#But something he does not let happen that easily or at all for that matter

[maxarchive]

How are the emotions on this Saturday evening in Las Vegas? Is it an overriding relief? Is that the main thing?

An immense relief, but also a little bit more emotional than I was expecting, actually. Both from Max on the radio and I let Christian give him, well, let's say carry out all the complimentaries on the radio, because I choked up a little bit as well, and I think it just comes down to that relief at the end of what has been actually quite an intense year. Not quite as intense as 2021, but it at times ran it close.

Why is this one so special?

They're all special, don't get me wrong. Last year was special for very different reasons, but this one's special because of the effort and commitment that not only Max, but the whole team has had to put in to make it happen. Ok, the first half looked like it was a bit of a cruise, but actually we entered quite a difficult period, as everybody knows. But we had to work day and night to really try to understand the source of the problems and I think we've started to come out the other side, which is great news for the team, but it's also meant that our performances on track have improved and we saw the combination of that in Brazil as well.

Tell us a little bit more about the job that Max Verstappen has done this year. Would you say it's his best season so far?

The worrying thing for the grid is that Max is improving every year, which is frightening really because he's at an incredible level as it is, but in all areas he's working hard with the team, his racecraft on track, his qualifying laps, his consistency and also his ability to give up when you need to give up, and we saw that today, you know, he raced for what matter today rather than the final place on the podium.

In all of those areas you've just described, where has he made the most progress this year?

I think ultimately it just comes down to maturity and experience. Having been there three times before, I guess 2021 laid the foundations and now he's just becoming a very, very, very complete driver.

Since Miami, McLaren have been running you close. They've quite often been faster than you. Has there ever been a moment this year where you've doubted that you were going to win this championship?

I wouldn't say doubted, but certainly you don't take anything for granted. And as I said earlier, we took one race at a time, there was bit of a trend towards the middle of the year where things weren't going our way and we could see that other teams, not only McLaren, but other teams were making progress on us, relatively speaking and we had to do something. We had to make some changes and the team has come through on that. So kudos to them.

And how is your bond with Max evolved this year because it feels like this is the first time since you've been winning championships that you've been under a lot of strain together. And we did hear a few flare ups along the way, didn't we? Has it always been all sweetness and light or have there been-

Hungary springs to mind. We had actually a very quiet week after, I don't think there was a word spoken in the 3/4 days after the Hungary race, but we had a really good meeting in Spa together with Christian and Pierre just clearing the air. Not that there was ever any animosity, but I think sometimes when adrenaline is running that high, it's best just to leave things alone. Max and I are very similar in that respect. We're not one to bow down and give in very easily. So, yes, definitely that portion of the year springs to mind. But for the rest, again, it's a relationship that's grown over nine seasons. So we know each other very well. We work together very well. So long may that continue.

Well, let's throw it forward to 2025. It looks on paper like it might be incredibly close. Does that actually help someone like Max Verstappen because he makes no mistakes?

I think it helps him knowing that he has the ability to pull off results that perhaps aren't always there. And I think at the same time that maybe hurts or dents some of his competitors psychologically, not all of them, but perhaps some of them. But, you know, 2025 is a few months away. Now, I think more importantly, we need to finish the year on a high to keep morale in the team up over the winter because again it's been a really hard, hard year. And I think this was a bit of a unique, as everybody knows, it was a bit of a unique event with the temperatures and the tyres behavior, et cetera. So I don't think it's a true reflection of the car performance out there today. We'll do our best to finish Qatar and Abu Dhabi on a high and hopefully grab another win or, or two. And then, yeah, next year is next year.

[sinsirellaxx]

Slytherin boys – when they get tired of you

Warning: not proofread, toxic boys!

Enjoy.

Mattheo …

… is cold as ice when he has had enough of you.

… is triggered by your mere presence and is very impatient with you. “Stop being so goddamn clingy, for fuck’s sake …”

… does not feel bad when you start tearing up – he could not care less.

… depending on how vulnerable and hurt you are by his behavior he would shamelessly use you and drag you along for his own entertainment.

… he is nice-ish whenever he wants something from you – mainly sex – and the moment he’s had his fill he’d toss you aside.

… if you told him to fuck off, he’d be pissed at your attitude, not having expected this side of you. He’ll bully you and try to make your life at Hogwarts unbearable.

Theodore …

… is immediately disgusted whenever you try to touch him after he has lost interest.

… will avoid you – not in the mood for any confrontation because he just cannot be bothered.

… will ask you why you’re there if you manage to corner him in his room and laugh into your face when you tell him that you are trying to find out why your boyfriend has been avoiding you. “Oh, no … did you really think we were a thing? Amore, I don’t do relationships, you poor thing.” He’ll chuckle, while sneering down at you – completely acting like the last few months did not happen.

Lorenzo …

… is angry at you for being so boring, because why else would he lose interest? He is perfect so it must be you.

… cringes when you try to kiss him one morning and pushes you away from his body with one hand and will try to humiliate you in front of his friends, “Your breath smells …”.

… he’ll watch you blush in embarrassment as you cover your mouth with your hand before rushing away with a mumbled ‘sorry’.

… will try to make it seem like you are fucking up before he officially breaks up with you, “You know I hate this.”, “What do you mean you didn’t know we were supposed to go on a date yesterday?” – things like that.

Draco …

… is ice-cold in his words and actions, treating you like an inconvenience when he loses interest.

… will make snide remarks and passive-aggressive comments to push you away without directly confronting you. "Honestly, do you have nothing better to do than cling to me all the time?"

… enjoys toying with your emotions, subtly pulling you back in whenever you try to distance yourself.

… if you challenge him, he'll scoff and act like you're beneath him, making it clear that your feelings mean nothing to him. "You’re being overly dramatic. Grow up, will you?"

… if you stand up for yourself and call him out, he'll smirk and pretend he finds it amusing, but deep down, his ego will take a hit. He’ll go out of his way to make you regret it in public, embarrassing you in front of others.

Blaise …

… … is indifferent and distant when he starts losing interest, but he’ll keep up the charm just enough to keep you guessing.

… avoids confrontation completely, leaving you to figure it out on your own. If you ask him what's going on, he’ll shrug it off, "Why are you making this a thing? Don’t overthink it."

… manipulates the situation so you’re the one who feels guilty, even though he’s the one who pulled away. "I didn’t realize I needed to explain myself every second of the day."

… if you demand answers or push too hard, he’ll smirk lazily and say, "It’s not that deep. You should move on."

Tom …

… is calculating and cold, losing interest the moment you stop being of use to him.

… will make you feel small and insignificant through his words, “Do you really think you matter to me? That’s laughable.”

… has no patience for your emotions, viewing them as weakness. He’ll mock you if you cry or plead with him.

… uses manipulation to make you feel like the problem. "You’re the one who couldn’t keep up, don’t try to blame me for your shortcomings."

… if you try to leave him or call him out, he’ll retaliate, ensuring you regret ever challenging him. He doesn’t let go easily – not because he cares, but because he enjoys control and wants to see you crumble.

… is cruel enough to turn your friends or others against you, twisting the narrative to make himself look innocent and you, the unstable one.

[rhymeswithchronic]

*shimmies up to the mic*

*gently taps on it*

*clears throat*

Episode 6 just solidified PvP Civ as being better then Parkour Civ

*runs away as fast as possible*

OKAY LISTEN I will literally commit war crimes for EMF, my scrungly, and Parkour God Evbo, but to be perfectly honest most of the things that make the characters so lovable is headcanon or fanon. Parkour Civ is loved for the story, the light hearted nature and humor, ~the yaoi potential~ and the messages

Episode 6 alone has just solidified almost the entire cast of PvP Civ as individual, thought out characters. Really, the only one in ParkCiv with that kind of thought was Seawatt, with his tragic motivations followed by his death.

Parrot and Tabi have become SO MUCH MORE interesting because of the reveals, and I think Tabi has just immediately become one of my favorites because she’s just so INTERESTING. Someone who is so determined to reach a goal that she doesn’t care if she kills people in her way, but who also consciously *did not permanently kill Evbo despite having the ability to do so*. There’s still SOMETHING there that caused her to use the axe instead of the Eternal Sword, and THAT is the part of her that I think is truly her.

She was talking to someone towards the beginning (our great Parkour Villain himself can’t wait for PvP Villain ClownPierce) but there was something off about their conversation. Clown suggests that she shouldn’t be the one to do this because she’s younger and she “doesn’t deserve to die yet”. Something about their plan does not end well for the one who has to carry it out. Tabi is doing something and possibly sacrificing herself in the process.

Now here’s the thing: Why did she kill Evbo at all?

It could be for the reason that is presented to us. Because she doesn’t care about him. Because he was a tool she used to get what she needed and she didn’t care what had to happen to him for her to get there. She only brought up the literal torture he suffered FOR HER as a way to manipulate him further into following her orders, and now he’s just an obstacle

But that *doesn’t make sense*

If he was just an obstacle, WHY did she let him respawn? We can assume she didn’t know that Prince Zam was waiting since if she wanted Evbo to be killed and not respawn, she easily could’ve done that herself. But she DIDNT. She actively chose to use her axe on him and let him respawn. She has to know that Evbo is going to come after her. She has to know that Evbos continued existence, especially as a Natural Born Sword, is detrimental to their plan. She knows this and she chose to use her axe anyway

That leaves us with the other possible reason:

Tabi did it to SAVE Evbo

Hear me out on this. Talking about her discussion with Clown, here’s how it goes:

“Let me be the one to do it. You have a longer life that I do, and you don’t deserve to die yet.”

“We’re all gonna die if we don’t get that sword, and you know I’m the only one good enough to get it.”

Clown suggests here that somehow, this plan will end up with someone dying. He is offering himself because she “has a longer life”, which could mean he’s older and has lower durability than her, or something else entirely, but that’s up in the air.

Tabi is SMART. She knows exactly what she’s doing and why. She knows that there’s a solid chance that she will die, but she’s willing to risk that for immortality. “We’re all gonna die”? Because of the other kingdoms?

Whatever it is, whatever she meant, she did not want Evbo as a part of this. She told him to move first. Attacking was not her first priority. She didn’t want to kill him, but she knew one thing:

Evbo could not go with her.

If she stayed true to her word, if she left together with Evbo, she knew he would want to stay with her. He would stay by her side no matter what. And she just couldn’t bare the idea of leading Evbo to his own death from their plan. Maybe she was hoping giving her the time to flee would allow the Diamond Swords to convince Evbo to not leave at all. Not like it would take much convincing (in her eyes) since he was already attached. Inside of the civilization is the safest place for someone as trusting and naive as him. She wanted to keep him safe, and if he came with her, the same thing that would kill her would end up killing him.

Tabi killed Evbo to save him I rest my case

[christian-halloway]

Christian couldn't help but smile at Este's words, the warmth in her voice making his heart race. He’d never expected a blind date to feel like this, not in a million years. She wasn’t just fun and full of life—she was real, and that was rare in his world. He leaned in slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at her, the hat still perched atop her head. "Well, you wear it well," he said with a grin, his voice low and steady, the kind of tone that suggested he meant every word. He took a beat, letting the moment settle, before he continued. "I don't think I’ve ever met anyone who felt so comfortable with me so quick." He chuckled softly, the sound deep and warm, then gave her a look that made it clear he was serious. Christian leaned in, his hand grazing her arm for a brief moment, just enough to make her feel the spark between them without overstepping. He knew there was still plenty of time to explore what this was, what it could be. His fingers brushed the fabric of his pocket, and with a careful, almost deliberate motion, he tucked the memory of her kiss inside, as if it were a treasure too precious to leave behind. It wasn’t a flippant gesture, but one full of meaning, something that suggested he wasn’t just letting the moment slip away. No, he was keeping it. Holding onto it, even in the most playful way, as if to say that this moment mattered—more than anything. He stood up straighter, a small grin tugging at his lips as he let the action sink in. There was no need to rush. He had time, and that kiss, now tucked safely in his back pocket, would be there whenever he needed it. A small, private thing between the two of them—his way of letting her know that what had just happened wasn’t something easily forgotten. It was a piece of them, and he intended to keep it close. "For now," he continued with a playful wink, "we'll take it one step at a time. We can meet up again soon, see where it goes. No rush. No expectations. Just a couple of people enjoying some good company, some good conversation, and… maybe some dancing." His gaze softened as he took her in, appreciating her all over again. "How does that sound?" Christian's hand extended toward Este, his fingers open in an inviting gesture, the simple action full of intent. "You can text me in the meantime, and I’ll send you my shifts so you’ll know when I’m working. That way, you can make sure I’m there when you stop by." His eyes twinkled with a mix of mischief and something a little deeper, the kind of hint that told her this was only the beginning. Christian's gaze drifted to his hat, still perched atop Este's head, and he gave a slow nod, his expression a mix of admiration and something deeper. There was something about the way she wore it—like she belonged in his world, a perfect fit. He knew that when people at the bar saw her in it, they'd recognize it too. It wasn’t just any hat—it was his, and now, in some way, it was hers. Christian lifted Este's hand to his mouth, his lips brushing softly against the back of it in a gesture that felt both tender and charged with quiet promise. He stepped back with a slow, deliberate grin, bowing head tilted towards toes. "Well, darlin', guess it’s time for this cowboy to ride off," he said, his voice low and smooth. "But I reckon this ain't goodbye—just a ‘til we meet again.”

este couldn't believe how well the blind date was going. christian wasn’t at all what she expected—he wasn’t the typical guy who used blind dates as a shortcut to something shallow. no, he seemed genuine, and that threw her for a loop in the best way possible. the chemistry between them was undeniable, a spark she didn’t expect but couldn’t help being drawn to. she wanted to know more about him, the real christian halloway, and that excitement was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. his question caught her off guard, her eyes going wide as he called her out. her cheeks flushed red, and she shook her head quickly. “no, no, no,” she stammered, her words tumbling out as she tried to explain. “was it weird?” she asked softly, her gaze flickering to his as a touch of panic set in. the last thing she wanted was to mess this up—not when it felt so special, so right. “i’d never ruin anyone’s experience,” she added, her voice earnest as she tried to reassure him. “i probably wouldn’t even drink, even if i joke about it,” she admitted, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “i don’t drink outside. i don’t want my students’ parents to see me and judge me for what i drink instead of what i teach.” it was something she’d been conscious of for a long time. parents could be harsh. “but if i did,” she added with a playful grin, “i’d be the drunk bad dancer, just so you know.” she laughed, the thought of seeing him dance more exciting than her own hypothetical antics. christian was making the entire night feel magical, from the little gestures to the way he looked at her. the hat, the charm—it all felt like a dream she didn’t want to wake up from. as she leaned in to kiss him again, she felt her heart skip a beat when he “pocketed” it like a precious treasure. it made her laugh, her smile warm as her eyes met his. “i don’t think i’ll be able to forget, either,” she said, her voice soft but full of conviction. when he placed his hat on her head again, she laughed, shaking her head lightly so it settled into place. “well,” she teased, “my uncles have a ranch in mexico, so this isn’t my first time wearing a hat.” she chuckled, her hand grazing the brim. “but thanks. i didn’t know looking like a cowgirl could be a real compliment until you said it.” her smile grew as she bit her lower lip, her nerves peeking through in the most endearing way. “this feels so natural with you,” she admitted, her voice tinged with awe and uncertainty. “but honestly? i’m so bad at this.” her laugh was soft, self-deprecating but sweet. “i don’t know what comes after getting to know each other and kissing and all.” she glanced up at him, her trust in him evident in her gaze. “you take the lead, cowboy,” she said, her smile playful but full of affection. “i’ll follow.”

[heredis-sanguinis]

How do you need to be touched?

Tagged by: @elisethetraveller

Gently

You need to be held as though you're going to break. You need someone to trace your scars like cracks in a wall, crumbling. Their touch is almost painful; you've been without it for too long, without someone to hold you. But, you cannot bring yourself to pull away.

Tagging: @piltover-sharpshooter @blackrosesmatron @restrainedhungr @angelicxlly @weapon-turned-jack @thegoldentigress

[meownotgood]

forwards, beckon, rebound. / machine herald!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, angst, size difference, fingering, choking, dry humping, praise, russian terms of endearment, somewhat toxic relationship, mild augmentation kink, way too many emotions, mix of arcane + league lore / spoilers. word count: 16.2k

read on ao3

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Viktor enjoys making you feel helpless. 

Technically, it isn't enjoyment so much as it is a responsibility; you'll repeatedly show up at his secluded lab in the Undercity, and as he does with everyone who comes to his doorstep worn and destitute, he'll take it upon himself to give you what you need. You are like the rest of his endeavors — meticulously examined, ambitiously furthered. But unlike his various grandiose experiments and his pursuits for evolution, it isn't just his mind you occupy. 

There is some dusty, disregarded hole in his once-perfect mechanical heart, and if the hypothesis he's formed but doesn't want to acknowledge is correct, you are the most probable cause. Or perhaps, you'd be the cure. 

