. But you can never be my prince, because you’re a girl.” An intentionally cruel jab, rubbing salt in the wound. But also showing Anthy’s mindset, fear of being abused again by someone who wants to trap her in a power dynamic. She loves Utena and believes she is genuinely trying to help her, but still can’t trust her.

This is when the carousel appears. The same motif of the white horse, but this time a crude plastic simulacrum, going around and around in circles. Utena has been sold the idea of the prince as a way to claim autonomy in a patriarchal society, but in the end the “prince” in power only wants to keep everything in eternal stasis. The flying horses in the sky were always a pipe dream, because that’s not what it means to claim power within the framework of this system. A carousel can never advance. A prince can never truly smash the world’s shell, just accumulate power within it.

The nature of the carnival ride and the children’s laughter in the background are also important here, almost mocking Utena in her lowest moment. It reminds me of Akio’s statement that she was merely “playing” at the duelling game, like all this was some childish power fantasy. But we know that’s not true. That’s why Utena is able to pull herself up and make her way to Anthy’s coffin. Dios is the one riding the carousel here, offering Utena false platitudes and beckoning her to accept the way things are, join him in going around and around for eternity. However, Utena’s desire to help her friend trumps her desire to be a hero. To help Anthy has always been her main driving force, and Akio is so cynical that he can’t understand that someone might want to help for purely selfless reasons. Ultimately, this is his downfall.

When the curtain falls and the prince is revealed to be a child on a plastic horse, Utena is disgusted by the farce and accepts the painful reality of her identity being ripped from her and discarded. Because being the prince was never Utena’s goal, it was a means to an end to help Anthy from the very beginning.

#rgu #utena #revolutionary girl utena #sku #retreading a lot of ground with the ‘prince bad’ stuff #but I just love the imagery of the carousel and wanted to discuss it

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pinklemonadeflav · 4 months

Text

Under the covers

Your boyfriend gets a pleasant surprise when he comes back from a trip to discover your new sleeping habit...and decides to give you a pleasant surprise as well.

Persona : Jeonghan

ℳ

wc: 1.4k

Content notes: Implied fem chubby! reader, Jeonghan says "Yes ma'am", a smidge of consensual somnophilia, oral f!rec, overstimulation, raw penetration and creampie

"Tip four, sleep in your underwear..."

You raise a brow at wikiHow's "How to fall asleep when you can't" article suggestion as you sit in the middle of the bed. Your face is illuminated by the laptop screen in the middle of the dark bedroom, eyes wearily blinking at the 2am marked on the clock.

An exasperated sigh leaves you. Normally you would have no issues falling asleep with Jeonghan snuggled up next to you, but he left for Europe the day before to film travel content, and you find yourself tossing and turning in your shared bed.

You scan the article and suppose losing the baggy fabric could be more comfortable. Turning the radiator on and pulling the duvet snugly up to your neck, you test out the unconventional method.

A few days pass, and your new way of sleeping has been working wonders; your body regulates temperature better without the extra layers, yet stays comfortably-toasty under the covers. You had worn bra and panties the first night, but figured there was no point in maintaining modesty and lost the top the following days. Sure, you still miss your boyfriend's presence, but the bolster tucked between your arms is good enough for now.

It’s the third week when Jeonghan comes back, closing the front door carefully and lifting the heavy luggage instead of rolling it so as to not wake you.

He smiles contently when he walks into the bedroom and spots the slow ride and fall of your shoulders under the covers. The faint lighting streaming in from the hallway reveals your relaxed expression, and the dips and curves of your figure are highlighted deliciously under the silk sheets.

After nearly a month of being away, Jeonghan has to force himself to head for the shower instead of going straight for the love of his life. He washes up in record time, hopping into his pajamas and sliding into bed for a good night's rest next to you-

Bare skin.

Fingers gracing your waist, Jeonghan is surprised at the smooth sensation instead of the roughness of fabric. He quirks a brow as his hand drags little higher up to your rib area, clothing still yet to be found. His other hand lifts the blanket to give him a better look, and Jeonghan sucks in a breath when he sees you’re practically naked, softness on full display.

He averts his eyes, dick hardening in his pants. Of course, he’s seen you naked a million times before this, but his first inclination isn't to wake you up just to get himself off. Your unconscious self senses him somehow and grabs onto the hem of his shirt, and he suddenly remembers a conversation from a month ago. Somnophillia was something you brought up and explained in detail when he had cocked his head in confusion. You said you wanted to try it out, but back then Jeonghan didn’t quite understand the fun in fucking you if he couldn’t hear your cries of pleasure or gaze upon your face as you orgasmed.

Now though, he mulls it over for a bit, and after being away from you for what felt like months only to discover you in your all your beautiful, unclothed glory, he doesn’t think he can go to sleep without feeling you first. He gently unravels your fist from his shirt, his own hand travelling down your abdomen into your panties.

“Oh shit-“

Jeonghan curses at the wetness underneath his touch; he doesn’t know if you had touched yourself before bed, or if dream land did this to you, but he isn’t about to complain.

Making quick work of discarding your panties and his shirt, he slides his body down so he’s face to face with your pussy. You may be wet already, but Jeonghan still plans to stretch you out a little after being away for a while. He kitten-licks your clit one, two times to test for your reaction, and when you shift only slightly in your sleep, he goes harder by sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it, and as two long fingers slide their way into your heat, only then do you get pulled out of slumber.

You lift your head groggily and make eye contact with Jeonghan eating you out, a grin growing on his face.

“Hannie? Welcome back-“

Your soft greeting is cut off by a louder moan as Jeonghan curls his fingers into your g-spot, mouth leaving your clit and thumb replacing it’s position.

“Glad to be back, my love. By the looks of it, couldn’t wait for me to undress you myself?”

Heat rises to your cheeks as you almost forgot all about your new habit, “No-o! This wasn’t, I mean, I did miss you but-“

You keen as Jeonghan’s thumb circles your clit faster, and you instantly give up trying to explain when he’s this determined to play with you. Instead, you pull his face down to yours.

“Forget it, come here.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jeonghan chuckles and placates you with a kiss, deepening it when your fingers tangle around his soft hair. He inserts a third finger as your tongues swirl around and moves his hand faster.