Carefully, with his usual amount of precision, Viktor pulls his leather glove from his hand. He allows his fingers to flex: scarred skin improved by intricately-crafted metal joints. He's positioned above you, large and imposing while he keeps you pinned beneath him. The firm, steel surface of his giant worktable feels cool against your bare back. The room itself is dim, worktable lit by an overhead lamp that burns when you happen to look directly at it. Thankfully, Viktor's armored form above you, encased in dark shadow, blocks out most of the light. 

The Hextech third arm on his back grasps your wrists unwaveringly, and keeps them in place above your head, utilizing an exorbitant display of strength. You can't move a muscle, not even if you tried. Lingering heat sears into your skin, radiating from the metal — from where the laser he's perfected could easily sever your wrists from the bone. 

What's more, you can hardly think. Your head is spinning; your heart pounds from between your ribs, fiercely yet uselessly. You can only stare at the glowing, emotionless eyes of Viktor's mask, and wait for him to decide what he plans to do with you. Gentle. With the way you're looking at him, you need him to be gentle, this time. 

He presses his palm to the center of your chest, where he can feel the erratic beat of your heart. Slowly, he begins to drag his hand down. It's a knowing, practiced motion — not as soft as it ought to be, considering his cold, purple-veined hand and calloused fingers. As his touch is brought down to your stomach, your waist, you shiver, and your body relaxes. Finally, fully. 

It doesn't take long for you to arch into his touches, just as he predicted, just as you always do. Your flesh loves to sing for him. 

This dance has been performed by the both of you numerous times beforehand. Viktor questions if you'll ever grow tired of it. Of the pirouetting, of revolving constantly around unspoken, trembling complications, just to return, to let your mind and your heart reel all over again. 

What he feels for you — what he has evaluated from you, because machines do not feel — is something unexplainable, foreign, futile. He knows this, this dynamic you've fostered; it hardly makes sense. You are allies with no common goals. You were friends, some disregarded years ago. Every other night, you stumble into his lab to interrupt his work, and he lets you. 

No, he indulges you. 

"You are quivering," Viktor hums, voice muffled and deepened by the mask's filter. A usual, matter-of-fact statement, but the edges of his tone sharpen in the wake of a held-back, dark chuckle. "You want me to touch you. Say it." 

The powerful, vastly-superior Machine Herald already has you right where he wants you. 

Slightly riddled with static, the way his thick accent curls around the words only serves to make you shudder more. Your breathing is choppy, your chest rapidly rising and falling. 

Not from fear, if Viktor had to guess. His scans of your heart rate would come across much differently if that was the case. This is from arousal. Clear, easily definable arousal. Just from his thick voice, his soft touch, and the imagery provided by his large body above yours. 

The sight of you is addictive. Addiction isn't a sensation built into his mechanical repertoire, but it's the best word he can think of to describe this. You are small when you're underneath him. So malleable, so fragile. So human. How abnormal. The compulsive surge that runs through his veins should not, according to all of his tests and conclusive research, be occurring. 

Viktor supposes this type of behavior would be more fitting of the past version of him. Presently, he doesn't have room to let time go to waste. His vision is all that matters. The old him, though, the Viktor you once knew would've given you whatever you desired without a second thought, even though he hardly deserved it. 

He was weak, once. For you, perhaps a part of him still is. 

You are intelligent, you always have been. He has cast away much of his past in pursuit of chasing a better, more important future, but still, he remembers each and every moment he shared with you quite vividly. They play in the background of his mind sometimes, persistent like a system error, recurrent like a late-night looping television program. 

Your inventions often kept pace with his. Your smile was bright, brighter than the pillars of light that shone from Piltover's grandest lighthouses. Starry-eyed and driven, you wanted to improve, as a person and as a scientist. You challenged him to push further right alongside you. 

Of course, you knew him better than most, but Viktor wonders: did you ever expect him to go this far? Did you ever plan on retreating back to Zaun with him, to fall further into madness together? 

By now, you must be smart enough to know he is different. What you might've had, a friendship or a partnership or something delightedly improbable, it is now nothing. Nothing more than another one of his shed weaknesses and old, discarded memories. 

Perfect machinery does not feel. Not even for you, no matter what it once felt. Scientifically, it can't. You should understand this relationship is not beneficial. He could and would gladly break you, it's what he built himself to do. And yet, as he's starting to realize, perhaps being broken by him is exactly what you want. 

"Please touch me," You're begging, as his palm caresses the all-too-human curve of your side. Your voice is warm, lustful. A sweet, familiar taste settles in the back of his throat, as you coo the old nickname you still reserve just for him. "I need you to, Vik." 

And just like always, because of you, because of his predisposed sense of responsibility, or perhaps because of an unrecognized fault in his complex machinery — Viktor gives in. 

He revels in your vulnerable, quivering limbs and your heavy, desperate gaze. The grip of his Hexclaw tightens on your wrists, your hands closing, fingers tensed. He drags his palm down your stomach slowly, carefully. His gentleness is calculated, but it is yours, all the same. 

Your legs spread for him on impulse when his hand reaches your thigh. He squeezes, before he brings his hand between them, allowing the end of his index finger to brush your clit; his touch is precise, with all the efficiency and learned confidence of a flawless, apathetic machine. He could make you fall apart for him so easily, every part of you perfectly attuned to his touch, and his touch alone. 

Yet, he's teasing you, careful and slight touches barely grazing where you're oh-so sensitive for him. Your thighs shake, and spread wider; your body is exposed to him, soft and sweat-soaked expanses of skin contrasting splendidly with his bulky, armored chassis of metal. Now, instead of his index, Viktor uses his thumb, providing more friction and a slightly firmer touch. You squirm, the pretty features of your face washed over in pleasure, before you breathe a small, satisfied whine. 

"That's it," He murmurs firmly. "To think this is all it takes to make you submit." 

Viktor allows his thumb to trace circles onto your swollen, needy clit, and your breath proceeds to hitch so deliciously for him. An action, and reaction. Repeated experiments make for predictable results. Hextech hand practically digging into your wrists, Viktor brings his free, metal hand to your cheek. Oddly tender, his cold palm cups your face. He isn't surprised at the response it gets out of you, your chest heaving with a deep, trembling sigh. Every part of your skin tingles, as you lean into his faux, steel touch. 

"Earlier, you wished to be defiant. Disobedient." Viktor scolds, his thumb flicking over your clit while his fingers brush your cunt, gathering your dripping slick on the digits. He takes his metal hand away from your cheek, and he presses it flat to the table, right beside your head. Your brows pinch disappointedly, clearly unsatisfied with his subtle form of punishment. 

"And now look at you. Wet and desperate." 

He's barely touched you, barely even begun with you, and you're already dripping. 

"I wasn't- I'm not disobedient," You're countering, although it's damn near impossible to keep your voice sounding steady when his persistent touch is toying with you. He's teasing, circling your clit agonizingly slowly, just to make you squirm. "I brought you everything you asked for. Like always." 

"Yes, and you did well," Viktor praises flatly. As though he's reading off a trained script, rather than watching the way your eyelids flutter as his knuckles brush your entrance. "Our current project will run smoothly now, utilizing the tech you acquired for us. But when I told you to wait, to bring the tech after I had finalized our plans, you did not listen." 

You admit simply, foolishly, "I missed you." 

Those words are familiar. You'll often tell him you missed him when he returns to the lab, home at last after finalizing a few affairs elsewhere. You said you missed his face the first time you saw it, your hands gently holding his cheeks, caressing metal and skin — despite how different he looks now. Despite the scars, the mechanical parts. 

He knows you missed him. In a soft, delicate way. In an indecent, desperate way. His form of longing is much, much different. When the mortal matter and fraying wires of his brain yearn to have your presence beside him, with him, under him, it is strong, it is carnivorous. It is encompassing. 

"You nearly comprised everything we've been working towards." Viktor's third arm tightens even more, making your wrists and arms go nearly numb. "There is only so much I can do to protect you. I disposed of the last enforcers to attempt tracking you down, but if you were to lead them here, you will not just be putting yourself at risk. You are threatening our entire vision with your recklessness." 

Carefully, his index finger finds your entrance: sensitive and wanting. He deliberately pulls his hand away when you whine, instead placing his palm back on your inner thigh. Your skin is soft to the touch. Your gaze stays steady on him, on the unflinching shape of his mask, your eyelids heavy, pupils blown with clear arousal. As though he encompasses all you need, anything you could possibly want, and everything that could devastate you. 

You are frustratingly beautiful. 

Viktor hums, the sound low, somewhat mechanical. He gently guides his hand over your neck, just how you like, until large, metal fingers are wrapping around your throat. Not squeezing, just tightly holding. Enough to ground you, to remind you of who you belong to. You let go of a sigh, your eyes growing heavier. Your heart is skipping, and with his hand around your throat, the subtle vibrations of your quick pulse shudder through his complex machinery. 

"Viktor-" You start, voice weak, barely there. "I'm-" 

"I know you want more." He squeezes your thigh, applies just enough pressure to your throat to make your mind go fuzzy. "Tell me what you have been waiting for me to give to you, what you desired so strongly that you ran to me, instead of following the plan. And perhaps, I'll let you have it." 

You tremble: a full-body, tingling shudder. Viktor — the Machine Herald — is so much larger, so much stronger than you. He's augmented himself to be significantly taller, significantly more imposing, and underneath him like this, you must look meager. Pathetic. Fully bare, your legs spread open for him. Giving yourself to him so easily. Your chest heaves, your mortal heart skipping and wavering at the sight of him above you, pinning you beneath his heavy, metal form. 

"Breathe, zayka," Viktor murmurs, his grip on your neck loosening up. "Your heart is racing. Focus on me." 

Taking in slower, deeper breaths, your mind quiets, your pulse calms. Stars and static thrum in the corners of your vision, your thoughts a knotted up blur. Viktor — his touch is all you can focus on — traces his fingers further up your thigh in approval. 

"There. Very good. You're alright." 

"Your fingers," You pant, "Please." 

Viktor scoffs, his tone mechanical and rough, "You can do better. Try again." 

Huffing, your head knocks the firm worktable when you toss it backward. 

"Bastard." Your hands clench and unclench, your wrists giving a poor attempt at struggling against their hold. To no avail, of course. "Are you at least going to let me touch you?" 

"No. Answer me. Do not make me repeat myself." 

You briefly gnaw on your bottom lip, your jaw tense, thighs shaky. "I need your fingers inside me, Vik. I've missed you, I need you, please. I'm going fucking crazy." 

Viktor's unmoving, glowing eyes examine you carefully. "That's it. That is much more sufficient. So exquisite, when you are begging. Take what you need, then." 

You're well aware he isn't the same man you once fell for, nor is he the soft-spoken, bright scientist you once knew. Rumors paint him as a maker, a monster, a machine. He is cold to the touch. He isn't supposed to feel, he removed such functions ages ago; they were useless to him. As were his failing lungs, his weak legs, his heart. A heart made from machinery never skips. It can't be blinded by love, or lust. It cannot be distracted by old, unkindled flames, in the same way you often are. You envy him, somewhat. 

But Gods, when it's just you and him in his lonely little corner of Zaun, and when you are at the pleasant mercy of his perfected touch, you swear, he feels more human than anything. Nothing else truly matters, because still, he is yours. 

Viktor's index finger slides inside you slowly, just barely stretching you around its thickness. You're wet enough that he could press it in easily, could have you melting and drooling over whatever you're given — but instead, he chooses to let the digit fill you languidly. The feeling is slight, enveloping and enthralling and familiar, yet not enough to make you feel full, at the same time. His fingers are long, dexterous. Pretty and scarred. 

You've watched him work on plenty of augments and automatons, hands tightly grasping a wrench to turn it, fingers carefully holding the ends of thin wires to thread them together. Each action swift, exact. 

With the same level of precision, Viktor presses his finger deep inside you, and crooks it upward to nudge it right against your sweetest spot — and you whimper, your whole body shivering, collapsing. 

"One is never enough to satisfy you," He asserts; he gently pumps his finger into you to a steady, easily manageable pace. "Isn't that right?" 

If his mask weren't there, you're sure you'd see him speaking through a slight grin, maniacal and crooked, impossibly him. Your heart pounds. You're doomed, you must be. 

In response, you nod your head fiercely. Another shaky moan tears through you as he works you on his slender digit. Pressing in, dragging out. Calculated and perfectly steady, like the continuous beats of a metronome. 

"Or," Viktor questions, "Should I have you come undone around just one?" 

"No," You snap quickly, although you're obviously in no position to be making demands. Your eyes flutter open, your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and frustration. He finds your desperation strangely satisfying. All for him. It's the same sort of hungry satisfaction that comes with working on an automation, striding closer and closer to a job well done. He adjusts, pushing your legs apart with his large knees when they tremble and threaten to close. 

"Give me two," You're pleading, "Please." 

Viktor hums, the sound low and vibrating. 

"Guiding you to your peak would prove trivial, even without the means of penetration. You are simple. Easy to unravel." His low, intimidating voice effortlessly sends goosebumps careening down your spine. "You could most likely be led to cum against my shoe or my thigh, from modest friction and my voice alone." 

"Viktor," You almost wince at how pathetic you sound. "Stop talking." 

Viktor eases his index finger as deep inside you as you can take, and heat surges across your form in thundering, breaking waves. "Why would I stop when you are enjoying it?" 

Oh, he knows you far too well. 

"Dammit, at least-" You exhale, trembling through a moan, and Viktor's Hextech arm holds onto your wrists impossibly tighter as your hips roll into his hand — desperate to feel more of him. It works, momentarily. Until he is using his free hand to firmly grip your waist: thick metal fingers digging into warm, pretty skin. He pushes you back against the worktable, holding you in place. 

You groan in frustration. "At least quit teasing me." 

"Such impatience. I am working you upwards, gradually conditioning you to take higher levels of stimuli. It will make the process as a whole much more pleasurable." 

"Gods if you weren't wearing that stupid mask, I would shut you up in no-" 

"I always satiate you, milaya," Viktor answers calmly, as he slowly drags his finger out, leaving you quivering and empty. The nickname he uses is tender, familiar. It reminds you of your once different life. Vividly, it forms blossoms in your chest, unfurling flowers and delicate petals. Tugging sweetly at your thudding heart, despite the cold artificiality of his manufactured tone. Milaya. His darling. 

Though, the Machine Herald does not covet. What he desires, he takes and makes his. 

"Interesting," He's muttering, seemingly mostly to himself. "Your neediness has greatly increased since the last time we convened. Normally, you are capable of controlling yourself. To a certain extent." 

He tsks, metal hand caressing slow, reassuring circles onto your waist, while his other palm dives back between your legs. His fingers drag over your cunt with an irrational sense of clumsiness, considering the motion is coming from him. He lets his fingertips search for nothing in particular, getting them slick with your arousal, nudging your clit carelessly with his knuckles until your back is arching, and your sighs are sharpening. 

"Sorry." You mumble a half-hearted apology, eyelids softly fluttering. 

"It was not a complaint." Viktor presses his fingertips close, dangerously closer. 

Your body needs him, needs what only he can give to you. His hands, his fingers inside you. Every inch of you screams for his touch. As though you are a solved puzzle, a piece of technology broken down to let him understand each individual part. Your thighs shake, and that's part A. Your chest heaves, your shoulders go tense. Significantly human responses. Components labeled B, C, D, V. Your lips quiver, before they mutter another breathless, desperate plea of his name. 

Predictable, and understandable. Yet, for certain, you are a delight to decipher. Those pieces and budding sensations come together as he thought they would, and they — and you, are primed to be bent at his will. 

You expect him to tease you further. When he falls silent, becoming more impossible to read than he already was, you feel your arms and your thighs tense with what must be anticipation. Surely, he can sense how eager you are. 

But Viktor doesn't falter, he does not hesitate. He guides his metal hand underneath your back, predicting its arch, and he presses two of his fingers, his middle and ring, to your drooling entrance. They slide into you with a filthy, wet noise; it's almost obscene how eagerly your cunt accepts them. How you plead with whiny utterances of yes, yes, your voice breaking, eyes closing. He eases them inside you slowly, fills you with them completely — until his scarred knuckles are nudging against you, and you're sobbing through a half-sigh, half-moan. 

He doesn't wait to hear you beg for more. You're given a calculated amount of time, just enough seconds to catch your breath and get used to the stretch of both digits inside you. He fucks you on his fingers, pumping them in and out to the tune of your broken whines and gasps for air. It's a gradual process. A coded, mastered technique well-baked into his mind, his heart, and his hardware. 

Of course, he's long since learned just how to make you fall apart. He has studied you, he's proceeded to subconsciously store your data in the most important vault in his mind. It is simply a matter of getting you there, of drawing out your pleas for him and your tremors and your pulses, to push you even further past your previous crescendos. 

You can always be louder. Finish harder. You deserve to. And when it comes to any and all of his endeavors, including this one, he is persistently, unquenchably ambitious. 