Your back is arching, and as the pad of his thumb passes over your clit a few more times, he swallows your moans while you fall apart in his hands. But that isn't enough for him as he immediately moves down, tongue finding it's place on your wetness again, devouring you like a starving man and dragging your already-prolonged-orgasm into overstimulation.

You grip at the sheets tightly with a whimper, doing everything in your power not to snap shut your legs around your boyfriend's head. But this is exactly what you’ve needed after the past few nights of dissatisfaction touching yourself alone – nights where you tried but inevitably failed to grant yourself the pleasure Jeonghan gives you. So you let him drive you crazy, he knows your body well enough at this point to stop before you have to give the signal, and you’re left panting as your pussy clenches around nothing when Jeonghan finally releases his hands from you.

Your eyes travel from the ceiling to him as he chuckles,

"One hell of a 'I'm back' gift huh?"

"Hope you actually got something for me from Italy too." You joke as you reach out and tug at the elastic on his sleep shorts, “Now get this thing off.”

He finds your curt neediness cute, deciding not to make you wait any longer and tell you about perfume gift set later. He discards the final piece of clothing, slender thighs making their way between your plump ones, and lines up his throbbing member to your core. He grips your hips softly and slides it in one go. There’s a bit of a stretch still, but he also knows that’s what you like.

He's going fast immediately, lavishing the warmth of your cunt wrapping around and pulling him in. His length hits the soft patch inside of you perfectly with every plunge, just as his fingers did, but with even more force that sends electricity tingling through your core. You're holding onto his back as his mouth finds the space between your neck and shoulder, sucking and tongue laving over it roughly with his movements.

One hand shifts from your hipbone closer to your lower abdomen, lightly massaging and applying pressure, the other hand making contact with your clit again and rubbing quick circles. You cry out at as he slowly drags your impending orgasm from deep within, managing a weak question,

"Are you almost there?"

"Yeah- go on and let go for me."

His breathy response against your neck and a few final thrusts gets you there, body shuddering as the intensity of your orgasm washes over you. He fucks you through your high and reaches his peak just as you're coming down, cursing softly as he spurts white hot inside and fills you up.

He lands a kiss between your breasts and one more on your lips before collapsing ontop of you. You laugh, winded too, and wrap your arms around his shoulders. The two of you just lay there for a moment, enjoying the other's touch after being apart for awhile.

You're the first to open your mouth, "Just saying, this no-clothes things thing was supposed to help me sleep better."

"If this is gonna be a daily occurrence, both of us are gonna have to deal with losing some sleep."

He dodges the light smack you aim at his head, laughing as he runs off to the toilet for a washcloth to avoid your protests. You guess you can ultimately consider the sleeping tip ineffective, at least, while your boyfriend is home.

Here's a little fic for the holidays~ Been marinating this for awhile and finally finished it with the free time (still stuck on two others, they'll see the light of day eventually...)

PSA the sleeping naked thing is actually so good legit, especially for anyone who has more touchy physical sensitivities!!

#svt #svt smut #jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan smut #seventeen #jeonghan scenarios

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starglitterz · 2 years

Text

♡ NEED TO KNOW.

pretty boys without a shirt… that's it that's the post

✧ feat ; cyno, scaramouche, tighnari, xiao x gn!reader

✧ warning(s) ; suggestive, may be ooc

✧ a/n ; apologies for being a slut on main, it will happen again. hope you like this ! unrelated but i listened to the instrumental for baby by madison beer the entire time i was writing this so here's the link if you'd like to hear it while reading :>

please reblog + leave comments ! it helps a lot :)

✦ CYNO. [ judicator of secrets ]

general mahamatra is renowned for never slacking off, and his unexpected arrival at the doorsteps of scholars often bodes ill for the researchers in question. but that has never been the case for you, his lover, who has come to look forward to his surprise visits.

“i should get back to work, you know,” cyno murmurs against your lips, though the way his strong arms are holding your hips tightly in place on his lap seems to convey quite the opposite. “shouldn’t i be the one saying that?” you smile, threading your hands through his messy mane of white hair, “after all, you were the one who came here under the guise of a medical check-up.” he makes a noise of dissent, nuzzling into your neck where he proceeds to press a storm of kisses, “it wasn’t a disguise, it’s true!” “oh, is that so?” you can’t help but laugh, “what were your symptoms?” cyno pulls away from your skin, where you’re certain he’s left more thtan a few bruises, and gives you the stupidest grin ever, “i was lovesick!” you snort, and he beams, “that was a good one, wasn’t it?” “shut up and just kiss me, dumbass,” you flick his forehead, “your kisses are better than your jokes.” “low blow,” he whines, and you’re struck by his duality between the persona he displays to the world and how he behaves in private. “but it is a wish i’m willing to indulge,” he continues, tilting your chin up to him.

your hands travel up his torso, and you can feel him stiffen under your touch, reclining to give you more access to him. “imagine if someone walked in,” he laughs, though it’s a breathless laugh as you trace circles across his skin, “general mahamatra and the chief healer fooling around like teenagers.” “no, i’ll let them know this is just routine,” you wink, “like how i’m checking your pulse right now.” without warning, you lean down and press your ear against his chest as if to hear his heartbeat directly. cyno freezes and you smile, lifting one hand to caress his face, “i can feel your heart getting faster and faster.” he sighs, trying to regain his composure to the best of his ability, “guess you’re leading me to an early grave.” “oh dear, that’s a shame,” you pretend to be sad, “i think you'll have to extend your stay here so i can fix that.” “ah, a shame indeed,” cyno’s red eyes laser in on yours, and you find yourself amazed at the intensity of his stare, “i’ll be entirely in your care.” “perhaps i might even cure your lovesickness,” you tease, and he smirks before tugging you closer for another kiss, “we’ll see about that.”

✦ SCARAMOUCHE. [ kunikuzushi ]

scaramouche is electric.

not just because of the electro delusion he wields so effortlessly, but more so because of the way the very air around him crackles with potential and power. perhaps it is because he was sculpted by divinity itself that his fingertips tingle with the electricity coursing through his veins, and gives him this voltaic aura which shines through even when he is doing the most mundane of tasks.

right now is no exception as he gazes at his reflection - he still looks so pretty. “you really did a number on me,” scaramouche groans, though you can hear the tinge of pride in his voice as he looks at the messy constellation of lovebites strewn across his neck and collarbone. you stroll up behind him after clambering out of bed, stepping over the discarded clothes from last night and letting your arms snake around his waist, “aw, i’m sorry.” “you don’t sound apologetic in the slightest,” scaramouche scoffs, even as his hand envelops yours with warmth. “yeah, that was a lie,” you smirk, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, “i’m not sorry at all.” “that sounds more like you,” he chuckles, though his breath hitches when your palm splays across his abdomen.

scaramouche is always wound tight like a coiled spring, always on edge, always ready to attack at the first sign of danger. and with you around to push his buttons in more ways than one, he swears he’s learned to tense up the second you touch his skin - it sets him aflame. his indigo irises stray to the sight of the two of you in the mirror, and he swallows because he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. “you’re so cute, i love you,” you giggle, pressing featherlight kisses in a trail along his bare shoulder. “shut up,” his face feels far hotter than it should at your easy compliments which never seem to make sense; who else would have the audacity to call the balladeer ‘cute’? but maybe that’s precisely the reason why he adores you, and he mumbles, “i love you too.” “love me enough to skip your meeting today?” “nope.” “it was worth a shot.”

✦ TIGHNARI. [ verdant strider ]

it is rare for tighnari to spend the night at home thanks to his duties as chief forest watcher, but tonight he has, and you’re planning to make the most of it.

your hands skate over your lover’s skin, pressing down in all the right areas to help massage the tension out of his aching muscles. he isn’t as broadly built as some of the other forest rangers, but he has his own strengths hidden underneath the many layers he wears daily. in fact, you can practically feel his muscles rippling under your touch right now.

“i think you’re overworking yourself, darling,” you say, continuing your work as the scent of harra fruit oil fills the air. it’s a late cloudy night, and the only light outside comes from the distant lamps illuminating avidya forest. he’s silent, quieter than usual, and you’re worried that you’ve overstepped his boundaries. but then his ears twitch and he looks at you, “what?” a teasing smile curves your lips as you realise what just happened - tighnari was so happy about you massaging him that he totally spaced out. he recognises your trademark smirk and sighs, “don’t even think about it.” “c’mon, you have to admit it’s funny when your ears are so big but you still didn’t hear!” you giggle, and he turns away without answering, jutting his lower lip out in a pout.

“nooo, wait, i’m sorry,” you can’t help the note of amusement that slips into your tone, so you shuffle closer from how you’re sitting on your knees to wrap your arms around his bare torso. resting your chin on his shoulder, you blow on his ear, “tighnari~” his expression doesn’t change, but his ears and tail give him away this time, so you laugh, tilting his chin to face you before surprising him with a kiss, “that means i’m super duper sorry.” “hmph,” tighnari pretends to glare at you for a second before his eyes soften and he smiles, “you’re going to need to give me a lot more kisses before i leave again tomorrow for me to forgive you.” “you don’t need to ask me twice, and i’ll add in a bonus massage for your ears too!” “just admit you want to touch my ears.” “alright fine, that may have been my ulterior motive but i swear it’s also because i love you.” “i know, love, i know.”

✦ XIAO. [ vigilant yaksha ]

adepti do not require sleep to function normally, and right now xiao is so incredibly thankful for that fact because with how you’re acting, there’s no way either of you are getting any sleep tonight.

your fingertips skirt across the plane of his back, etching every dip and curve of his body into your memory, doodling absent patterns and swirls on his skin and leaving a trail of heat in your wake. it’s been a few minutes of this, and xiao doesn’t think he can take it for much longer. “i know you’re awake, xiao,” you move closer, nuzzling into his back and making a shiver run down his spine. he hums in reply before turning around to face you, amber irises boring into yours with the affectionate gaze he reserves for you and you alone. your eyes widen slightly when you see his face, and he raises an eyebrow, “what is it?” “nothing… you’re just so pretty,” your voice drops to a whisper, treating this moment like something sacred as if it would be blasphemous to speak even a decibel louder.

“what?” xiao has never even imagined that anybody would call him, a celestial being who’s convinced himself he is worth nothing except as a weapon for bloodshed, ‘pretty’. but coming from you, it sounds just right, especially when you cup his cheek, thumb caressing his skin softly. your other hand tangles in the jade streaks of his hair before slipping down to his stomach, tracing a thin line up his torso. xiao is made of lean muscle that freezes under your touch, and you can feel the strength he possesses thumping like a heartbeat under his skin as you trace the emerald tattoo on his bicep.

“i’m serious!” you laugh, and the sound makes xiao so happy his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. weaving your arms around his neck, you tug him impossibly closer, pressing your lips to his before pulling away with a smile, “love you.” “love you too,” xiao manages to reply even though his head is spinning and his cheeks are on fire, but the only thing he can focus on is asking, “can i kiss you again?” “as many times as you want, pretty boy.”

stop wtf why are they so hot... i need them NOW. // general masterlist

#✏️ — quill writes !#genshin impact x reader #cyno x reader #tighnari x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #cyno genshin impact #cyno fluff #tighnari fluff #tighnari genshin #xiao fluff #xiao scenarios #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche genshin impact #cw suggestive

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grapejuicestyless · 8 months

Text

You’re The Winner

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Harry and you were once inseparable. Both reaching to achieve big dreams. You always dreamed of being a writer and director. You were no where near Harry’s fame, and he knows it. He’s not afraid to let you know it either. Based off the new Conan song, “Winner.”

I didn’t notice it at first, as it came in waves. Tiny jokes pointed at my deepest hurts. Insults baked in sugary dough to hide the sourness beneath. Small snickers traveling around the rooms we were in. Laughter growing when I turned my back.

Soon, his comments became more aimed. Less broad, more explicit. He was blunt in his insults. Snide remarks turning into insults meant only to tear me down.

It shouldn’t have hurt me this much, all these stupid comments. If it were anyone else, I would’ve brushed them off as pure jealousy. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was Harry. A man who had everything. Money, fame, friends, party invitations piling at his door. But more than that, he was my best friend. My guide through Hollywood. The kindest soul that I had ever crossed paths with one fateful night in late 2013.

Back then he was so shy, despite his huge successes. Despite all the gains he was making, all the achievements, all the accomplishments, he was just as humble and down to earth. Never once caring about anyone’s status. He couldn’t care less what projects I was pursuing. Who I was working with, how much money I was making. When I was with him, I was just me. Not some new rising director, some writer chick that was starting to make headlines. I was simply, me.