"Vik-" You're babbling, in a wavering voice he might logically, astutely label as precious. His quiet lab echoes with the whirr of various displays and devices. With your soft noises, echoing alongside the wet squelch his fingers make each time he presses them deeper. "Please, I just- I'm so- I want you so much-" 

"You have me," He answers rigidly. Prepared and intentional, his fingers move slower, drawing out your moans and your shudders of pleasure. "Or were you demanding more?" 

"I always want more with you." A faint, endearing pout forms on your features, the kind of look only he can draw from you. "Want- I want you to fuck me." 

It isn't anything of importance; just an aimless, desperate plea. The kind you might be expected to ask of him when you're in this state — your mind wandering, your body relaxed. You need fuel for your building fire, you need to hear him outline through words what he can't through actions. You cannot make him feel as you do, but Viktor is kind enough to let you play pretend. 

Though, for whatever strange, unrecognizable, illogical reason, he goes against the fixed line of actions he was previously adhering to, and he hesitates. He contemplates. He twitches, circuitry briefly inoperable, fuzzy and working against him. His center, his self-regulating core, hums with marginally more force than it did before. The hand he has pressed to your back trembles. It thrums with artificial, built-up heat, before he grips you much tighter. 

Fortunately, he rediscovers his composure as quickly as it waned. Viktor quirks his fingers into your sweet spot to make you cry out for him, and then he drags them half-way out — every moment agonizingly slow, so he can admire the way the digits glisten in the lamplight. 

"Filthy little thing." His voice is thick. His words are stern, making you picture how his jaw might be tightened. "I am already providing you everything you asked for, and yet still, you act greedy. Human desire is terribly intemperate." 

"As if-" You're squirming, sweating, your hair a mess, warm gaze and moon-wide pupils locked onto his obscured face. "As if you feel nothing from this." 

"I cannot feel. You are well aware of this reality. I suggest you do not continue to persuade yourself otherwise." 

"Bullshit." 

"In fact, I do feel nothing." Viktor brings his thumb to your clit on his next press in, rubbing it roughly, circling it precisely. "I am incapable of experiencing desire," His fingers crook and spread. "Nor enjoyment." They pump slowly, while they stretch you around their shape. "Or affection." 

"But you were worried about me- fuck- when I went off on that stupid mission," You're mumbling, barely able to speak through ragged gasps for breath, "You were fretting over my safety. You- hah, you stopped everything you were doing just to check on me, because you felt relieved, you felt happy when you saw me walk in, didn't you?" 

Did he? 

Hours earlier, you returned to his doorstep, and he knew it was you from the way you knocked; he put aside the small automaton he was working on, and hurried to meet you at the door. He gave you a quick once over — in this form, he is vastly larger and taller than you, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at him — but you assured him you hadn't been injured. When you fell against his armored chest in something of an embrace, he didn't push you away. Nor did he protest when you pulled his heavy, bulky shape on top of you as you fell back against the nearest surface, his additional sensors picking up your already increasing breathing and heart rate. 

He recalls your arms around him, hands tugging at his cape, removing sections of his armor, fingers threading through his hair. Soft lips pressing to cold steel — 

Viktor tenses. You are plenty capable on your own, capable enough that he rarely considers whether or not you'll return. You always do, after all. This mission was considerably riskier, though. Considerably more worrisome. 

If anything had happened to you, if he discovered you were injured or captured or worse, his subsequent reaction would be less than logical. His mental processes would malfunction, and he would lose the ability to think rationally. The stifling, unstoppable force that would build within him could be compared to something like rage, something like love. 

You swallow thickly, and the room swirls around you in a dizzy haze as Viktor slowly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you empty. 

He murmurs, "Look at me." 

It's a little difficult of a command to follow, with your head spinning and your eyes all heavy. Still, you force yourself to breathe deeply, to steady, in the wake of the sudden lack of attention. 

You look up, and his hand, fingers slick and filthy, momentarily moves to grasp your chin. He tilts you towards him, to make sure you're watching. Viktor reaches up, and he presses a mechanism on the side of his mask. It hisses, releasing air, small puffs of steam streaming from either side. 

He removes it tentatively. He tosses it aside with a bit less caution, causing it to clink, spin, and nearly fall when it hits the upper edge of the table. 

You're met with messy brown hair, scarred skin, and familiar moles. The entirety of his jaw is made of metal, reconstructed into intricately crafted steel that continues down his neck and underneath his armor. His skin is overly pale, to the point where you can notice deep eye bags, and the criss-crossings of several individual, purple-hued veins. His expression is stern and deadpan, his brows slightly creased. He takes you in, gaze flickering down for a moment, then back up — and searing eyes, dark purple pools and bright orange suns, finally meet your own. 

"Your legs," He's instructing; his voice, no longer filtered through the mask, sounds warmer, clearer, a little less deep. Despite everything, terribly familiar, and blissfully human. "Place them around me." 

Unable to stifle a smile, you lift your thighs, casually locking them around his back at the ankles. You rarely get to see his face, and it's impossible to keep your eyes off of him, nor can you stop your heart from pounding. Viktor returns your gaze, cold and unflinching. It's like he's examining you, regarding you with the same restrained interest as he'd have for the subjects of his experiments. 

"There you are," You're cooing, head tilting, "Vitya."

Viktor's expression finally shifts from his usual indifference, his brows scrunching up to form a slightly irritated scowl. 

"Defiant again. As expected." 

"You used to like it when I called you that. Am I not allowed to tease you now?" You're laughing, and your smaller frame, still pinned underneath him, shifts somewhat when he loosens his grasp on your wrists. A faint amount of mercy. You offer him one of those radiant smiles he can't stand — can't resist. "You can be such a hypocrite." 

"Open your mouth," Viktor sneers coldly, "So it can be put to better use." 

With a firm, metal hand, he holds the curve of your soft side, measuring your individual tremors, paying attention to the steady movement of your lungs. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your lips. Your breath hitches, and your mouth forms a line. You can't help but roll your eyes. 

"I can just leave, you know," You mutter, your voice still playful, yet noticeably a few volumes lower. "But I'm guessing you don't want me to." 

Funny. You seem to think you could escape from his grasp. 

"Open. Your. Mouth. Before I give in, and do something I shouldn't." 

"I'm not-" 

Your protest fizzles out into a surprised noise and a subsequent sigh; Viktor grabs you, he pulls you closer in tandem with surging forwards, and his mouth promptly crashes into yours. 

Finally. 

The kiss tastes sharp, like iron and ash, like something distinctly him when his tongue slowly brushes against yours. You allow your eyes to close — but Viktor hardly leaves you any room for air as he practically devours you. It's deep, enthralling, and clumsy. Needy, on your end, and hungry on his. The kind of kiss that possesses you, consumes you. Your mind is dizzy, your breath is gone, but you need to kiss him more than you need to breathe. 

You melt into him gently, naturally. Like you were always meant to. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek: a motion far too soft, far too important. 

When he pulls away, finally giving you some breathing room, your eyes immediately meet. Your chest is heaving, your heart warm and pounding to a tempo made just for him. His gaze is once again sharp, once again perfectly composed. 

You miss the softness of his lips already. "Vik." 

And he needs you, needs more of you. He's wanted to feel your lips against his for far longer than you or even he could have realized. Since those days when you were both young and stupid, when you vowed to achieve your dreams together. As though your gentle voice pleading his name is just tender enough to push him over a metaphorical edge, to flip some hidden switch in his complex mechanics — He kisses you again, again, again. 

All of this, it isn't meant for him. It is unfathomably human, from the way you breathe fervently against his mouth; stuttered breaths, quicker than his, heavier than his own could ever be. To the way he touches you, a half-machine's best imitation of intimacy. His still-human palm moves to brush your neck, then glides further to hold the back of your head. Your body is all awkward limbs and soft edges and smooth skin, but you fit underneath him oh-so perfectly. 

He can't stop. It doesn't seem real; Viktor imagines he must have fallen into a different reality, he's in a different body with a different, mortal heart. None of this makes an ounce of logical sense otherwise. Then again, when do you ever make sense? 

He can't focus on anything but your lips on his — because for a few fleeting moments, he isn't defined by metal and machinery; he is himself. He is a mess of muddled thoughts and imperfect touches. Your legs around his back pull his figure closer to yours, and you have him wondering what it might entail without any steel in the way. Just skin against skin. 

It'd be impossible for him to feel such a thing, when there's little skin left. His entire arm, his legs, his torso, his spine; they've since been replaced, improved upon. Is this the closest he'll ever get to you, to love? 

Waves upon waves of warmth wash over you, they drown you, they envelop you. Even once Viktor has finally pulled apart from you with one last soft kiss, you still aren't able to breathe. Your heart pounds against your ribs, so fiercely it almost hurts. 

He settles back above you, and as you calm again, he holds your gaze. His slender fingers move to trace the column of your throat, where they not-so-subtly seek out your pulse. It's racing for him. He looks remarkably composed now, compared to how disheveled you're sure you appear. 

Gently, he trails his hand upwards. His thumb swipes your kiss-swollen bottom lip. Your mouth parts instinctually, allowing him to carefully press the digit into your warm mouth, onto your wet tongue. 

"Do not leave," Viktor murmurs, an analytical edge already returning to his tone, in spite of what transpired between you. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, brushing it over your bottom lip again, smearing your lips with your saliva. "Stay for tonight." 

"Are you asking? Or is that a demand?" Your breath on his skin is foggy and hot. When it's clear he isn't going to answer, his gaze regarding you inquisitively, you propose another question. Your hands clench, they briefly push against the unyielding grip of his Hexclaw. "Will you let my hands go now?" 

"Tsk. Only if you are capable of keeping them to yourself." 

"C'mon…" You hum disappointedly. He appears routinely unaffected by your pouting. So, you change your approach. 

You shuffle, trying to get more comfortable. The table beneath you feels especially firm. "What if I say please? Is that what you're looking for?" 

"Go ahead. It will not affect my decision." 

"Seriously? But I want to touch you. You're so pretty." 

Viktor hesitates, but only briefly. He senses the whirring in his chest, the usual hum of his augmented components. Substitutions where imperfect pieces should be, strength replacing frailty, mechanics coming to life once more as his mind becomes forcibly unclouded. His systems are working as usual again. All it took to experience a malfunction was your lips on his, and all he needed to do to rebuild his composure was pull away. And you are still a gasping, heavy-eyed mess. 

Still, there is something troubling him. The same illogical functions that've been prodding at his mind since the very beginning. Lingering errors. Faults in his perfected frame. When he looks at you now, he strongly senses the push and pull of those inaccuracies. 

If he allows you to touch him, each framework, every mechanism — Everything he's been carefully constructing might come crashing down. 

Would that be so bad? 

Pretty. How ridiculous. Viktor scoffs, his jaw tensing up, his next words arbitrary. "Most are afraid when they look at me." 

Perhaps they should be. Perhaps you should be. 

But you just smile, your expression growing soft as you tilt your head, and you answer in earnest: "I don't think I've ever been scared of you." 

Again, there goes his worthless, thrumming, obsolete heart. 

You should be afraid of a man who's designed himself to fit an image you no longer recognize. You shouldn't try to get so close to him, when his compulsive obsession to destroy and remake borders on a clear line of danger. This new chassis embodies perfection. It has long since relinquished any weaknesses, but if you detested him, he wouldn't blame you. Others are reluctant to embrace his vision, save for a select, fortunate few. You and him have history. History that would make seeing him like this rather difficult, he assumes. 

Usually, Viktor is able to keep any oversights from throwing him off course. He can't be distracted from achieving his goals. The people of Zaun need him. This new body poses no hindrances. Pain doesn't disrupt him; it can be turned out, like anything else. Pain of the body, and pain of the heart. 

You, though. Any thoughts he has of you start as small blips. Tiny, persistent sparks. They build overtime, burning brighter, hotter. Until he sees you, and you look just like how you did back then, so, so long ago. There are tired lines on your face, faint scars, and he knows they're his fault. All at once, his mind is threatening to become a mess of discordant, fraying parameters, of processes that are refusing to function in the manner they should. 

He wants to keep you far, far away; far from him, from this lab. Far from this terrible, awful place you both grew up in. If he could, he'd have you go somewhere so very distant, where you couldn't distract him — where you could be happy and free. You will see the sky, feel the sun's warmth, and breathe fresh, cool air. It'd be what's best for you. And he will continue to further his endeavors in evolution. Alone, as intended. 

But ultimately, no matter what he winds up doing to his mind or his body, he would think of you. Of holding you or unmaking you, sometimes he isn't sure which. If you were truly afraid, if you ran, he wouldn't follow on your heels. But along with you, you'd take a piece of himself, a faint trace he would never get back; for better, or for worse. 

Viktor listens to the sound of your breathing: steady, deep. His gaze studies you, but it lingers on your eyes for longer than intended. You are still looking up at him, smiling, sparkling like a sky full of stars. As though he is a sky filled with stars. 

Your breaths become heavier when he presses his palm to the center of your chest. He drags his touch down, down. You are more sensitive this time, he notes. You lean into him once his hand caresses your pelvis, your waist, and you loosen your legs from around his back to become more comfortable. His fingertips trail up your inner thigh, and you shudder, you shiver. 

He thinks of kissing you once more. A couple times more, maybe. Proper judgment tells him he should resist. The thought remains there, lingering and burning between you. 

"Viktor…" You murmur, your voice a bit broken, but he's hanging onto every word. "Touch me again." 

Pleasant sensory inputs glow within him; tingling veins, reverberating wires. Overwhelming heat fills his shoulders, the back of his neck, his head — the heat of machinery, the warmth of his soul. 

Viktor grabs your waist assertively, metal fingers digging into your hip. His gaze doesn't waver from yours as he guides your thighs to spread. Suddenly, he pushes himself against you, until you are hopelessly pressed between steel and metal. Between him, and the worktable. 

You feel his weight, you feel the intricate ridges of metal plates and hard edges, the artificial heat of his much larger body radiating against your bare skin. Now, you are completely pinned, practically chest to chest, pressed underneath the Machine Herald so closely it's enough to make your head spin. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating. Perhaps he can hear it. Or maybe, he just knows your heart must be pounding for him, as it always does. 

Your limbs tremor with excitement. As his palm squeezes your thigh, you can't help but arch into his touch. Thin, skillful fingers press close and feel how wet you are — still so sensitive, already dripping out onto him. You aren't teased, you aren't even able to catch your breath, because two of his fingers are swiftly dipping inside you, giving you exactly what you need. 

It feels so right. Viktor reaches for your cheek. He encourages you to continue meeting his gaze when your eyes flutter and nearly close. 

Your gaze on his, you let his name leave your mouth in a series of sharp gasps, and desperate pleas. He fills you slowly, but wastes no time building a rhythm; his fingers pump into your sensitive cunt gently, then methodically. Satisfied, Viktor hums, and he carefully shifts his other arm down. He holds your back as it arches, further pressing you against himself. 

Now, the way he pleasures you is deliberate, it isn't enough, but Gods, you'll take anything he gives you. 

"That name," Viktor starts, speaking in a smooth, level tone, perfectly contrasting the airy huffs and whines you utter for him. The name he hoped to relinquish, his name. "It sounds best when you are pleading it." 

You smile through a soft moan. "It's my favorite. Such a sweet name." 

Precisely, determinedly, his fingers crook into the spot within you he knows all too well, and you crumble, you sob. 

"The tech you brought to me will accelerate the completion of our latest prototype," Viktor is explaining, matter-of-factly. As though the conversation is as simple as it is necessary. Like he doesn't have his large body shoved against you, and his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. It just serves to excite you further, honestly. 

"I will install the heat core, and adjust its interior components accordingly. We could have its systems operational by tonight. However, I doubt I will be able to focus." 

You take a forced, deep breath. "Yeah? Because of me?" 

Obviously, he wants to say. You'll be here, staying in his lab, as you usually do after a tough afternoon or a previous sleepless night. He doesn't mind. Your chatter might occasionally be disruptive to his work, but your voice is nice, it is calming. Your presence itself might be a distraction, an interference that his mind tells him he should discard, but having you here is a nice change of pace, compared to the long, lonesome hours he's grown used to. He has never minded. 

Sleep is less of a necessity for him. Resting for a handful of hours a few times per week is usually enough to keep himself operational. The torn leather couch he keeps in his quarters is there just for you. He no longer needs to eat in the typical sense, although he still needs to recharge burned energy. He keeps stocked up on the foods he remembers to be your favorites. 

It's strange, out of everything he's forgotten, he still remembers such useless, trivial details. Each and every detail about you. 

Without you, this space — the adjustments he's made to accommodate your presence, the dip in the couch from where you always sleep, your articles of clothing strewn over the floor and the couch arms. His lab would feel so empty. 

His next words sound much gentler than usual. Warmer, more desperate. 

"Because your voice will not leave my mind. Begging for me. Breaking for me," Viktor murmurs. He nudges his fingers against your walls, testing, teasing you. "Pleading my name." 