I don’t know where that Harry went, but this wasn’t him. I considered the idea that maybe a stunt double had stepped in to take the old Harry’s place. All while the old Harry was away at some lavish beach resort in some expensive town off the coast of Italy I’d never heard of. That would’ve made so much more sense, but impossible. This one had the same green eyes and devilishly charming smile. His hair was just as shiny and curly. Physically, he was the same.

To put a date to it, I could say it started around the middle of 2020. He was by himself now, no longer supported by four other counterparts. Finally the center of attention. He’d done relatively well with the release of his first project, but it was his second album that had launched him into a similar success that he had in the band. Magazines swarming him with covers to be plastered on, late night tv talk show hosts all but begging him to sit down on their overly bouncy couches to talk about his love life and music inspiration.

With this new found admiration from the public, the changes were starting to be made. He no longer reached out first, and when he did, it was forcefully. He always made sure to be the one to never text last. Feeling satisfied in leaving another on read. Old Harry could carry conversations into the next day. Texts flooded with his odd facts and silly jokes. Now it was purely business. Maybe some meet ups from time to time. But usually it was me planning to meet up with him. His simple response was a thumbs up, not really caring if I showed or not.

He grew more and more insufferable the longer his fame lasted. Making friends with the best of the best and not even giving a second look to anyone else. So quick to discard those who were once always there for him. He was superficial. Fake. I knew this, but my heart still beat for the sweet boy I met all those years ago. Cherishing the fact he still considered me his best friend, even after all this time. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I did because even with this new asshole persona, I believed that underneath it, the young boy was still there. He just needed to be revealed somehow.

Now I can see how stupid I was. As I sit here, in the darkness of his living room watching some old movie he claims is, “vintage.” Not enjoying myself as I thought I would, but shrinking into the couch cushions, eyes welling up with each new dig he was making at me and my career. Always so quick to point out the clear gaps in our success. Me, having only a few movies and awards to my name, Harry having a room dedicated solely to them. His wins for only his newest album towering over all the ones I’d won in my whole career. I wished I could’ve tuned him out. Ignored how he belittled me, treated me like gum on his shoe. I wish his words meant nothing but that. Just words. I wished and wished.

“You know, if you made movies like this, you’d probably be so much more successful.” He gently smacked the side of my arm, eyes glued to the screen. Not even looking to see my expression.

Maybe it would’ve felt better if he had. Then I would know he only did it to get a rise out of me. Now I could see he was only doing it because that’s how he was. This is who he’s become. That hit so much deeper. I couldn’t blame it on him trying to tease me, or being playful and it coming off too strong. He was just, something almost unexplainable.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” The words were bitter as they rolled off my tongue. The couch I was once sinking into so feebly losing connection with my skin as I shot up to stand over him.

“What?” He looked confused, eyebrow cocked and a playful smirk on his face. He knew, how could he not. He saw how I cowered away, slinking into another room where the quiet was more evident that the soft chatter and quick glances in my direction. Both of pity and interest.

“Do you feel good about yourself? Bringing me down like that? Honestly, Harry tell me, I’m really interested.” His eyes seemed to dull, the movie no longer of interest to him. He stood to match my stance.

“I was just joking.” His arms raised in a fake defensive stance. Smirk still evident on his face.

“You should be proud of yourself, are you? Take a bow! Are you proud because I’m not. I’m not proud to say that there’s honestly nobody who’s ever done better at making me feel worse. So congratulations, Harry.” I clapped slowly, feeling heat rising to my cheeks, tears brimming my waterline. Harry stood there the entire time, mouth parted open and eyes searching my face desperately.

“I don’t see what I’ve done wrong? I was just giving you some tips.” He could’ve fooled me with that statement. His face contorted into one of pure regret and pain, almost like it hurt to deny what he had been doing. Like he didn’t want to be a jerk anymore. Somehow, it almost made me feel guilty.

“I don’t need your tips Harry! I don’t need anything from you. I am perfectly happy with what I’m doing, I don’t need a boat load of awards to show for that. You said it yourself, right? I’m happy doing what I’m doing, so don’t you dare insinuate that I am not successful. Don’t you dare.” My finger found the center of his chest, pushing back on his muscular frame, eyes blinking rapidly to dissolve any tears collecting, threatening to roll down my cheeks. To embarrass me.

My honesty was met with silence, his mouth closing into a firm line, eyes cold and lifeless looking into mine. He seemed totally calm, the complete opposite of my rapid breathing and heaving chest. It made me angry. How could he stand there, chest to chest with his “best friend” and not care about what he was doing to me?

“Fine, okay. Fine.” I backed away slowly, nodding in his direction. My footsteps picked up, hand searching quickly for my coat that was slung over the arm of his million dollar couch.

I never planned on leaving, but if this was what he wanted, to be a jerk and expect everyone to fall at his feet still, then I would not be part of it anymore. I would not cave to his sick and twisted mind games. I would leave, and maybe, just maybe, if he ever came to his senses. If he could ever see just how awful he was to me and could find it in his now frozen over heart to apologize, I would come back to stand beside him happily. But I would not be the woman who stood behind him, a bystander in the future movie of his life.

Slipping on my shoes and reaching for the door handle I paused. Looking around one last time, taking in Harry, who looked just as defeated as I felt, I saw it. He was crying. He was crying, actually crying. Hand gripped over his chest and clawing at where his heart reside. Body shaking silently. Praying I would come back. I sighed, opening the door.

“Harry.” It was quiet.

“Y/n/n.” It almost sounded like a beg. It felt so good to hear him call me that again, a name I hadn’t heard in years. Not since this personality shift.

“You really are the winner.” I didn’t need to further explain myself, he knew what I meant. There really was nobody else who ever had done better at making me feel worse. Nothing that ever did quite kill me more than what he had done. He really was, the winner.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #hslot harry #fine line harry styles #yn x harrystyles

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jhuzen · 9 months

Note

if ur requests are open…virgin Kazuha with a player m!reader.

Reader made a bet with Beidou about how long it’ll take to get to fuck Kazuha since he’s one of the people on the Crux that the reader hasn’t fucked and Kazuha overhears.

He knows he shouldn’t give in, but he’s wanted the reader for so long so they end up fucking (and confessing feelings because I’m a romantic😭).

tip [m.reader]

actual title: [just the] tip, LMAO. I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD AND I’M BRINGING THREE SMUTS WITH ME. anyway. i think we all know when i say soon, it means 2 weeks later. fuck. i’m so sorry yall i do not know how to squeeze my brain for creativity. so the past two weeks, i’m just working out and gaming and illustrating. also i was halfway through the smut when i got the request for the player reader aND THATS WHEN IMAGINATION STRUCK. so anyway have this adorable samurai, tysm baby for letting me win your 50/50 again ilysm mwah.

𖦹 gentle sex, romantic stuff, they say ily in the end (and i am jealous), it’s been weeks since my last smut so bear with me, an attempt at an oral, fingering, penetration, lots of reassurances, top male reader

It all started with a simple bet between you and Beidou. She was the same captain that challenged you many times in drinking contests, after all (most of which, you’ve lost to her). And while you cannot exactly handle all of your alcohol like she can’t, no one could say the same when it comes to your visceral need to possibly get every living being on the bed with you.

It was a running joke between the entire crew. With your utterly promiscuous nature, you’ve managed to bed every bachelor and bachelorette on the Alcor. It was an amazing feat and an occurrence that happened so much, people would casually compare your performance with each other. Granted, it was embarrassing, but such is the price of being so… whorish.

Not a single soul was saved, even the sweet housekeeper from Mondstadt and his superior that were traveling to the nation of freedom to strike a deal with an elusive winery owner weren’t saved from your promiscuity. Beidou was already hurting from the sides from all the laughing she’s done once she realizes the fleeting glances between the two of them towards you were no mere coincidences.

But maybe not a single soul being saved was… an overstatement.

All of them weren’t safe except for one — the elusive ronin that frequently traveled with Beidou’s crew; Kaedehara Kazuha himself. For some reason, he was the one person that you couldn’t bed, and unfortunately for you, Beidou noticed. She noticed how your flirtatious flair would tone down, turning you into the most unassuming version of yourself that any of the Alcor has ever seen whenever you would entertain Kazuha up in the crow’s nest, a gentle smile on your lips instead of that knowing smirk that could leave anyone writhing.

Beidou already had an idea by then, but she decided to aid you in getting things moving as she made one bet to you.

“If you can get our romantic poet in bed with you, I will retract all drinking contests in the future.”

Your terms were flimsy and shallow. But you figured your liver would greatly appreciate the deal. And if you won, you only said that the captain would have to admit that, although untrue, you have, at some point, beaten her in one contest.

Had you only known what your dear little ronin has in store for you.

Kazuha, admittedly, is an absolute romantic. The verses in his poetry could not make that mere fact any clearer. His mind and heart can coordinate and weave the sweetest words lodged in limited verses that sing the sweetest praises to the unknown.

And often you were the victim of it. Kazuha was well aware of how subdued you seem around him, suddenly discarding the playboy persona that you were known around for, your very reputation that despite the efforts that Kazuha made in order to evade it, it still somehow managed to take the longest detour right to his heart.

You were a magnet that had limitless attraction Kazuha was just a drop in a sea of particles that continued to gravitate to you, despite his constant rumination that you were never going to be a constant in his life. He lives to seek every corner of the world while you discovered the uncharted parts of someone else’s bare skin in your endeavors.

How ironic was it that in his inconsistent lifestyle, he was terrified of having you — someone who is just as much of constant as his stays on places while he wandered through all nations.

But the tiny voice at the back of his head were screaming, pleading for a chance to even experience the atmosphere with you when wrapped in the haze of lust and sex.

It was probably why the moment he overheard your tiny wager with Beidou, the restraints that he kept on his poor longing heart suddenly loosened. And it was probably why the moment you amped up your flirtatious tendencies, Kazuha was suddenly breathless.

To experience of being the end of your smooth words was something Kazuha can only describe as what it feels like to get a taste of his own medicine. Suddenly, you were more forward, you didn’t wait for him to ask you and gaze at the skies with him on the crow’s nest. Everywhere he was, you were suddenly around, like a persistent python that coiled around him until he could no longer breathe — and he loved it.

Maybe it’s why your advances were easily reciprocated by him. Maybe it’s why all of a sudden, he wanted your hand to linger under his chin. Maybe it’s why, out of all his resistance to your charm, it all comes crashing down into a futile effort.

And maybe it’s also exactly why his heart hammered with persistence against his ribcage despite the ache in his knees as he knelt and did his best to suck you off with little to no experience under his belt.

You sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast to meet Kazuha’s teary eyes. He was already ruined just from this, mouth barely able to take in more of you. But you were a persistent teacher, and he was an eager student.

A smirked played upon your pretty lips, hand gliding over to Kazuha’s soft cheek before pinching it, stretching his mouth just a little bit more as you slowly pushed your hips, watching your cock make it barely even halfway through Kazuha’s mouth.

You were used to the experienced men that could take you in skillfully even with your size, but the inexperience was somewhat of a breath of fresh air — if not, utterly adorable. The way his tongue refused to stay flat while your cock pushed in, his teeth grazing against your sensitive head ever so slightly, and archons, those lovely tears that glistened through his wet eyelashes as the honorable ronin looked up at you for any form of approval.

“You’ve no idea how incredibly delectable you look right now, love.” Your smooth voice filled his ears and he hummed, pleased from the praise, leaving you hissing as the vibrations from his mouth enveloped your cock.

“Think you can manage a few more inches?” You asked with a curious grin.

Kazuha doesn’t think so, but the innate need to please you and seek your praise was something he quickly found out the moment you stripped him of his robes and adored his body with your sweet words. He nodded, a little unconvincing, a little reluctant, and a little nervous.

You guided his hands that rested on your thighs to grip the base of your length, “For better leverage,” you said, though quite true, it was equally just an excuse to feel his cute little hands around you.

The ronin nodded once more before pushing further, dipping his head until he can take more of you. His cheeks burned and the moment the tip of your head hits the back of his throat, Kazuha immediately pulls back, coughing. You ran your hand through his hair, flashing him a reassuring smile.

“Too much?”