Once more, he challenges your limits; his fingers slide into you deep, so deeply you can feel them everywhere. Nudging at your core, filling you perfectly. As if on queue, you whimper a broken plea of yes, and as your eyes flutter, you're cascading into a needy mess of pleasant, shaky gasps. You writhe, your pinned hands trembling, wishing for something to hold onto. Though, he keeps you in place underneath him, blissfully unrelenting. 

"Say it," Viktor demands, "My name. Tell me who it is you need." 

"Viktor," Your voice is light, clumsy and slurring slightly, but in the way you say his name, there's an unmistakable lilt of pure adoration. You need him, you need to feel him everywhere: his practiced touch, his soft skin, his steel-built anatomy. You want him to not have to leave you, to not need to choose between you and the Undercity's future. 

You feel completely, utterly dizzy. You want so much. You want his hands, flesh or metal, to study every intricate inch of you. You want him to stop holding back, you need the both of you to make up for the stupid amount of time you've lost — "I- hhah- I want…" 

With your eyes nearly shut, static and stars flickering at the edges of your vision, you hadn't noticed how close he'd become until Viktor's voice echoes warmly, right against the shell of your ear. 

"You want me to fuck you?" 

And holy shit, his tone is sultry, his accent is thick — you shiver so hard you're sure he's left feeling the aftershocks, your body still pressed up right against his, even through his layers of metal armor. Viktor doesn't stop the steady pace of his fingers, pumping and arching and working you so well. Nor does he quit speaking, simply because he knows this is what you want to hear. What you need to hear. 

"You are insatiable," He scolds, although there's little emotion in his level tone. Just an obvious, already-known sense of acknowledgement. His voice is a thousand times more intense when it is curling directly into your ear; "You wish for me to render you even more weak than you currently are, so you can be shown exactly who you belong to? Oh, and how I'd fuck you. How I would take you. I would make a mess of you, I'm sure. You'd be begging to be given all of me. To be used by me." 

It's merely theoretical, a set of fake promises and dirty words to put pleasant visualizations into your mind — calculated, like everything he pursues. And it works. Predictably, your entire body shudders with pure, forceful need. You pulse around his fingers, throbbing like a heartbeat. You sob, and try to twist to face him, although it's impossible, considering you're still tightly pinned beneath his figure. 

You want to see his face, he figures, so Viktor shifts up. He re-puts himself in the center of your vision, and you glance towards him, eyes flickering across his face; your gaze on his is practically teary-eyed. Desperate and eager, you find ways to plead without words. 

You want to let go. Of course you do — always forced to be strong, you need nothing more than to melt at the hands of the last person left in Zaun that you trust. Even if he is more machine than person. Even though he is not right for you. 

For a moment all too brief, Viktor wonders what it would be like to push those boundaries. To truly have you, beneath his hands and in his heart, to feel you resounding beside him like the echoes of a rippling, rolling wave. 

How would he take you? No, how would you want him? 

He formulates a few possible outcomes. Perhaps you'd want him hard and desperately. You need to be put in your place, to feel him as close as he could possibly be while he molds you to his shape. You want to be obedient. A good little subject. You want to be called good, very, very good for him while he pounds you into the table, or maybe while he leans back, glowing, masked eyes focused solely on you, your hands gripping his armored shoulders so you can bounce on his lap however you'd like. The Machine Herald's perfect little pawn. He wagers with such filthy actions and words, he could make you even louder than this. 

You'd be pinned underneath him, and instead of his fingers, he'd fill you with all of himself — carnal and raw. Warm and sweat-soaked. Yet still, your body pressed to his would be agonizingly tender. 

Or maybe you'd want him in a different way. In a much softer way. 

Tenderness has never been afforded to him, it's hardly a concept he knows, but perhaps it's what he once hoped for. With you, it's what he once pictured. 

Every touch would be slow, delicate. Your hands interlocked. Bodies pressed together, galaxies against galaxies. So close, they could be mistaken for the same shape. He would learn you truly, and honestly. Warm and gentle, you would touch him soft enough to make him human again. 

Your voice would beg for him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, against his form. Useless, perfect declarations of love. Viktor shudders. He imagines your hands, pretty and delicate, brushing the space between his shoulder and his steel spine. Feeling his scarred skin, alighting fiery sensations he assumed he'd long since lost. 

Compared to who he was before, he is much stronger. He must be strong, must be forged of grit and iron, he must not submit to worthless, human desires. But you make him oh-so weak. 

He isn't supposed to be weak. 

"Please," You're gasping. You are barely able to speak at this point, babbling sweetly between broken noises as he fucks you on his fingers; it's just enough to make you shut your eyes and imagine more. "Fuck- Vik- Oh, p-please…" 

Splintering, throbbing with mechanical heat, his inner workings surge with a sublime abundance of molten, unbridled energy. Burning, it's burning him up from the inside, melting him down and making him fragile. 

You've gone fuzzy beneath him — No, his vision is fuzzy. Your edges are blurred, your chest is heaving as his fingers barely leave you before pressing back in. His hand adjusts, allowing his thumb to brush your puffy clit on the next press in. When you whimper his name, as you've done countless times before, he swears he sees nothing but flickering, colorless static. 

Burning and heightening and building, he must be malfunctioning, experiencing crucial gaps in his design. This shouldn't be happening. He should not feel, and this isn't feeling, but there is something building inside of him, something with your name on it. 

No, no, your name is flickering through him, pounding against his mind like a drum, and he has to establish control. He has to fucking fix this. 

He needs to be closer, so much closer. He needs you in an unexplainable, all encompassing way. In a way that shouldn't be occurring. He doesn't want anything, he can't experience the sensation of wanting because it isn't meant to exist. 

Truthfully, he's past the point of no return, and you might be all that's left to hold him in place. Impossible. The only thing he's ever desired is progress, evolution. Improvement is what matters. Improving, fixing, augmenting. 

You are going to be the death of him. He needs to be pressed against you, holding you, in you, examining your inner workings, guiding you to reach your true potential — 

Something snaps. 

"Do you know," Viktor grasps your face, roughly tilting you in his direction. The newfound harshness to his tone is exhilarating. "How impossible it is to resist breaking you?" 

He laughs, the sound sharp, almost chilling; his smile is crooked, barely recognizable, showing off even more crooked teeth. His gaze holds your own until it practically burns into you. His body is hot. To the point of overheating. You feel the heated metal against your skin, pressing to your chest, your thighs, faint puffs of searing steam pouring out from gaps in the plating. 

The grip his Hexclaw has on your wrists is so tight it nearly hurts. But it's faltering, his hands are twitching. He seems to recognize he might be hurting you, and so he lifts off of you slightly, he forces himself to loosen his hold. 

There's a sound coming from him that echoes like grinding gears, like the hiss of burning filaments. Like something is crumbling. Fighting against itself. 

"It is all I have ever known, milaya." Viktor lets go of something akin to a sigh, although he has no need to breathe. He is utterly ruined — the poor excuse for a heart he once placed between his ribs is aching, shuddering with the anticipation of a touch, soaring with the softness that comes with a kiss. Is this what it feels like to be dizzy, to be lovesick? 

You shudder as his thumb rubs your clit, and he digs his metal fingers into your side, feeling the space just beneath your ribs. "You will soon understand," He murmurs, "And if you are incapable, I am still willing to teach you. To make you into so much more." 

There's a stirring in his chest at that, at the thought of completing you; a deep-rooted abnormality he can't quite pinpoint. Is it excitement? Guilt? Lust? 

You swallow. You're crumbling, as he sends tingles through your veins in the wake of more enthralling words. 

"You are mine. Your fundamental place is at my side." Viktor senses the building heat of his inner workings, a deep wave rolling up from his constructed spine to settle onto the back of his neck. Building, burning, breaking. "I cannot wait to unmake you." 

Pulling you apart would be delightful. 

Your pieces would be disassembled, separated by each individual, pretty, dizzying section, so you could be redone carefully, gently, with a sense of tenderness only he could manage. He wants to understand you. To know exactly what makes you tick, down to your most basic of functions. To be close. Indistinguishable, the both of you made from the same materials. If you were constructed in his image, your components marked by his influence, there would be no doubt who you belong to. 

Through breaking you and mending you, he wonders if he could find new ways to make you sing. You'd relax under each touch, shuddering and breathing his name as he completes your newfound enhancements. Gazes locking. Touches lingering. Metal soldering. Viktor trembles. Gods, how he wants you. 

Furthering your potential and heightening your pleasure both require similar sentiments. Trust, and vulnerability. Opening your chest to watch your heart pound for him is the same as measuring your hitching breaths, growing heavier the deeper and faster he presses his fingers into you. 

Because delicately pulling you apart just to put you back together is some metaphor for intimacy. Carving out a space for you within the confines of his fake heart is some synonym for tenderness. Holding onto his memories of you, replaying everything he can't quite forget to the point of near insanity — to the point where he attempted to forcibly remove you, by removing those emotions. Only to fail. Feeling these sensations for you when he shouldn't is some form of devotion. 

You shouldn't feel for him either, right? 

Having you there from the very beginning meant something; you were beside him when he only dreamed of becoming someone greater. When his ideas for evolution were just prototypes, when he first put the full extent of his weight onto both his legs. Didn't it mean the world to you too? 

You were equally misunderstood. By your peers, by the world. Just as you believed in him, he saw light in you, from the very start. He thinks you could burn bright enough to melt anyone who stands in your way. And now, years down the line, when he is seen as less than human, you only see him. Not what he's become. It's infuriating. It's unmistakably loving. 

You are panting. Getting close. Your bottom lip quivers, and your body tenses, each shudder more forceful than the last. His fingers echo a filthy, wet sound each time they pump into you, and your back is arching, you are simply begging to fall apart around him. For him, because of him. You deserve to. 

And you sing, voice trembling like plucked strings, "Just p-please. You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you- I've always trusted you. Vik, I need you. I'm yours. All yours." 

All his. 

Whatever he turns into, whatever becomes of his body, memories, and heart, you would still follow. No matter what his goal might be; to destroy this city for what it did to the both of you, or to work in unison to try and remake it. Or perhaps, he plans to become more. An example of perfection. A God. As if he isn't one already. 

The first time he touched you, when he felt the softness of your skin and heard the plea in your voice, and knew you were in his heart still, still, wasn't it akin to a prayer? 

Oh, he is going to unravel you. 

Viktor allows his grip on your wrists to finally, fully loosen; his Hexclaw presses flatly to the table, helping to support his weight. Relaxing, you exhale a deep breath, but you don't hesitate for long. Your arms waste no time wrapping around him, pulling him close. When you kiss him, a hand cradling his cheek like he is something breakable, and not a perfected piece of unstoppable machinery, the tender press of your lips to his feels undoubtedly inevitable. 

All he knows is since the day he pretended to forget about you, when he decided to become something more, his new heart beat steadily, his enhanced mind was clear. But his systems wouldn't stop buzzing. 

When he hardly knew where you were or what state you'd return to him in, the noise grew sharper. Fervently pulling, Hextech whirring, unsated electricity sizzling like fireworks underneath his skin. Having you in his arms once more only made the static form so thick, he thought his mental processes might completely go haywire. All he knows is that now, as he's kissing you, feeling your lips on his, your body against his own, and your hands tangling through his hair — for once, the static is silent. Blissfully silent. 

And he kisses you, harder than before. Softer than anything and everything. 

"Faster-" You're pleading brokenly against his mouth, between breathy kisses, your voice echoing through him, "More." 

Faster, harder, more. Whatever you desire, he's going to give it to you. Viktor mumbles, "Of course." 

Finally able to move, you hook one leg around his waist, you use it to drag him in even closer. You rock into his hand when his fingers spread and crook inside you, and you grab tight, messy fistfuls of his hair. His lips on yours, kissing you over and over, leave you little room to breathe. 

Once you've pulled away, you're gasping for air, and his gaze fixates on yours: examining, devouring. Viktor takes note of your every movement. How you grind into his fingers when his thumb teases your clit, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, brows pinched. How you fall back against the table when the sensations overwhelm you, eyes shut and limbs weak. Pulsing and tensing around him, so sensitive. So close to falling apart. 

Your arms wrap around him again, and he tries to keep the pace of his fingers steady, while you begin placing hurried kisses to his cheek, his neck. You kiss the side of his face, soft lips on soft skin. Then, your lips continue down, they press to his steel jaw. He tilts his head to let kisses fall over the expanse of metal that runs down his neck. Tingling phantom sensations curl into him and split him open. 

"Close," You're muttering, so quiet he nearly doesn't hear. You hold him as tight as you can manage. Your breath is warm on the side of his face, tickling his skin, making him feel even warmer within. 

"You are close?" He repeats for confirmation; his hand finds your side, and you grip his shoulders, hands brushing over thick plates of metal, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Your nails dig in, firm enough that he thinks the steel might chip. Viktor breathes a slight laugh, "You sound so sweet." 

"So- I'm getting so-" You swear, "Oh, f-fuck…" 

The only way he might quench what's come over him and steady his systems is by watching you come apart. Pleading his name, while you melt into a needy puddle of all the emotions and pleasant sensations he could never let himself have. Brought to your peak by his touch, his voice, because you are his, all his. 

Viktor's free hand traces up, cool steel carefully finding your collarbone, your neck. Then, his fingers are wrapping around. He squeezes your throat just barely, just how you like, enough to make you fall back with your arms sprawled above you. Your head is perfectly dizzy, as his fingers work you steadily, his thumb flicking your needy clit much faster. Pushing you closer, closer. 

Until it's far too much, and you are at his mercy, guided right to the edge of an exhilarating, electrifying precipice. 

"Let go. I have you," Viktor instructs, "Let yourself submit." 

Everything you've been building towards, all of his touches, all of this ecstasy, and how terribly you've missed him coalesces into this. Into a single, shuddering moment, waves upon waves of pleasure pushing you over the waterfall's edge. You're melting, cumming hard for him, your arms shaking, until he's removing his hand from your throat and giving you something to grab onto — delicate fingers laced with thick, strong, metal ones. Perfectly contrasting. 

Your vision goes white. Your body tenses and then goes limp, like you've been shut down. The high is forceful, before it becomes soft, ebbing over you with gradual warmth, his hand in yours enough to steady you. Heart pounding, you take quick, loud breaths. 

You can't help but feel disappointed when Viktor's hand releases yours to return to your waist. He holds you carefully, cold fingers brushing your skin reassuringly. Every touch feels deliciously raw, alight and sensitive. 

Your eyes open slowly. Viktor's hair is a mess in his face, likely caused by you. He seems flushed, if only slightly. His unflinching gaze flickers across your form, before it settles back on your eyes. 

"Breathe," He instructs carefully, gently. His hand grips your side a bit tighter; he's clearly affected by the way you sigh. You do your best to follow along, the aftershocks fading as your pulse slows, and as you start to calm. 

"There. Excellent, you have done so well," Viktor praises. He smiles slightly in satisfaction. "You have never been this breathless." 

Whatever words you could've formed in response don't come. They can't, not when his fingers are still inside you; not when Viktor is pressing them into your sensitive cunt just barely, squeezing your side as he delights in the way you whine. Pleasure, white-hot and familiar, surges through you fiercely. 

It's so much, it's so much, it's too much, he's already fucking you with his fingers, and before you can fully wind down, you're swiftly building towards another high. Your body needs this. You just aren't sure if you can take it. 

"Ah- shit," You murmur; reaching up, you tangle both hands in his hair, gripping tight for leverage. His expression remains infuriatingly calm. "I want- I need more. It feels so good, Vik," You're practically purring those last words, your whole body shuddering through another wave of ecstasy. "But I don't- I'm not sure if I-" 

"You can." Viktor interrupts, assured and composed. "You can cum for me as many times as I dictate." 

You're smirking now, obediently spreading your trembling thighs wide, while you roll your hips into his touch; his fingers are so thick, so impossibly, perfectly deep — "Hah- and you said I'm the insatiable one." 

"Yes. You are the most insatiable human I have ever known. And it would seem you are particularly insatiable with me." 

"You were once- Oh-" 

Your head falls back as Viktor nudges that sweet, tender spot inside you, and your body becomes limp once more. 

He takes the opportunity to bring the Hexarm's hand to your cheek. It's large enough to eclipse your face, the same way it was big and strong enough to easily pin both your wrists in its grasp. The heat radiating from the metal makes your eyes briefly flutter, before he trails it down to your throat. Perfectly responsive, your eyes grow heavy. He provides you with your favorite, much-needed pressure. 

You've watched him use this very same hand to solder metal and create machinery. The device could heat to a temperature a thousand times hotter than it is now, it's capable of firing off a single ray of concentrated energy potent enough to slice through steel. And he has that hand wrapped right around your neck. 

Fuck, that shouldn't excite you. It shouldn't have you quivering more and whimpering, shaking while you try your best to keep meeting his eyes, all because you so desperately want to hear him speak again. Praising you — You are doing so well for me, so pliant, so adorable. Or scolding you — Pathetic, aren't you? Quivering like a rabbit, and all it took was a little brush with danger. You are amusing. 

Whichever he prefers. Because Viktor is so much stronger, so much smarter, and it hardly matters what he chooses to say, when any and all of it still gets you off. 