Kazuha’s lips were wet from his own saliva. He opened his eyes to see a tiny sinful string of saliva that connected his lips to your cockhead. He looked up at you with so much determination, almost eager to try again, and while it was immensely adorable, you decided to take pity on Kazuha as you pulled him up to your lap.

“I-I can do more…”

“And we’ll work on that next time,” you said with the same soft reassurance that he has heard from you every time you and Kazuha would engage in a conversation. But it wasn’t what made his heart jump — it was the fact that you opened up the possibility of a next time for him. A possibility that this isn’t a one time thing as he feared.

Before he could even process anything else, his back hits the soft mattress beneath him. It should have been intimidating, but to see tower over him with such a huge figure, Kazuha could only feel the unbridled warmth that radiated from you. He waited with bated breath as you looked down on him, a smile so inviting that it doesn’t even remotely feel like he was participating in a bet, that you were making love to him so tenderly instead.

“Think it’s time for me to finally take care of you, hm?” Your soft croon reached his ears and he could only nod, meek yet still so bloody excited for what happens next.

He could feel his breath get caught in his throat the moment your hands easily opened his legs, and he willfully complied despite how his thighs quivered under your grasp. He watched seat yourself in between his legs, watching you open up that one familiar package of lubricant. You squeezed a generous amount on your fingers before turning to him.

“Try to relax, yeah?”

“M-Mhm…”

Kazuha doesn’t question the way his back immediately arched up as his body responded to your fingers that slowly penetrated him. He could feel the coldness and he shivered, squirming at the tight fit. He could feel it all too much. His hand immediately shot up to latch onto your strong shoulders while he let out a strangled gasp.

Your little samurai was all too enticing, “My~ what a mess I’ve made you, and just from my fingers alone too…” You laughed and Kazuha can only whimper closing his eyes shut to avoid any further embarrassment, though it was clearly futile by then.

Your slowly pumped your fingers, feeling out Kazuha’s gummy walls. He clenched on your fingers with every movement, leaving him writhing against the sheets. It was a sensation that he was all too new in experiencing. His soft gasps and quiet whines echoed through the walls of the remote inn that you graciously paid for under the guise of taking shelter with your travel companion.

Kazuha cried out your name so sweetly, and it was as if the heavens are calling you.

“[Name]… m-more…” he pleaded with a tiny voice, barely managing while your fingers continued to penetrate through his walls that continued to pulsate around your digits. You indulged in every moan that spilled from his lips as you pumped your fingers even more.

You licked your lips, eyeing the samurai in bliss so hungrily. He was ethereal even when he’s a complete mess with sweat cascading through his soft skin and his hair completely tousled as he continued to squirm from your ministrations alone. You drank the very sight of him and you couldn’t wait to take him then and there.

A choked gasp suddenly weaseled out of him as your fingers finally grazed his prostate.

“H-Hah—!” You watched in fascination as your endeared ronin came just from that alone. Cum dripped down from his cock, making a tiny pool on his abdomen. Kazuha was breathless, his body quivering in inconsistent intervals as he reached his high all too early. He looked at you, just as surprised as you are.

“O-Oh… D-Did I—? Already?” Kazuha’s embarrassment was unparalleled, but you were quick to quell that as you leaned in, showering his heaving chest the most chaste kisses, filled with so much care and love that were absent from your times with others. No amount of sweetness could amount to your shallow ones when it wasn’t Kazuha.

“You treat it like it’s a problem,” you chuckled and Kazuha’s face flushed at your playful chastising. Of course it must be a problem. One too many he’s heard about people lasting in bed a better feat when it comes to sex. But you were quick to refute the little beliefs he had. “It only means I’m making you feel good, no?”

Kazuha nodded, speechless for once at such a gentle treatment. He’s heard from the accounts of others just how rough you can be, some men even having to complain about it to you openly, while you only gave a tiny apology before slithering away. But this, even Kazuha wasn’t too certain if this was something new for you or if you thought that he was too fragile to handle you. He griped to himself at the thought and he quickly grabbed onto your wrist.

“I-I’m ready,” he muttered, giving you the full green light.

You have half a mind to question him for a second time, but his look of determination and your own cock that only throbbed painfully against your abdomen was enough to persuade you.

Kazuha could only look on, his eyes widening when his struggles earlier to take you in just with his own mouth came back to bite him in the ass. He looked up, a little frantic as the anxiety only flooded through him — he could barely suck you off without suffocating, how could he take you in so easily.

You only leaned to kiss at the shell of his ear, as gentle as you can, “Don’t worry, we’ll stop if you can’t.”

His arms were quick to hook around your neck, looking down and quivering a little as he felt the way your cockhead brushed against the rim of his entrance, prodding at him with so much temptation. “But… I don’t want it to stop…” he mumbled, only making you laugh at such a sweet sentiment.

“One at a time, mkay? It’s your first time,” You whispered as you slowly lined up, your shaft already prodding at Kazuha’s lubed up hole. “Ready?”

Taking a deep breath, Kazuha only nodded, surrendering control to you to take care of him.

It wasn’t a mistake to be so near him as your ears indulged in Kazuha’s sweetest cries as you slowly eased yourself in. You didn’t bother going all the way as you felt him clench around you even with just a few inches in. It was adorable, remotely endearing as you continued a couple more inches.

“W-Wait,” he was quick to plead, and you stopped, listening intently to his whims.

“Why don’t we practice with just this much, hm?” It wasn’t even a surprise as Kazuha quickly agreed, eager to follow you. He succumbed into the submission of being under your control, to let you do as you please to him and you relished in that very permission to take in every bit of him even the slowest ways.

You drew out some quiet sobs from poor Kazuha as your hips drew back, only to stop just before you could pull out. Your sensitive head alone could even feel the slightest bumps within his walls and it was absolutely divine.

Kazuha hiccuped through his tears despite your shallow, languid thrusts — barely even fully inside and yet he’s already so spent. You could feel every gasp getting pulled out from his system with how his cock seemed to brush against your abdomen with every movement.

“Feels good?” You asked and he only nodded — quite frankly it was a miracle that Kazuha could even still make of what you can say.

“D-Deeper, [Name],” Kazuha begged, coming out in a tiny mewl that you couldn’t seem to refuse.

You followed through his demand, letting in a couple more inches inside and he was squealing so wantonly. The way his walls clenched onto your length, he could feel every sinful throb within his tight warm walls and he couldn’t help but squirm, inching away from your cock when you held him down.