Deep within your heart, you know he'd never hurt you. He would take away your pain if you asked it of him, so you wouldn't have to feel it again. His words can be sharp, simply because he wants to protect you. He wouldn't even attempt to put his hand on your throat like this if he didn't have complete, total control over the Hexclaw's laser. Carefully, he observes your every movement for any sign of discomfort, calculating and controlling each aspect of your pleasure — and it only serves to make your heart pound faster. 

Of course, he can tell when you start to truly shake. He knows every inch of you is melting with overstimulation, and he's going to give you more. 

"Take it. I know you are capable." His voice gives you goosebumps, while his fingers press into you shallowly, but the smallest movements are more than enough to make a mess of you. "There, perfect, you are performing excellently. Relax. Continue breathing deeply, nice and slow breaths. I will take care of you, love." 

Love. 

"Don't-" You choke, trying to keep your eyes on his despite the way your vision wavers and blurs; your reaction is immediate, predictable, and instantly satisfying. "Don't stop…" 

You're beautiful like this, when you're underneath him. Since his enhancements, compared to his new body, you are now much smaller. He had to learn to adjust to the touches you need, to be gentle. Like you once were with him. Your roles, reversed in such a crucial way. You are undoubtedly strong in your own right, but when it comes to him, you are as sensitive as you are receptive. He needed to study how to keep from holding you too tightly, how to regulate his temperature to not burn your skin underneath his hands. 

You are a pretty sculpture of quivering limbs and glistening skin. Your chest heaving, eyes fluttering. As beautiful as you were back then, before this. Before he lost the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, before feelings on their own became mere faded memories. His iron consequence, locking away his dying love. 

He gives you another. Three fingers press inside your dripping cunt, stretching you, filling you. A hand grips your side, his third lightly squeezing your throat — he works your pleasure for all it's worth, and has you gasping as he wrings out your aftershocks. 

Viktor's mouth can't help but twitch into the slightest smile. "Look at you. You are worthy of the world." 

He would give it all to you. 

The Machine Herald will have this city in his hands. His vision is moving fast and accomplishing much, so it is only a matter of time. If you wanted more, he'd just have to reach even further. Relinquishing his human emotions left him without the need to be happy, nor content. But you, your happiness, keeping you safe, seeing you smile. It is stupid, foolish, doesn't make sense; his mechanics stutter, until he thinks he is choking on his own contradictory tenderness. 

His body is betraying his mind. There is heat at his center, more than the normal amount emitted by his internal components. A very human, very filthy amount of heat. His skin underneath his armor is flushed and warm, his chest is aching from the weight of your heavy destruction. You are destroying him, and he can do nothing but allow it. 

"I missed you," You murmur earnestly, voice weak, close to shattering. Your eyes are closed. Why, why are those words making his hands and his limbs and his heart shudder? "I missed you so bad- don't stop, keep fucking me Viktor- don't, please don't stop talking…" 

Is that what you're imagining? 

So he doesn't stop. 

As you fall back against the table, Viktor removing the Hexclaw and letting go of your neck, he leans in to speak right against your ear. "I am proud of you, lubov. Infiltrating Piltover must not have been simple. You brought me more than I required, you did so with much efficiency. And you returned to me safely. Allow me to reward you. Fall apart for me, cum like I know you so desperately need to." 

Your body curls, your hands move to his shoulders and grip them impossibly tight in an attempt to keep yourself steady. "Vik- Viktor-" You're gasping, you're close, "Kiss me, please kiss me-" 

His hand holds your chin, the cool, rigid steel of his thumb swipes over your bottom lip; teasing you, making you whimper. Sliding further, into your mouth, until you're tasting the sharpness of metal. Until you're gently sucking, feeling the intricately crafted notches and joints on your tongue. When he pulls it out and kisses you hard, when his lips press to yours and your high-pitched moans become muffled on his mouth, you cum on his fingers hard enough to see the afterimage of stars. 

He's trailing kisses down your jaw while you pulse around him, your thighs shaking, your head tilting to let his mouth find your throat. In the wake of his soft kisses, his foggy breath, you melt, and fully succumb to your shuddering high. 

Working you back down is a slow, patient process. A kiss onto your neck for every gasp you take in, the feeling of gentle teeth once your body starts to fully relax. Everything you've wanted, everything you missed; far too tender for who he's become. 

There are faint marks on your neck by the time he pulls away. Signs he was there. Proof he is softer than he is meant to be. 

You could stop here. Instead, the next few moments happen in their own special space of reality. 

Away from this city, away from his lab. A different plane made for just the two of you. Your mind feels dizzy, heavy. Viktor meets your gaze, momentarily scanning your face, waiting to make sure you've calmed. 

He is all you can think of, all that has ever mattered. And even when he is right here, you miss him so, so much. 

You tremble from the end of your spine to the top of your shoulders when he carefully pulls his fingers from you. He brushes his palm from your thigh to your side in one steady, soothing motion. You can feel the scars on his palm, the slight hesitant tremor to his still-slick fingers. You're reaching up, palm pressing to his chest. You absently feel the various ridges of metal. Smooth to the touch, armor radiating the faintest flickers of heat. 

He glances down, watching your movement as your palm brushes further, further. Delicate fingertips trail the dips and outlines that continue down his stomach. Eventually, you reach as far as your arm will let you, your fingers drawing circles onto the rib-like sections of steel crossing just above his hips. As he glances back up to you, he finds your soft, pleading gaze to be already looking at him. As sweet as he's always remembered. 

Your breathing is heavy. "Vik," You're begging, "We shouldn't- I'm sorry. This is stupid. I know we should stop, but…" 

He is going to regret this. 

Before he can stop himself, before his mind and his systems can even be led to form a single rational thought, Viktor is pressing the palm of his Hexarm just above your head, flat to the table. He is leaning over you, he is finding your cheek with a soft hand and a gentle touch. He's pulling you in, crashing his lips against yours, and he knows you're right — you shouldn't continue. He shouldn't allow this. 

Machines do not feel. The Machine Herald feels nothing, and wants for nothing besides evolution. But Gods, you're kissing him like his lips are a drug, all you need after wanting to kiss him for so, so long. Since before you both became dim shells of what you once were. Your legs are wrapping around him, your fingers are brushing his face with such devastating tenderness, and Viktor believes he is feeling everything. 

He's reaching down between your gasps for breath that make gaps in your kisses, and he's deftly activating a set of small, circular mechanisms on either of his sides. The armor on his chest unlatches with a clicking noise, platings becoming loose, unaligned. 

The larger, more cumbersome sections of his armor, including his gauntlets, cape, and shoulder pieces have been discarded from the start, making the portion of chest armor come off as two simple halves. He has to pull away, sit up straight, and partially slide off of you to remove it all the way. Both pieces of armor hit the ground with a particularly heavy thud. 

Most of his body has been replaced. Underneath the metal armor, there's just more metal; sections of iron that've been fused to replace muscle and skin, alloyed parts that reinforce his thin frame. 

You have only seen him like this once. He was fixing some miscalibrated platings on his side, a wrench in one hand, the Hexclaw's laser busy welding a suitable replacement. Two thirds machine, and one part still human, he was definitely much different from what you remembered. Still, there were small sections of pale skin on his back, split where his spine had been reconstructed. And jagged scars, adorned by faint, dark moles. His messy hair still falls around his face just like you remember it. 

You wanted to touch — he says he can't feel, but would he sense your fingertips as they traced his scars, would he shudder as your hands felt his skin? If you kissed what remained of him, his hand and each of his fingers, his back and each of those pretty moles, his chest down to his stomach, could you alight new sensations in him? 

You've never wanted to touch him more than in this moment. 

The bottom portion of his armor comes off much easier, leaving just the thick sections that cover his thighs down to his legs, including the steel brace mechanism. You're only able to catch the faintest glimpse, before he's pulling you into another deep kiss — a kiss that burns with every moment lost, his body pressing you against the table and beneath him. Your arms wrap around him, palms trailing across his back. 

As they've always longed for, your fingertips feel the back of his neck: the ridges and hard edges of his spine, the solid base of the Hexarm, his soft skin. Viktor physically shudders. When one of your hands tangles in his hair while the other falls, landing upturned beside you, he kisses you harder, he absently finds your hand and holds it in his. Your fingers lace together. His hand feels so warm, still slightly larger than yours. His skin is scarred, your thumb brushing over calloused knuckles and thin, purple veins. Every touch is so tender, earnest, human, it's nearly unbearable. Your hand was meant to be in his. Even if it won't last. 

It's a strange sensation, when his body presses ever closer to your own. Metal leads down from his navel, across to his pelvis, trailing underneath the armor on his thighs as one smooth, solid construction. Partially welded into his skin, but seemingly designed to make some sections removable. It is warm like the rest of him, designed with faint ridges and indents. 

Your legs, locked around him at the ankles, encourage him to press ever-closer. He devours you, kissing you deeper than you thought possible. You sigh against his mouth, and hold on tightly to his hair. His body rocks against yours in an instinctual, clumsy motion. Close, pressing, grinding. Warm metal and those perfect little ridges grind between your legs, against your core, against your clit. And you practically jolt. 

Oh. You break away from the kiss to toss your head back with a breathy, pretty noise. Pleasure threads through you, thick and unrelenting. 

Viktor mumbles something that barely registers in your ringing ears: Should stop, you manage to make out. And then, Are you alright? 

"Yes, I just-" You mumble, panting hard, "Don't. Don't stop." 

So Viktor grasps your waist in a tight, yet careful grip. His eyes never leave yours, gaze burning with a fire you've never once seen. He guides you to press against him, grinds his body against yours until you're making a mess of the metal. Until the faint ridges are nudging your swollen clit just right, until the heat of the iron is burning through you, into you, and your slick arousal is glistening on the steel. 

Your mind and heart are racing. 

"Oh, fuck-" You're swearing, your words surely seeming broken; he finds your cheek, he tilts your head up towards him, and you can't decide if the gesture is tender, or possessive. "I need you, I really, really do." 

His body feels as though he just touched the surface of the sun, and Viktor hardly knows if the warmth is coming from his overloaded systems, or if it's surrounding him, heat drawn thickly from the friction between the two of you. Perhaps it's a mix of both. 

Either way, he is losing himself. It's all happening so terribly fast; when his body rolls against yours, and you whimper through a filthy utterance of his name, there is a clear, undeniable response. A tingling in his veins, an eager sensation that shoots from his back to his chest to his core, consuming everything like a wildfire, and threatening to envelop all of him. 

He doesn't even know what to do with this. How to silence these disruptions, how to get his stupid brain to stop picturing you shuddering beneath his form as he presses against you, presses inside you, and brands every inch of you with his own name — 

"Milaya," Viktor hums, and you swear, his tone sounds lighter, his voice sounds strained. "I have always needed you. I'm not- No, I want- I shouldn't…" 

Trailing off when you cry out, he swallows. His thumb brushes your bottom lip as he continues to guide you towards him. Sweat beads on your chest, your thighs. He instructs, partially shakily, "Keep looking at me. Please." 

You've rarely heard him stutter or falter, never seen him anywhere close to worked up. You hardly knew if he had the capacity to feel this way, even though he certainly wasn't built to, even though he definitely isn't supposed to. And isn't it all because of you? 

The way your gaze locks with his as he rhythmically rocks against you has your heart skipping beats. There's a slight softness to his cold eyes, to his expression, that you're sure no-one else has seen before. Not since back then. You are impossible to resist, and this definitely needs to stop, this is definitely too far — it's going even further when your hand reaches down, fingertips clumsily tracing the edges of the metal seared into his navel. 

He knows what you want. You're greedy, a glutton for punishment, a sweet, terrible fool. But if he's honest with himself, perhaps he is worse. You are pleading his name again, the sound echoing unendingly in his ears, and Viktor is removing the front-most section of the metal enhancement: a thin plate that forms a triangular shape from his hips, all the way down. 

When he presses against your form, the next sensation to bleed into you is much different. It's smooth, soft latex, shoving against you. The last layer remaining between you and him and — 

And you can feel him. Straining hard and heavy against his underclothes. Firm and warm as he rocks into you, grinding all of him onto your throbbing cunt. You aren't thinking, you can't think anymore. Not when Viktor is hard, and when your heartbeat is so damn loud in your ears, you couldn't possibly hear anything else. 

"Viktor," You're murmuring, your chest pleasantly aching. Pleasure welds with emotion, walking the same shaky line, until your heart is unfurling with delicate petals that fill your throat sweetly, consuming you wholeheartedly, "I love you." 

If Viktor's mechanized heart was still capable of faltering from its pre-programmed rhythm, he's sure it would be fucking pounding. 

Every part of him is set alight. Burning, he feels smoke in his throat, and swears he tastes fire. He's overloading, practically overheating, like a fragile body trembling with need and want, like a system with too many programs open at once — and oh Gods, it just keeps opening more. His vision has long since gone blurry, and every sound in his ears is thick, as though he's been submerged in deep water. 

How long have you wanted to say those words? He thinks of quiet days spent with you in Piltover, the lingering glances and faint touches he tried his hardest to forget. 

How long has he needed to hear you say them? 

Honestly, he could cry, if he was at all still capable of crying. His mind is a mess. Heat is threading through his circuits, devotion and desire, a terrible softness; he's so soft inside, it hurts. It actually hurts, and he believed he taught himself how to forgo any pain. 

Electricity and faulty Hextech sizzle in his core, radiating, echoing. His damn foolish, worthless, synthetic heart. He needs to hold you, fuck you, break you. To encode this sensation into his head and his blood, because forgetting the way your voice strummed those words would be worse than admitting he is too weak to discard them. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

He doesn't deserve this. He was not built to love. Love should be thrown out, along with everything else. Love is a weakness. You may be fine with placing your heart on railway tracks, you might not think twice before putting yourself in danger, but if anything were to happen to you, he might be entirely consumed. 

With his mechanized existence, he could soon become immortal. This longing would surely stick with him after you're gone, an eternity of something he could never understand. Swallowing him whole, holding onto him tight. Endlessly painful. But right now, when he is here and stuck in a dream at the same time, when he is more of himself than he has ever been, and you are all that exists in his veins, could he ever manage to stop? 

You are so close to so much more. So close to ruining everything — just one last layer, one more touch. One movement, one press of his palms to your figure before he slides into you, one last massive, unfixable mistake. 

"Vik, please, please, I'm-" You can barely hold on anymore, as much as you've been trying to. You curl into him, grinding back against him hard; "I can't, I can't fucking- hhah- I'm so close-" 

Your bodies rock together desperately, beckoning and wanting more of what they shouldn't have. His heat radiates into your skin, and your breath fills the air in thick, heavy huffs. You're still so wet, and it makes every movement slick and simple. Your hands feel his back, his shoulders, his steel jaw, his face. Anywhere you can touch, you're making the most of it. 

Viktor finds your chin, he holds it delicately, and when he says your name, it feels personal; devastatingly so. Like he could make a home with the familiarity laced through each syllable. He breathes them like he did back then, coveting you so deeply. Muttering it as one final plea. 

If he can't fix this, perhaps you can reconstruct this part of him. Could you show him how to live again, could you instruct his mechanized heart, and finally teach it how to skip? 

"I have you," Viktor sighs, because he's sure you want to hear his words as much as he needs to say them. He doesn't require a working heart, when he can let all of himself echo through his still-human soul. "I love you." 

Your chest bruises with sparks in the wake of his gentle voice. Still somewhat robotic. Spoken as though each individual, inevitable word is one he is learning to speak. I. Love. You. 

Your legs and arms wrap around him, holding him as close to you as he could possibly get. Exhaling shakily, your whines are broken, your nails digging into his back. They'll leave red marks onto his pale skin; he hopes they do. His chest is pressed right up to yours. Viktor allows his forehead to rest just barely against your own, utterly tender, and he melts, as your thudding heartbeat echoes through him. Body to body, scarred skin on softer skin. Delicate limbs held around a partial chassis of firm, strong metal. 

Helpless. Perhaps for you, he is the helpless one. 

It doesn't matter; everything is crumbling away, and the both of you are thrown right back into reality, because you are falling apart for him at last. One last time. 

You shake, liquid hot pleasure drips over you like burning wax, and you're left at the mercy of your blistering, final high. Another few deep grinds into each other are all you need — the both of you throbbing, his jaw tensing, Hexclaw twitching, stiffening, and radiating a powerful amount of heat. His eyes flutter, the artificial glow behind them flickering like a dying lightbulb. You hold onto him tighter, and he lets go of a slight noise. A quiet, shaky, all too desperate moan. 

You stay rocking against one another even while you're cumming, even after your voice is sore from chanting Viktor's name so loudly, you briefly worry that anyone just outside of his lab might've heard you. 

Finally stopping, you only begin to relax once your whole body is entirely spent. 

You breathe slowly. In, and then out. Deep, calming breaths. Your heart pounds with force. The room refocuses around you, the harsh light of his various lamps burning into the back of your eyelids and making you see colorful spots. Viktor waits a few moments, before he shakily pushes up to prop himself above you. 