“You can do it, you’re a good boy, yes?” You smiled, your thrusts slowly growing deeper and deeper until it left him writhing underneath you. You could feel the delectable scratch on your broad back as he clutched onto you for dear life.

“M-Mhm… a good boy,” he parroted, his mind numbing with each thrust, his hips slowly meeting your movement as the fervent need to feel you grew inside him.

You were just as easily losing it as your hips moved in a steady pace. Never had you even been this gentle on someone even — but somehow Kazuha brought it out of you. Your soft grunts melded with his delectable moans as you moved your head, lips just a hair distance away from him.

And then it spills from your lips;

“Fuck… I love you so much…”

Kazuha’s eyes snapped open and you immediately stopped your movements, your cock still inches deep inside your little ronin.

A wave of clarity washed over Kazuha as the realization hit you both.

“You mean it?” He asked, love in his eyes with so much anticipation.

You only laughed as you leaned in, “Couldn’t get anymore obvious with that,” you quipped, all too amused as the blush overtook Kazuha’s face down to his neck. A little taken aback, but he only smiled, bringing you in close for a sweet kiss.

“Well, I share the sentiment.” Kazuha mumbled, his breath ghosting over your lips as a lovestruck expression completely took hold of his pretty face.

“Would it kill you to say it back?”

“I love you too.”

You only showed your satisfaction with your lips on his, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of his waist as you lifted him up. A needy whimper was pulled out of Kazuha’s throat as you thrusted one more time, a mischievous and eager smile grazing your face.

You were going to show Kazuha so much more.

And lucky for you, you’ve got the whole night to express that love to each other.

#can you hear me crying because i’ve never felt so single #NEXT ONE #we’re gonna be screwing two dragons in their own separate fics #ofc ofc #genshin impact x male reader #kaedehara kazuha x male reader #kazuha x male reader #kazuha smut #sub genshin impact #jhuzen’s stupid one shots #jhuzen’s shameless filth

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berryless · 5 months

Text

As much as Astarion likes to pretend he's better than everyone, the truth is—when the performance ends, and the curtains draw to a close, he stays on the stage alone and forgotten, unworthy of attention when he isn't a spectacle. That's why his little theater is open for everyone around the clock. Every act, every movement, every phrase, although deftly improvised, is part of the show.

Everything to prevent the crowd from discovering the truth.

Everything to fool himself into forgetting said truth himself.

That outside of the spotlight, away from the little stage of his, when he looks in someone's eyes, Astarion doesn't see himself reflected in them. They look at him, but also past him, through him, like he's nothing but an empty space, a person-shaped hole in the fabric of the world that someone forgot to mend.

And because this happens oh so every often this thought is no longer a fear of his, not something he can doubt, but a simple fact.

They don't see him. They don't know him.

They don't care to.

Admittedly, this makes it easier to stomach luring them back to Cazador. Because of course a performance of century would require a fee. Nothing in this world is free. Certainly not his services.

And he is but a humble baitman, a shining lantern attracting moths to leap into the flames of eternal damnation.

A tool.

And as a tool he does what he's told to do unless he wants to end up discarded and broken like others disobedient useless tools were.

But then Tav sees him. And it's frightening.

Because suddenly after the show is over, after the curtains are drawn, after everything falls back to silence, and he returns to being in nothingness, he isn't truly alone on this stage anymore.

She's here, sitting quietly, looking at him in a contemplation, thinking who knows what—Astarion certainly doesn't. And her presence alone is forcing him to put back his stage costume and perform off clock, asking in jest if she happened to lost herself in his eyes, because it certainly wouldn't be the first for this to happen, he does have pretty eyes (or so he's been told enough to regurgitate the sentiment appropriately).

Tav laughs, "As a matter of fact, you do. But…" Her voice trails off, and that uncomfortable stare returns. She looks at him, lost in thoughts as she gathers her words, and a wave of goosebumps runs up Astarions arms when it comes to him she actually sees him.

Wants to see him.

Through him—in a different, completely foreign way, not skipping past his existence, but uncovering it and studying its insides. His insides.

The notion makes him nauseous.

His fingers start to tremble, and Astarion hides them in his fists.

He never knew that being perceived might be so frightening.

He's far more comfortable with everything being the usual way, for people withdrawing when the performance ends, for them seeing past him, but not him, because if they judge his mask, his persona, his act—that's a critique of his presentation. His work, if you will. His craft.

Not of Astarion himself.

And as it shockingly turns out, he might not like receiving judgment on something that he, an actor, an author, a man behind the stage is.

"You have far more than just those beautiful eyes of yours, aren't you?"

He laughs on cue, desperate to turn this exchange into one he has with his audience, "My, what gave me away? My luscious locks, perhaps? Or would that be my lustful lips? I received rave reviews on my use of them. Would you like to try for yourself?"

Tav smiles. She looks at him openly, without blushing, without twitching, neither sultry nor loathing, accepting his words like an act that they are.

Astarion can barely keep his flirtatious mask without it cracking.

"As tempting as this offer is, afraid I've to restrain myself," she sighs, the tone of her voice aligning to his. She's also performing her part, and he knows that with certainty. "My compact size does not allow me thread deep waters without caution."

And your waters, Astarion, run very deep indeed.

She doesn't say this out loud, but he can infer the meaning from other places.

"Oh, come on, I'm hardly deeper than a puddle," he quips back. "You'll be perfectly fine sloshing through. As long as you don't mind being messy."

"Will I?"

He's still unable to see his reflection, but the feeling of being seen doesn't go away. She looks at him, through him, but not past him, right into his skull, right into his soul, and a part of him wants to curl himself in a ball to hide from this deep penetrating stare of hers.

Thankfully, Tav turns away before he's forced to do that. Or gouge out her wise all-knowing eyes, completely ill-fit for someone oh-so-young.

"Goodnight, Astarion."

He doesn't ask for a goodnight sip this time, just says something fitting without thinking much about it.

The feeling of her gaze lingers, it crawls under his skin, making all his hairs stand on end.

He doesn't like it.

And yet the shudder runs through him from just a fleeting picture of those eyes prying him open and reading through him with same acute attention that's reserved exclusively for her books. A frightened one, yes. But simultaneously full of excitement.

He does not like it.