There's a hum of ambient, grinding metal coming from him. The hiss of steam. The echo of small shudders, and forceful gasps. Your vision is still fuzzy, your limbs incredibly weak, but you notice when he reaches for something; the thin metal plating, which he secures back onto himself. 

Once your eyes are completely clear and your heart is beating to a normal tune, you're finally able to focus on him above you. In barely any time, with a half-machine's perfected efficiency, Viktor has already regained every last aspect of his composure. 

"Stay. You require rest," He instructs matter-of-factly, his tone filled with his usual sternness. His gaze scans you up and down methodically. "I will supply you with a change of clothes." 

Right. Viktor's heart can't shudder like yours. Soft sensations have no need to linger. You'd almost forgotten. This is what you were always bound to return to: you, an ally. And he is just a machine. 

Through heavy, lovesick eyes, you admire the sight of him above you. His thin figure, enthralled in shadow, light reflecting off of the metal sections of his outline. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, a gesture you find particularly endearing and human. 

"Oh, don't worry," You hum casually, stretching your arms and legs out. Your voice is light, foggy and still weak. The table beneath you feels firm against your back, but with how lightweight your whole body feels, you couldn't care less. "I don't think I'm moving even if I wanted to." 

Viktor raises a brow just slightly. He taps your neck with a single smooth, metal finger. "And something needs to be done about these." 

Briefly, your expression shifts into confusion. You tilt your head, allowing his fingers to trail further, and they examine the base of your neck down to your collarbones; the marks he left on your skin are swiftly darkening, forming blotchy, pretty bruises. 

Realizing what he's getting at, you smile smugly. "Worried someone's gonna ask questions?" 

"Half of Zaun acknowledges you as my right hand. I am not worried. But they will ask. It could prove arduous." Viktor explains, his tone exceedingly controlled. "Come. Hold onto me." 

When you don't immediately move, he stares at you expectantly. So, despite your tiredness, you listen, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his middle loosely. Viktor lifts you with ease. His heavy boots clunk with each step, and he carries you just a few paces from the table, setting you down on your back, and onto the familiar, ripped-up leather couch. It shifts, accommodating your weight and his. Compared to the worktable, when your back hits the soft yet worn cushions, you feel like you're resting on clouds. 

Viktor shifts, starting to move away, but you keep your arms wrapped around him, and speak before he has the chance. 

"Vik…" You're purring, "Stay here." 

A brief look of contemplation crosses his face, categorized by the slightest pinch in his thick brows. You smile, and nearly wind up kissing him again. He doesn't attempt to pull apart from you when you drag him closer to yourself, your lips gently brushing his cheek. 

At first, he's overly stiff. His arm fits underneath your back to hold you out of mere obligation. In contrast, his metal arm is kept beside you, refusing to touch, steel-jointed fingers flexing absently. But once your hands trail up, your fingers tracing the back of his neck, before they run through his hair, he honestly, earnestly relaxes. 

Your body underneath him is comforting. Limbs entangled, your legs brushing steel and the rigid metal brace. His head leans gently into the crook of your neck, almost hesitantly, as though he isn't entirely sure where to place it. He can't help but fall against you, bodies pressed into one another naturally enough to form the same grave. If he ever came face to face with death, he would refuse to accept it, unless it was just like this. 

You let your tired eyes close. You allow yourself to focus on his warmth, on the weight of him, and you can almost pretend this is natural. That you are in the past, or perhaps residing in a much different future. You are both lovers, as you wished you would be; simple and uncomplicated, nothing more, resting together in the dizzying comfort of your afterglow. 

It'd be nice. Nicer than anything you've been afforded. The only problem is Viktor is all firm steel and hard edges. His metal hand shifts to hold your side, and his fingers are digging into your skin, gripping a bit too tight. His weight on yours is making it damn near difficult to breathe. And right now, he is very, very hot. 

You frown, your eyes fluttering open again. "You're overheating." 

"My internal temperature is regulated by a liquid cooling apparatus," Viktor murmurs, after a moment. "It seems to be malfunctioning." 

His voice is smooth, as it always is, but it sounds much warmer, much quieter, when it's spoken this close to your ear. You sigh softly, and shuffle a little under him, trying to get more comfortable. 

"Ah. That sounds concerning." 

"The device will adjust itself in time," Viktor clarifies. "If it does not, repairs will take a few minutes, at most." 

Your fingertips brush over his back. They feel the thick ridges of his spine, and the thin steel shape of the Hexclaw's base. It feels cool and lifeless under your palm. "This is cold, though." 

"It is inoperational. It stopped responding, I will need to reset it individually." 

"That so?" You huff in response, laughing a little. You hold onto him tighter, and lean your head into his shoulder. "Whatever. Just don't let go of me." 

He doesn't. You exhale a long, weak breath. Your hands tremble slightly, as they uselessly grip onto the sections of cold steel that frame his shoulders. Viktor stays perfectly still, and he allows you to hold onto him as tightly as you need to. This might be the last moment you'll have together. For a while, at least. He has much to attend to, after this. Some tasks he can work on at your side, with your assistance, preferably. Some missions he must complete alone. 

The next time you speak, your voice is so fragile, he thinks he should be holding it in his palms. Or else it'll break. 

"We shouldn't- or, I guess I shouldn't have said… you know." You shudder, shaking all over before you tense. You're holding him too close to allow him to see your face, but he can picture your expression: slightly playful, to attempt to hide your uncertainty. "Gods, I'm so stupid. But I meant it. And I just-" You laugh, "I'm sorry, Viktor. Maybe you were right. I've been way too reckless." 

Viktor has no need to ponder his answer. "I know. Don't apologize. You should be resting, our conversation can continue tomorrow." 

You breathe deeply, and he quietly murmurs, his voice echoing through your ears, "I love you, milaya." 

Fake. Expected. A ghost of choked-back emotions, of all-too tender moments already slated to become forgotten memories. But something is there, something that tells you he's trying. For now, you'll take it. It's more than enough. 

You are close to falling asleep; every one of your nerves, washed over by warm, inviting waves, enveloped in his persistent heat. As though he can sense your building exhaustion, Viktor rubs your back with slow, reassuring circles — as best he can manage, considering your shapes are pinned too close together. Your breathing evens out, and you relax into his touch. Your mind feels as heavy as your weary, weak limbs. 

Your love would be soft, he considers, distracted. Gentless personified, warm like your smile, like the radiant sun shining down on one's skin. Patient and alighting. Like being pulled by the wrists, wrested out of a rocky, dark sea — finally alive, and finally able to breathe. The still-human part of him feels in measures of softness. The mechanical part is much, much different. 

Heat is running through his veins. It's racing through his system, and he knows it isn't from any sort of malfunction. It burns. The taste of it is like sharp blood on his tongue, it spins in his head like the dizzy grinding of gears, sears through him with fraying wires and sizzling static. Pain and softness, forming a mix he might certainly call love, but might also swear to remove. 

There's a certain sharpness gnawing at him. A flickering, raw bruise, brutalizing him from between his ribs, regardless of his attempts to try and ignore it. Your efforts are failing. You are feeling, and that means you have failed. Even dying embers burn out the same as raging flames. 

You've drifted off, it would seem, your breathing slow, your body limp. So Viktor holds you just a bit tighter. 

For once, for the first time since he truly decided who he wanted to be and what he wanted to accomplish, he is lost. 

In the end, he is going to have to make a decision. One that will benefit his vision. Or one that will destroy him from the inside out. He must carve out these distractions, remove the sections of his heart that are faulty, or he must learn what it would mean to embrace them. 

It scares him, truly. Viktor, the Machine Herald, genuinely scared over something meant to be so trivial. Fretting over the one person he never wanted to lose, even though he was sure he'd already lost you. He wonders what his opposition would say, what those who view him as soulless might think, if they knew the truth. And if you knew? 

Just having to tell you, forcing himself to push you away, or coming face to face once more after he's altered his brain to completely forget you — No, the thought alone might be enough to seal his fate. 

He'll make up his mind before you wake. His head will become clearer, eventually. When your voice is gone from his ears, when your phantom touches tracing his skin have finally disappeared. Besides, this moment won't last, and he wants to savor what's left of it. 

Whatever happens next, wherever he takes this, he knows you will follow — to a different path, to a better future. Or to the ends of the earth. 

[azrielbrainrot]

Spoiled Rotten

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader x Rhysand

Kinktober 2024: Double Penetration

Description: You've had Rhysand and Azriel one after the other multiple times, but you can only imagine how much better it will feel to have them at the same time.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, anal sex, double penetration in different holes, cockwarming (kind of), fingering, slight dom/sub dynamics, some rhys x azriel, dirty talk

Word Count: ~2,7k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This is sort of a continuation for All Over My Skin, but there's hardly any plot in either story so it's not necessary to read them both. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

“You're stalling.”

There's really no reason for you to be feeling so impatient when you were sitting on Rhysand's lap as he leaned back against the headboard, his cock tucked in deep inside you, his mouth littering your neck and shoulder with wet kisses, while Azriel kneeled behind you, his fingers stretching out your other hole gently. This was something right out of a wet dream, but these males had turned you into an insatiable version of yourself, one that could never get enough of them no matter how many times they fucked you. That's exactly what led to this situation in fact.

“We're not stalling.” Rhys kisses a path up to your ear, biting your earlobe softly, a warning not to be so impatient. “We're getting you ready.”

“I am ready,” you argue back, wrapping your arms around his neck thigher.

“That's not up for you to decide, darling,” he easily dismisses you, one of his hands moving down to hold your asscheek, spreading it further apart for his spymaster.

“It's not up to you either,” you taunt.

If someone were to stumble into this room, it would only take them a handful of seconds to understand Azriel was the one in charge, not the High Lord, not in this bed. Which is exactly why you focus your efforts on the other male - he was always a lot sweeter and more receptive to your begging anyway.

“Azriel,” you whine unashamedly, turning around to face him as best as you could. He simply chuckled, leaning closer, his chest coming into contact with your back, supporting you as you leaned back. “I promise I'm ready.”

“You promise?” He starts kissing your neck just like Rhys had been doing, biting a mark of his own onto your skin. You nod in confirmation, clenching around his fingers when he scissors them slowly, getting rewarded with a soft groan of approval. “I think you might be,” he mumbles against your jaw.

Looking down at Rhys, you can't help the triumphant smile from taking over your features, a familiar fire burning in his eyes in response. “You're lucky I enjoy fucking the attitude out of you so much,” he says, grinding into you ever so softly. Good thing you enjoy that thoroughly as well.

Azriel's fingers abandon you suddenly, his mouth following suit as he moves away from you completely. You almost feel cold when he does, leaning forward into the High Lord's arms, instinctively seeking his warmth instead. He welcomes you despite your bickering, caressing your back lovingly.

Even though this had been your idea and you had been more than insistent, now that it was about to happen you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. This wasn't the first time you had done anal, or even that Azriel or Rhys had fingered you like that, but Azriel was big, and taking either of them in your cunt always made you feel incredibly full. You might have bitten more than you could chew wanting to have them both like this.

It was also impossible to see behind you so every little noise left you wondering what was about to happen, the anticipation driving you crazy. Apparently that was easily remedied as Rhysand simply put his daemati abilities to good use and shared his view with you, showing the way Azriel coated his cock in that tonic of his that he also used when he was stretching you out. You drop a chaste kiss on his cheek, a small thanks for easing your nerves. He lets out a distracted hum in acknowledgement, too focused on the sight of Azriel fisting his cock as he stared at the way your cunt swallowed Rhys.

You can't help but tense up slightly when Azriel comes closer and reaches out to hold your hip, cursing yourself mentally. After insisting so much, you really didn't want to make them feel like you weren't ready or getting cold feet. You still wanted this more than anything. He simply leans down, dropping a soft kiss over your spine and mumbles against the skin, “I promise I'll take care of you, angel.”

Nodding, you lay onto Rhys' chest, who wraps his arms around you, and let them take the lead, focusing on taking deep breaths and letting the way they touch you relax your body, trusting they will make this amazing for you. The High Lord reaches between your bodies wordlessly, finding your clit and rolling it slowly around his thumb until you're melting into him, short puffs of breath hitting his heated skin.

The next time Azriel reaches for your hip, there's no room for hesitation or nerves as he thumbs at your hole before lining himself up properly, only a tremble passing through your body at the feeling, one that convinces him that you were ready.

“Need you to arch your back for me,” Azriel says, running a hand up your spine as you follow his command. “Just like that.”

A choked whimper escapes you as he manages to coax the thick head of his cock into you carefully. Knowing the adjustment you have to make just to fit him in your cunt, this almost feels surreal. He doesn't move for a while, letting you adjust as his hands fall on your sides, squeezing comfortingly.

“Let me see you, darling.” Rhys' voice breaks you out of your thoughts, abandoning the safe place you'd created for yourself in his neck, lifting yourself up on trembling arms so you could look up at his hauntingly beautiful face. He lets out a breathy chuckle, one strong hand coming up to hold your cheek as he takes notice of your half lidded eyes and the small pants escaping you, thumbing at your lower lip. “You look like such a pretty mess.”

No matter how much you love to argue with him, you can't even bring yourself to deny it. Everything felt too sensitive in that moment, and not only being stretched out in both holes but also the way his thumb kept abusing your clit were clouding your mind further into the abyss with each passing breath. He tilts his head as he watches the fight leave your eyes, a wicked smirk growing on his face.

“I wonder,” he starts, hand dropping to your thigh, “what will happen if I do this.” As soon as the words leave his mouth he pulls his hips back slightly and fucks his cock back into you, not giving you a chance to even prepare yourself. A gasp escapes you, nails biting into his shoulders as he repeats the motion, grinding into you.

“Slowly, Rhys,” Azriel warns behind you, taking advantage of your distraction to drive a bit more of his cock into you, letting out a groan of his own when he barely finds resistance, your tight walls fighting to accommodate him.

“She can take it. Can't you, darling?”

You felt close to insanity, the way they both stretched you out sending you to another realm of pleasure, hands grasping for Rhysand's face, bringing him into a messy kiss. He was right, you could take it, and despite feeling damn near overwhelmed between the both of them, you still wanted more.

A purr of approval echoes in your mind, the familiar sound making your toes curl, prompting yet another shaky moan past your parted lips. Need more? He speaks into your mind, biting your lip at the same time. Please. You would worry about how easy you had been reduced to begging another day, right now you were ready to do just about anything for them not to stop, and for Azriel to hurry. Tell him. Beg him to fuck your ass, nice and pretty.

“Azriel,” you breathe out, “I can take it.”

Rhysand's teeth sink harder into your lip, a light reprimand for not obeying him completely. It's not like you ever do, he can't be too surprised. He lets out a soft chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth. Even if he wasn't privy to the mental conversation you were having without him, Azriel knew you both well and your body even better, he knew exactly what you needed.

“Keep moving,” he throws at Rhys, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. His grip tightening on you as his patience threatens to slip at the mere thought of finally fucking you. The High Lord follows his command obediently, both his hands grasping onto the sides of your thighs as he starts thrusting into you harder, hitting all the right spots.

It's a welcomed distraction, one Azriel is clearly counting on to keep moving inside you without a chance of hurting you, but the stimulation on your clit is missed immediately, prompting you to do it yourself, circling it between your fingers in time with Rhys' thrusts.

“Fuck. You're taking me so well,” Azriel lets out as he also starts grinding into you, thrusting his cock out slowly only to push it back in a bit deeper, repeating the motion a few times until he was completely seated inside you, stopping his motions to let you adjust, as your body trembled against theirs.

It was hard to wrap your head around what you were feeling. You had never felt so full, had never been so full, but Rhys doesn't give your mind a chance to linger, always wanting to see you absolutely wrecked. He starts fucking into you even harder, making you forget yourself.

An orgasm hits you unexpectedly a few thrusts in, after floating in calm waters for so long your body gives in at the first proper stimulation it receives. Your forehead falls on his shoulder, eyes rolling back, a choked moan escaping you, a scarred hand replacing yours against your clit intensifying the trembles running through your body as you arch into him and fall into darkness.

The fog doesn't disperse from your mind right away when you come down, barely registering the way Azriel wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you up until your back is up against his chest, the angle driving his cock even deeper inside, your legs still spasming softly as your hands move to hold onto Rhysand's waist.

“So fucking beautiful, all fucked out for us,” Rhysand praises, a purr in his chest as if he had been the one to cum. You can't do much but blink up at him, a shiver running down your spine at the hunger in his gaze. “Don't tell me you're already tired, darling.”

You swallow around a dry throat, trying to push past the haziness and find a good rebuttal for the High Lord's teasing when Azriel kisses your neck, stealing your attention and clouding your mind before you get the chance. The simple gesture sends a shudder down your body, making you clench around them, both males smirking around a moan at your reaction.

“Are you?” The shadowsinger whispers right into your ear, the teasing tone to his voice reminiscent of the menace watching the scene unfold in front of you. You shake your head in vehement denial. Azriel tuts, biting your earlobe. “Use your words, angel.”