Not one bit.

Not at all.

#fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #drabble #character study

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corpsebasil · 11 months

Note

Can you do smut with Nikolai getting a blowjob? Like he’s always going down on the reader so like the roles switch or smth?

Time for Nikky Boy to get some action

warnings: p0rn with little plot lol; oral (m) receiving

————

You felt slightly unhinged.

You’d been your Prince’s lover and crew-mate for a while now and while you were into him with his royal suits and combed hair, something about the tousled curls and privateer persona made your stomach twist.

You leaned against the wall during the meeting he’d called you into, listening as the Sun Summoner and..whatever his name was, discussed passage. You felt your skin growing tight as you watched his side profile, your eyes transfixed on his mouth as he spoke, his intimidating nature distracting you from guarding him.

He’d always been this way as Sturmhond. He turned up the charm times a thousand, pulled out every cocky and sarcastic comment in his arsenal and even around you, who knew better, he shamelessly flirted with as if he wasn’t a prince.

As soon as the two left Nikolai ran a hand over his face, leaning back into his chair. He glanced over at you, blue eyes shadowed by the dim lighting of his office as he raised an eyebrow.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” He asked, standing up to shrug off his heavy coat. His pistol lay discarded on the desk, a tool used to threaten Alina and Baldie, and you’d almost laughed earlier when he’d taken it out. “Let em’ stay?”

It took you a moment to respond as he pushed the sleeves up of his white shirt, the top few buttons undone. The golden skin of his arms caught the light of the lanterns and you nodded, forcing yourself to focus.

“I don’t see why not.” You said breezily, one boot propped against the wall, your arms crossed over your chest. “But we both know you’re not just in this for money.” You smirked. “You gonna sell her to yourself? Accept the reward you’re offering?”

“Nothing like a bit of motivation.” He said, his grin a slash of white as he shuffled some papers on his desk, tapping them together in a neat stack. “We need a symbol. She’s that.”

“She seems..” you furrowed your brows. “…less confident than she acts. I know a front when I see one.”

“Oh yeah?” Nikolai teased, approaching you. “How many fronts have you seen in your lifetime, soldier?”

“Enough to know when someone’s acting.” You purred, but your pulse betrayed you as he neared, his hand reaching out to grab onto your belt loop and yank you into him.

“And what front are we putting on, love?” He asked, eyes heavy-lidded as he leaned in, lips pressing against the side of your neck. Your head tilted involuntarily at the sensation. “Solider and Captain?” He asked, lips moving lower. “Prince and Grisha?” He nipped your skin and you jolted, your hand grabbing onto his generous bicep. “Friends?”

“We are friends.” You mumbled, breath catching as he bit and then licked over a spot on your collarbone.

“We haven’t been friends for a while, sweetheart.” He chuckled and pulled away, headed to the door. “We should go and—”

But you stopped him, lunging out to grab his wrist. He turned in surprise, raising his brows. His eyes seemed to scan over your face, taking in your flushed features; your pulse was beating so fast in your neck you were sure he could see the skin jump. His smirk was lazy as he locked the door and moved back over, his heavy-ringed hand reaching for your waist.

“Desk or wall?” He murmured against your mouth, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling. But you surprised him by pushing him backwards, towards his chair, separating your mouth from his as he dropped down into it. His hands were already going to his belt as you hovered over him, your teeth sinking down harshly into your lip. “Shit—you want to ride me, or—?”

“No.” You interrupted, ignoring his confused look as you sank down onto the floor, grasping at his waistband. His stunned look lasted approximately .5 seconds before he was helping you get him out of his trousers, a sheen of sweat already appearing on his brow.

“Fuck—are you sure?” Nikolai asked, a bit breathless as he watched you drag the rest of his clothing separating you from him off, leaving him only in his dress shirt. You’d done this before, sure, but drunkenly and only for about thirty seconds before he couldn’t wait any longer to have you. “What’s gotten into you—” his mouth fell open when you took him in your hand, experimentally running your closed fist down the smooth skin of him. He gritted his teeth.

“Been thinking about you the whole meeting.” you mumbled, moving further between his legs. “Looking like a fucking godsend.” Your words had his eyes half closed into slits as you licked the tip of him, feeling his hips stutter around you. One of your hands rested on his firm thigh as you licked again, a tiny kitten lick that drove him crazy.

“Yeah?” He panted, his hands gripping the sides of his chair as he watched you; your tongue ran along the length of him, your hand following the rise and descent of your soft muscle. “Fuck—what were you thinking of?”

“This.” You admitted and ran your tongue over the head of him. “You being all cocky and shit turns me on.”

“We always do fuck the filthiest when I’m Sturm—shit.” His head fell back a fraction when you took him into your mouth, sucking slowly, your mouth getting him as wet as you could to make it easier. His chest was already rising and falling rapidly and you’d barely started. “Y/N, shit.”

“Hmm?” You hummed, and took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks out as you began a slow, torturous rhythm with your mouth. The warmth of you—the wetness—it was driving him mad. Especially when you began sucking him harder, your tongue spoiling him with licks and swirls, your eyes watering at the feeling of something so big filling your entire mouth.

“Saints—” he groaned, reaching out to take a fist of your hair, trying not to pull too hard as his hips lifted a fraction. When your eyes moved to his he almost lost it. He gritted his teeth and, when you didn’t protest, began to set the pace himself, your tongue and hollowed cheeks squeezing him so hard it was almost painful. “Oh god.”

The breathy plea left him and you didn’t stop, your nails digging into his thigh as he used your mouth, hips lifting to meet your lips with every downward push. The sounds he was making were music to your ears; you could hear his breath catching, your eyes locked on his face as he cursed and gasped, trying to stay as silent as possible with the crew not far from his office.

You felt him twitch and you sucked harder, his eyes closing and his head falling back on a barely suppressed groan. You swallowed up every bit of him, almost gagging as you choked, but when you pulled away and wiped your mouth off, he was staring at you with such a fucked-out look of adoration it sent a pang of desire straight between your legs.

“Saints, Y/N.” He mumbled, sweat making his curls stick to his forehead. “Desk, now.”

lololol

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #wattpad #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone imagine #fluff #six of crows #smut #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lanstov x y/n #nikolai lantsov smut #sturmhond x reader #sturmhond #sturmhond smut

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