“I’m not tired,” you rush to explain. “Still need you, need you both.”

“Want us to fuck you?”

“Wanna make you cum. Please.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Azriel is pushing you gently back down closer to Rhys, both males maneuvering you until they have a good enough angle and start thrusting into you in tandem, tentatively at first, trying not to overwhelm you too fast once again, though it's easier said than done, especially when you were still trembling on the edge.

Even as they pick up their pace, you can tell Azriel is holding himself back. He has fucked you enough times for you to know the way he moves and rolls his hips by heart. It's sweet, incredibly so, and it's on occasions like these that make you doubt you will be able to keep this relationship platonic, but right now you needed him to fuck you until you couldn't think straight.

Moving your hips back against them as best as you can, your hand finds his, murmuring between harsh breaths, “Harder.”

A single word sends them both moving frantically, a drawn out moan echoing around the room along with sounds of wet skin slapping together and mindless praises. When you asked them to do this, you hadn't stopped to think that this would also be their first time, and that they would be into it as much as you were.

In a mess of limbs and sweat, tucked in between their strong bodies, you feel a familiar knot low in your stomach tightening rapidly. You don't even get a chance to warn them when Rhysand beats you to it, a curse escaping him as he cums inside you, milking himself dry, hips never stopping. Even if you hadn't been unbearably close already, watching the High Lord lose control, holding your body closer as he spilled inside you, would have certainly sent you over the edge either way.

This time you have time to prepare for it, to bask in the pleasure without feeling like you'd been drowned. Though this doesn't make it any less intense, nothing with these two is ever anything less than intense. You see stars bursting behind your eyelids, incoherent words and gasped moans escaping your lips as you fall forward, trusting that they will hold you and coax as much pleasure from you as they can.

Rhysand kisses you as you're coming down, parting from your abused lips to watch you struggle to catch your breath. He had long since stopped moving inside you, but Azriel's thrusts still moved you along his cock enough for oversensitivity to start biting.

“Holding back, Az?” He asks, staring into hazel eyes, his hands moving to hold onto your asscheeks, assisting him, and giving him an even better view in the process.

Turning your head, you try to watch him as well, the handsome male throwing a stupidly gorgeous smile at you when he catches you looking. As irresistibly handsome as the shadowsinger always is, this had to be your favorite look on him. Azriel leans over you while you're too busy gawking at him, letting some of his weight fall on you and Rhys.

“Just wanted to watch you first,” he murmurs, dropping two messy kisses to your shoulder and another to your neck, speeding up his pace as he starts chasing his orgasm.

His gaze locks on Rhysand's once again, their eyes never straying from each other as his hips start faltering, getting closer. When the High Lord grabs the back of his neck and pulls him into a hungry kiss, you feel a shudder running through him, his thrusts turning short and harder as he cums inside you at last, filling you up just like Rhys had done. You can't help but let out a needy moan, not only at the feeling but also at the sight. You wonder if they'd let you watch them like they so often watch the other fuck you.

Rhysand breaks away from the kiss with a small laugh, blinding purple eyes finding yours. “I really need to teach you how to think quietly.”

Rolling your eyes, you simply drop a quick kiss to his lips when Azriel moves back, hands splaying over your ass, thumbs pushing the fat apart, taking one last look at both of their cocks nestled inside you, at how full you were.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pulling out of you carefully and helping Rhys do the same, turning you around gently, allowing you to properly see him again. “Are you alright?”

“More than,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, hugging his body as close as possible. You just about start purring when you feel Rhysand's hands fall on his waist, holding you both in his embrace. You almost wished you could freeze time right then, and stay in that moment forever.

[entitled-fangirl]

Choose me.

Cregan Stark x reader

Summary: the reader reveals her fears. Cregan is there to reassure her that they are of no consequence.

Masterlist

........................................................................

"You've haven't been yourself as of late," Cregan noted as he entered their chambers. "What ails you?"

She looked up from the sofa, only to look away again, "Nothing. I… I am fine."

He sighed, fully entering the room and beginning to untie his cloak, "I'm tired of us ignoring one another. Let us put this past argument behind us."

She bit the inside of her cheek, "Forgive me for being so easily irritable."

He threw the cloak on the bed and rounded the back of the couch, leaning down to her. "I had never heard you raise your voice before."

She sighed, "I don't believe I had until then."

He kissed the crown of her head and moved away from the couch. "Why do you suppose that is then?"

She set her embroidery project aside, "It does not matter."

He frowned, "It does to me."

She shook her head, "It's only… the issues of a woman."

He moved in front of the couch now, tilting his head curiously, "your moon blood?"

She shrugged lightly, "Something of that sort."

He shook his head and sat next to her, "Don't do that. Don't shut me out."

"You deal with enough of your own problems, as well as the North's. You shouldn't have to deal with mine as well."

"You are my wife. I am supposed to love and care for you. And make you happy. Please allow me to."

She shifted to lean against the arm of the sofa and pull her legs up to her chest, "My body has been complicated as of late."

He gently pulled her legs out and onto his lap, caressing her ankle softly, "Complicated? How so?"

"My mood is off as if I have no control."

He paused in thought, "The only time I've witnessed this is during your moon blood. It all adds up, does it not?"

"I am not bleeding."

He frowned in pure confusion, "I thought-"

"I've not had it yet."

His brows lifted, "Ah. I see. When did you last have it?"

She hesitated and pulled her legs up to her chest again.

He sighed, "Answer honestly, please."

When she looked up at him with watery eyes, his expression softened, "Why are you crying?"

She rested her head on her knee to avoid eye contact and sniffled, "I dunno."

He shuffled closer and gently lifted her head to look at him. He wasn't going to let her avoid his gaze, "You're crying. Tell me the reason."

Her eyes welled up with more tears as she looked at him, "I'm frightened."

His brows furrowed, "Frightened?" He wanted to scoff, but it was clear this was no joking matter for her. "Of what?"

"Death."

A shudder went down his spine. He pulled her up and into his lap, "Tell me, my girl. Whose?"

She placed her hands on his chest and stared into his eyes, "Mine."

Cregan paused. "Why in the names of the old gods and the new would you be frightened of that so suddenly?"

She took a deep breath and her voice was barely heard, "I believe I'm with child."

As if ice cold water had been dunked on him, Cregan froze in place. "W…What?"

She pulled away and wiped at her cheeks.

"You… you're sure?"

She nodded, "I've not bled for… two months now."

He let out a shuddered breath. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"I… I can't…"

His eyes widened, "You can't what?"

She pulled away from him further and began to move from his lap.

His face fell, "Wait, no. No, no, no. Don't pull away, please."

He reached out frantically to pull her back, but she flinched away from him.

She began to lightly sob as she stood there.

Cregan stood up as well, holding his arms out wide for her, "Sweet girl…"

"You won't pick me."

He paused, completely lost, and beginning to panic, "What? What are you talking about? I'll always pick you." He stepped forward, "What do you-"

She flinched away again, harshly wiping at her cheeks when more tears came. Her breathing became more rugged as the moments passed.

He sighed lightly and spoke softly, "You've got to calm yourself. You'll faint panicking like that."

The breathing continued and she began to see stars so she sat herself on the floor.

He quickly knelt down, careful not to get too close, but near enough to comfort her.

She sniffled, "Like Aemma… you… you'll pick the babe over me…"

He suddenly understood. 

"No," he said firmly. "No." He reached out, pulling her hand from her face to get her to look at him, "I won't. I would never pick the babe over you. Never."

She sniffled and shook her head reverently.

He felt his chest constrict. "You must believe me. Please."

Her eyes studied him intensely.

"If it came down to you or the babe, I would choose you. Every time, I would choose you."

Her voice was a croak, "You don't know that."

He felt like crying himself. "I do know that. Do not…" He took a breath to calm himself. "I love you more than anything. Trust me."

"Aemma trusted Viserys."

He shook his head, "What King Viserys wanted more than anything was an heir. I just want you."

Her puffy eyes met his, "What if you change your mind?"

"I am not changing my mind- not ever. Understand?"

Her eyes watered again, but she nodded.

"I want this with you. This child." He sighed, "But if you are in danger at any point, I will choose you. Without hesitation."

She sniffled as she considered his words.

He held out his arms again, "C'mere."

She clambered into his lap, practically melting into him once there.

He held her tightly, determined to reassure her through touch alone.

"You're my girl. Death will not find you while you're in my arms."

............................................................................

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[prettyfastcars]

owned | Mob!Lando

Summary: You took the job because the pay was extremely good. Your boss’ reputation didn’t make that much of a difference to you. After all, his kids were who you would be spending most of your time with, not the single father… right? 

Themes: nanny!reader, infidelity, sort of dark!mob!lando, smut, explicit language, possessive!lando, breeding kink (brief)

“I’d like to see you before you leave.” 

It was the same sentence every night. Every single night. And each night, those words tormented you. You felt too much at the same time. Guilt. Shame. Hunger. Lust. More guilt. Anticipation. 

The first night, on your first day many months ago, when he first said those words to you when he came home from work, you thought they were harmless. Maybe a caring father wanting to know how his kids behaved with their nanny on her first day. You’d thought that he’d ask you about your day with his kids. 

And he did ask. But that wasn’t all. When you left his study room that night to go home, something in you had changed. Nothing had happened without your consent, and yet it felt like he had invaded a part of you that you didn’t know existed. And the worst part was, you couldn’t wait for him to do it again. 

And now, that damn sentence had become part of your routine. 

After putting the kids to bed, and making sure they were asleep and snoring adorably, you made your way to those huge doors of his study room. 

You didn’t need to knock anymore, you just walked in and shut the doors behind you. 

And there he was. The man most people were scared of in this city. The man who had hired you as the nanny for his kids. Also the man whom you slept with each night before going home to your oblivious boyfriend. 

Lando stood by the large window, looking down at his front yard which was easily one of the most impressive features of his cape cod style mansion. As usual, he was sipping on his drink. Hand running through his curly hair. He had his back to you but you knew he must have the top buttons of his shirt undone. 

You cleared your throat as you approached his lean body standing by the window. Lando turned to face you then, smiling as he watched you walk over to him. Once you were close enough, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer. 

Nuzzling your neck and breathing in your scent he said, “Hi baby, how was your day?” 

“Um, good.” You gasped when you felt his gentle kisses up and down your neck. 

“How were the kids?” He asked, casually kissing your skin like this was normal. 

“They were great, as always.” Your heart raced as you wrapped your arms around him, his body heat felt familiar and… good. It felt safe being here with him, no matter how wrong it was. 

“You missed me?” He asked, pulling you even closer as he playfully nibbled on your skin. “‘Cause I missed you. I thought of you all day, you know that?” He pulled away to look at you. “I saw you in this little dress this morning and I couldn’t stop thinking about fucking you in it.” 

He leaned in to kiss you, like he always does, but tonight you stopped him. You turned your head just the slightest bit so he’d miss your mouth. And he didn’t like that. 

“I… I can’t stay tonight.” You whispered, looking down at the buttons on his shirt instead of into his pretty eyes. Because you could never resist them. 

Lando sighed, kissing along your jaw. You could smell a faint hint of the whiskey he’d just been drinking. “Why do you always do this? Hmm?” He whispered into your ear, “Why do you act like you don’t want this?” 

He placed his glass down on his desk and let his hands wander all over you. He ended up pushing you onto the edge of his desk, stepping in between your legs. One hand sliding under your dress and caressing your thighs, while the other ran up and down your back lovingly. 

“I have to go home.” You said, looking into his eyes and immediately regretting it because he could get you to do anything with one look of those soft eyes. 

“To him?” He asked in an accusatory tone. His expression changed from calm to annoyed. He tsked in disappointment when you remained quiet. “How many times are you gonna talk about this, baby?” 

“I can’t just break up with him.” You argued. “We’ve–,” 

He cut you off. “Oh? So you can’t break up with him but you have no issues going home to him every night with my cum still dripping from your pussy, huh?” 

You used to find his crude words shocking, but not anymore. “It’s not as easy as you think.” 

Lando scoffed, “I’ll make it easier for you if you want.” 

You knew what he insinuated. He was the man he was because of his crooked ways after all. And you immediately shook your head. “Don’t hurt him.” 

That only pissed him off more. His hand moved from your back to wrap around your neck, “We’re not gonna play this little game anymore, you hear me?” He whispered against your skin, lips moving along your jaw while his fingers toyed with the seam of your underwear. 

You struggled to find the right words. So he continued. 

“How long are you gonna keep him in the dark, hmm? How long are you gonna keep going home and sleep beside him while you’re still filled with my cum every night?” He scoffed. “He’s gonna find out someday.” He stated. “Better tell him the truth.” 

“Lando…” You were barely able to think coherently when he easily slid his fingers inside you, stroking you perfectly like he always does. You squirmed and whimpered, before whispering, “This is wrong. We should stop.” 

“So you keep saying.” He answered, arrogant and smug. “Yet you come here each and every night to get fucked.” He pulled away to look into your eyes, still finger-fucking you just hard enough to keep you wanting more but not making you come just yet. “Does this feel wrong, baby?” 

You let out a loud moan as his finger hit the right spot. “Please…” You begged, you didn’t know what for. 

He smirked. “Look at you,” He cooed, “I know he doesn’t touch you like I do. You’re wasting your time with him when you belong to me. You belong right here,” He whispered, pulling his fingers all the way out before sliding them back in, making you moan even louder, “See?” 

You opened your mouth to answer, probably about to beg him to touch you more, but he was already pushing you down onto his desk. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his lean waist as he bent down to kiss you. His hand still around your neck while the other slid the strap of your slip dress down your shoulder. 

He let go of your throat eventually, still kissing you passionately as his hands quickly got rid of your dress, letting it fall to the ground careless as his mouth kissed down your neck, further down your chest until he latched on to one of your nipples. He sucked on it gently as your back arched off the desk, with you whining in bliss. 

You cried out, “Lando…” 

“I know, baby.” He whispered, “I know.” 

Your fingers found their way into his soft, curly hair and you tugged on it softly, making him groan as he kissed his way up to your neck once again while he slid your underwear down your legs quickly. 

“You’re mine.” He whispered against your tender, swollen lips, “All mine.” 

His hands quickly undid his trousers and you immediately felt his tip, leaking with precum, slightly pressing against your wet folds as he slid it up and down before aligning it to your dripping hole. 

Lando held himself up with one hand, bent over you as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna break things off with him tonight.” He said in that authoritative voice of his, the one which made you tremble and clench your thighs together. “And tomorrow you’ll be all mine, and mine alone. You understand?” 

You nodded, panting in need. 

“That’s my good girl.” He whispered before slowly sliding his cock inside you. You whimpered as he filled you up perfectly, stretching you out just enough to make you lose your mind. He groaned as he began moving in and out of you, setting a pace that made your heart race even faster than before. He slowed down for a moment, thrusting into you nice and slow as he hovered above you, looking down at you with parted lips and intense eyes. “Do you know how often I think about us living here together?”

You couldn’t look away from his pretty eyes, couldn’t think about anything else as he fucked you with deep, slow strokes of his cock. He leaned in to kiss your lips, swallowing your moans as he pulled out completely and pushed back into you, making you gasp and whine in pleasure. 

“We’ll be so happy together.” He whispered, kissing along your jaw. “The kids love you,” Then he chuckled, “I love you,” He murmured into your ear. He picked up his pace then, pounding into you relentlessly, as he kissed your open mouth, swallowing all your moans and whimpers in the process. “Think about how happy we would be.” 

You whined upon hearing his words, and also the sounds your bodies made together, filling the entire study. 

“Look at me, baby.” He stared down at you, his pretty eyes seemed even prettier in the dimmed room. “Do you know how often I think about you carrying more kids for me?” He was relentless as he pounded into you like he owned you. “You’ll be such a pretty mom, all swollen, and these tits would be nice and full too,” He leaned in again, kissing you softly before whispering, dangerously. “Would that finally make you leave that piece of shit? Hmm? Is that what it’s gonna take?” 

You tried answering but it ended with a loud moan as his cock reached all the right places. He smirked and sped up into you again, relishing the feeling of you wrapped around him like you were made for it. Hearing you moan and squirm under him only encouraged him to thrust deeper into you. 

“I’ll…” You whined, “I’ll talk to him. Tonight.” You struggled to form proper sentences as his body moved perfectly against yours. “I promise.” 

“That’s good.” He whispered, wiping a tear which fell down your face. “Because I’m done being patient now, you hear me?” 

You nodded quickly, whining as he sped up again, fucking you so hard you could hear the papers and files on top of his desk falling to the ground and neither of you cared. 

“Come for me, baby.” He whispered, his voice strained and raspy. “Come with me.” 

Your mind was foggy by then, and it took your brain a few seconds to register and process his words. Not even a few moments later, you felt him twitch inside of you, his cock throbbing against your walls. 

“Fuck,” He came with a growl, gripping your hips and filling you up like he always does. 

You whined as you came around him as well, crying his name and moaning loudly. You felt his smirk against your neck as he kissed his way up to your lips again. 

“Tomorrow,” He whispered, reminding you of what you promised, “I’ll fuck you in my bed until the sun comes up.” 

You could only nod as you felt his cum beginning to drip down your inner thighs. 

— 

He stood by the window again, watching your car as it drove away down the long driveway and out of his property. 

This would be the last time he promised himself. From now on you wouldn’t have to go home each night. You’d just stay right here, where you belonged, under his roof and in his care. 

But just in case things didn’t go according to plan… 

Lando grabbed his phone and made a quick call. Barking his orders at his guy who listened intently on the other side. 

“She just left. Go wait by her apartment complex.” He smirked as he spoke, “I’m willing to bet they’ll have an argument, and just as always, he’ll storm out to go get some air.” 

Lando knew that because… well, he always kept an eye on you through the discrete cameras he’d had installed all around your building. How else would he sleep in peace if he didn’t have eyes on his girl at all times? 

He continued, “I’ll tell you when he leaves her apartment, and you’ll move then. Wait for him to walk past the alleyway, and remember, make it look like an accident.” He sighed, even as excitement washed over him, “Can’t have my girl blame me for killing her ex boyfriend.”

--

part 2

[pearlymel]

·˚ ༘ ·If bad, then why does it feel good?˚. ༉‧₊˚ ft. Sylus.

SUM. You happen to share genuine feelings with the supposedly man you hate.

WC. 2.5k

WARNINGS. not mc fem! reader, fluffy smut MDNI, emotional feelings, unprotected sēx, soft needy sēx, enemies to lovers type shit, not proofread.

NOTES. Just sylus. Nothing more.

It always comes down to this.

The constant hatred for him, you want to literally pierce a bullet to his head. Why does he have to smirk everytime you try to throw curses towards him? Why does he have to press those dangerous lips over yours to shut you up?

Why does it feel so good everytime?

Damn him.

Lately, something—someone has been bothering you. A certain hunter from Linkon city who seems to have earn herself some attention from the leader of Onychinus.

You squint your eyes at the memory of their interaction, it was pathetic. He didn't seem to have any hatred for her whatsoever, he even seemed to help her.

Is he really pretending to be the good guy in front of her? Or was it all a facade?

“you're zoning out,” Sylus drawls lazily while tapping a finger on your cheek to bring back your attention to him.

Right, you were trying to kill him, again.

You still had him down against the seat while you were above him, still careful not to perch yourself on his lap. Your index that brushed too closely to the trigger shook even more when his thumb played dangerously close to the trigger, resting right on top of your index finger, and you feel like the air is being taken away from your lungs.

“It seems like this isn't entertaining you anymore,” you shoot him a stare and he raises an eyebrow, “perhaps… miss hunter is being too soft on you.”

You watch at how his eyebrows raise in amusement, he knew he had the upper hand in this situation, and it was clear to him that you did as well.

He noticed your voice change, and how your fingers still trembled against the gun still pointed at his chest. Even in your feigned bravado, you couldn't mask your unease. Too easy.

"My," Sylus' eyes darkened as he looked up at you with the slightest curl of his lips lifting upwards, "Are you.. jealous?”

This is ridiculous, and you feel offended even. “Why the hell would i be jealous of stray cats?” you argue back, and he seems almost pleased by your answer, “atta girl.”

Not being able to handle him anymore, you make the decision to press on the trigger without thinking, that the loud bangcaused you to gasp in fear as you drop the gun from your hand.

So close.

Sylus remained still for a few moments as he glanced to his side at the bullet hole on the seat beside his head.

“You missed.” He stated, like he was disappointed.

“Did you not want me to miss?!”

He smiles, "And spoil the fun? Never." Clearly he was playing with your feelings at this point.

He brought a hand up, his fingers tangling into the messy strands of your hair, pulling firmly enough to tilt your head to the side. His eyes studied your own, his gaze roaming over every part of your expression, trying to figure out what you would do next.

"You should try again." He said lowly, his voice almost a whisper. "Maybe you'll hit me this time.”

You press your lips into a thin line at the proximity between you, and your hands find his shoulders, “you can't die.. yet.”

"Oh, don't you worry, sweetie. I'm not gonna die so easily." He let out a dry laugh as if it was obvious.

"That is, unless you end up killing me.”

The change in your expression didn’t go unnoticed by him, the worry, the concern, the frustration, the anger. It's all so interesting.

His hand left your hair to snake around your waist to finally pull you down on his lap, and that's when he felt your hands come to hold his face so dearly, your eyelashes fluttering between his eyes and lips.

You held him close to you as if he was the only thing that mattered—and he was, really.

You embraced him like you were lovers, like you were holding someone dear in your arms. With your arms looped around his shoulders, to pour all your love into his lips, you always did that whenever you kisses. Always soft, sweet, and slow.

Yet Sylus wanted to return the kiss deeply, his tongue trying to seek yours in a desperate, hungry manner. Like he's never kissed you before.

You part your lips for his tongue to delve further in, exploring every inch of your mouth as if he were trying to memorize the taste, the one he's already used to, but it only seems to be sweeter with each exchanged kiss.

He let out a low moan, feeling completely consumed by you. His hands continued to roam your body, exploring every contour and curve, every dip and valley, as if he was trying to commit you to memory.

You pant softly when his lips leave yours to graze the skin of your jawline and neck, but you tug ay his hair before he could do anything.

“no marks.”

“and why?”

“I can't walk around looking like that—”

Then it hits you, what the hell were you even doing?

You push yourself off him, stumbling slightly back when you stood up abruptly, but you don't reach for the hand that's out for you to balance on.

“This is messed up.” You say your thoughts out loud before you could stop yourself, and your fists clench to your sides.

He leaned forward to follow after you, leaving the warmth of the seat behind him, he then speaks with a tilt of his head, "I'd say what we've been doing is pretty normal for our relationship, wouldn't you?"

You sigh, “normal? What even are we?”

Ah, that question.

"Oh, you know. We’re just enemies with a mutual hatred for each other, who just happen to kiss each other on the regular. Nothing out of the ordinary here, sweetie." His tone dripped with sarcasm, “totally nothing odd here.” you try matching his sarcasm with a glare.

He met your glare with his own gaze, his expression suddenly turning serious.

"Why are you acting like doing this," he gestured between the two of you, "is something completely new? Has it ever occurred to you that doing this may actually feel good?" He paused for a moment, watching your expression twist into confusion, “you say you hate me, but let me ask you this: what do you feel when you're around me? Hate, or something else entirely?”

"I—” you press your lips shut when you realise you don't even know the answer to that. How did he feel about this?

"it feels like a drug yet I can't let go off." You settle with your answer quietly.

He takes a slow step forward, “you make it sound like an addiction, sweetie.”

“it is an addiction.” you confirm bluntly, and his smirk widens further.

“Mm, a drug you can't let go of.”

“A drug i need to let go of.”

He stops at his tracks, "You,” Sylus stares down at you, “think you can just let go of me that easily?" He asked, before moving closer, his body practically looming over yours now, trapping you against the wall. His hand came up to rest on the wall beside your head, his arm caging you in.

You're trapped, with nowhere to go, “i made a mistake, I'll leave—”

“No.” he captured your wrist in a tight grip when you tried making your way out.

Sylus’ grip on your wrist loosened when you winced the first time he grabbed it, his hand shifting down instead to intertwine his fingers with yours.

"You really think I'd just let you walk out that door and never see you again? You must be joking," he scoffs, his tone taking a lower route, and you're surprised.

"You're... you're mine, damnit.”

You blink twice, “since.. when?”

He lets out a sharp exhale, his patience and self-control slowly fading. "Since our first shared kiss," he practically growls out, "you may be a difficult, infuriating, little brat, but goddamnit if you're not mine.”

Sylus can see the range of emotions flickering across your face as you digest his words, those same expressions he always sees, this time, it's all anger and frustration.

"You look like you're about to explode, darling," he says, his voice coming out in a mocking drawl. "Want to shout at me? Let it out. Tell me how much you hate me again, because we both know that's bullshit.”

“it's no—”

“don't even try to lie to me,”

“i hate y—”

“lying, again.”

“Sylus.” You let out sharply, you were getting tired or him cutting you off.

He listens, it doesn't feel too shocking now. You're just.. overwhelmed.

Do you feel like crying? Yes. Do you want to really cry in front of him? No, of course not. But the tears threatening around your eyes is too hard to wipe off now.

And Sylus tenses when he realized the gravity of the situation, he doesn't waste time to lift your chin up. And the sight makes his heart ache abnormally.

“don't,” he whispers softly before taking you in a warm embrace, where your face us pressed against his chest.

You exhale, the hug is genuine, it feels like he's hugging your heart. You wrap you arms back around him, no wonder you always feel your little heart beating around him.

"we're both stubborn, hot-headed, and too proud to back down," He whispers against your hair, “But beloved, i… am sorry if i failed to see your genuine feelings.”

You tighten your arms around him, beloved, you like the sound of that.

You tip your head back up, and you can notice the way his eyes seem to soften… like that one snowy time.

And you lean to peck his lips, it makes him smile before he returns the kiss with a gentle press of his lips onto yours.

…

You mentally agreed with yourself that you would stop at kissing. Only a few kisses here and there… It felt too easy and natural to listen to his whispers

Your eyes rolled back almost every time he nudged against your sweet spot, making your jaw slack, and you don't let go off the hem of his blouse for not even a second with how of a tight hold you had on the fabric.

You would both get like this everytime your emotions were heightened. You crave this, it's a need at this point.

But this time it's different, it doesn't feel like two beasts ravishing eachother, this feels… slow, and romantic.

You both were not even fully undressed.

"Sylus," you whispered breathlessly, followed by a soft whine with how full you felt with the inches buried deep inside you.

spreading your legs even wider, Sylus pushed himself deeper until you took all of him. His hands caressing your trembling thighs, "Feel me, what you do to me." His hips snapped forward in a slow rhythm, grinding against your sensitive clit with each thrust.

Sweat glistened on his skin as he worked you over, oh how tortuous it felt with you clenching around him, your slick walls fluttering and massaging his aching cock. The wet sounds of your skins filled the room, obscene and erotic.

Sylus reveled in it, in the knowledge that he was the one making you break so beautifully.

Leaning in, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your desperate moans. His tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you thoroughly as his hips continued their slow rhythm—threatening to just thrust in fast and hard.

Yet he knew better than to ruin the moment.

Breaking the kiss, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your intoxicating scent. "Do you want to cum?" he murmured huskily, his words vibrating against your skin. "I want to feel you come all over my cock." His fingers found your clit, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nub but your hand tries to pry his fingers away, you didn't want this to end just yet.

“Please no, i-i want to feel more of you.. harder.” a plea, and he swears you're going to be the death of him.

"Greedy princess, aren't you? Wanting more of me even when you're already stuffed full." He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours. You could feel every thick, hard inch of him buried inside you, stretching you deliciously.

His hands now gripped your hips bruisingly tight as he started to move faster, harder. Just like you wanted, he was only following along.

"I'll give you more, sweetie. I'll fuck you so deep, so hard, you'll feel me for days," Sylus promised with a chuckle, and you arch your back while pulling at the fabric of his blouse, "gonna ruin this pussy until it's molded perfectly to my cock."

True to his word, he picked up the pace, pounding into you relentlessly. And you wanted to scream.

“h-hah, right there—” your head rolled back and your lips stayed parted, your eyes half-lidded and you could barely feel your legs.

Sylus could feel his own release fast approaching, his balls drawing up tight, but he gritted his teeth, holding himself back. He wanted to make you come first, wanted to feel your slick walls spasming around him.

"That's it, sweetie" he panted, “Mmh—ah—!” and you cry out when you came, it felt different, you feel wetter than before, you just squirted without even realising from how fucked out your head was.

Sylus groaned as he felt you gushing all over his crotch, your body quivering and quaking in the throes of your intense orgasm. "Fuuuck, that's it my love, let it all out," he rasped, continuing to thrust into your fluttering heat as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

As your climax subsided, leaving you boneless and panting, Sylus slowed his thrusts but didn't stop. He rolled his hips in deep, languid strokes, savoring the feeling of your slick walls clenching around his throbbing length.

Sylus drank in your needy whimpers and moans with messy kisses this time, “I love you," he babbled, and you barely comprehend what he had just said.

And with a final thrust, Sylus buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep inside you. He groaned long and low, his hips twitching with each spurt of his release into you.

You both gaze into eachother's eyes after calming down, your eyes trying to search for the love in them.

“what are you starting at?” You mumble first, breaking the silence. He caresses your cheek at first, “etching your face in my head.” His answer was simple, yet it meant too much to you.

“Did you mean it?” You can't help but ask, “when you said you.. love me?”

Sylus’ lips spread before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i love you.” He whispered his declaration of love to you quietly for the second time.

[babyleostuff]

which svt boy is the type of boyfriend with whom you can turn your brain off with | ot13

. . . most to least likely

1 . . . seungcheol

i don’t think anyone is surprised that choi seungcheol is the number one. you wouldn’t have to think AT ALL ever again with him, like come on - he’s big, buffy and dependable (jeonghan’s words, not mine). knowing him, he’d get offended if you tried to “think” - looking out for you, and taking care of you is his number one priority in life. i mean it, it’s his life mission.

2 . . . mingyu

husband material number two, he’s equally fixated on looking out for you as cheol. there is nothing that could distract mingyu from you, your well-being, and safety. the type to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, and always holding your hand when crossing the road. not a single one of your brain cells would have to be active when he’d be around.

3 . . . joshua

the third husband coded man of svt. no matter how distracted you’d get, joshua would be there right by your side to make sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself or get lost if you were out on the town. there would be no need for you to be aware of anything, thanks to your lovely boyfriend. and it’d all come so naturally for him - he wouldn’t even have to think about it.

4 . . . minghao

hao, our silent and attentive boy that looks out for you, no matter what, would always make sure you’re taken care of, to the point where you wouldn’t really have to think around him. you could do whatever, and minghao would have no problem with protecting you from anything that could hurt you. he’s just so aware of you, and your presence.

5 . . . jeonghan

similar to mingaho in the sense that you don’t even realise that you’re not really “thinking” when you’re with him. even before you started dating he was always such a caretaker that it doesn’t really surprise anyone when you mindlessly follow jeonghan everywhere without a single care in the world.

6 . . . wonwoo

wonwoo is everything you could ask for - he is handsome, smart, funny, and most importantly he always makes sure you’re happy, well fed, and safe. he is ready to change a light bulb, make you dinner (even though he can’t cook for shit), pick you up after a party, and pack you lunch before school/work. the best part out of all of this is that you never have to ask for any of this - he just knows when you need him, so why do you need to think when your boyfie is always there for you

7 . . . woozi

woozi is kind of the middle ground between those who are excellent at taking care of you, and those who try their best, but are too easily distracted, or just prefer to be the ones taken care of. jihoon is always there for you, no matter what (obviously), but sometimes he can get a bit distracted, so you’d still have to be aware of your surroundings when out and about, or you’d have to check his luggage before a trip to make sure he packed his toothbrush.

8 . . . chan

a very observant lil bub that always keeps an eye on you. no matter how much you try to convince him you are good on your own, he still takes care of you in every way he can, and with time (you didn’t even realise when) you started to shut your brain off more and more when with your boyfriend. and come on, it makes him so happy when you depend on him, he loves when you grab his hand the second you exit the car, ready to trust your boyfriend with everything and anything.

9 . . . dk

does a pretty good job as being the “thinker” until something doesn't distract him, and because he is easily distracted, well… he is a cutie pie, though, and very obedient, so he will gladly follow you everywhere without much nagging so looking after him isn’t as hard as looking out for hoshi or vernon. there is one situation when you can definitely shut your brain off, and it’s in crowded places, because there is no way dk will let anything happen to you in a crowd.

10 . . . seungkwan

poor baby really tries to take care of you so can confidently shut your brain off with him, but at the end of the day your relationship is very 50/50… okay, more like 30/70 because usually it’s you who has to think about everything. seungkwan still tries to help you out as much as he can, he doesn’t want to be a burden to you, but sometimes he’s just so easily distracted or oblivious to what is happening around him.

11 . . . jun

easily distracted, manipulated, puts himself in dangerous situations on a daily basis, and has the tendency to wander off like a kindergarten kid, so naturally he’s the one to shut his brain off with you. looking after him can be quite tricky sometimes, he has his rebel moments when he want to make your life a living hell by worrying the shit out of you, but the second he sees you getting really stressed he gets back to his polite, and cute self.

12 . . . hoshi

this poor boy would get distracted so easily, you’d have to think for him. if you were out, hoshi would be the one to wander off, or not see the incoming car and almost getting hit by it - you’d have to be the one to save him from everything. it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you, but he’s a kid at heart that needs to be the protected one.

13 . . . vernon

same as hoshi, you need to be alert 24/7 with vernon. distracted easily, and does not understand the concept of dangerous situations - you’d definitely have to be the “thinker” in your relationship. like, if you were going on a trip you’d be the person that plans everything, is in charge of the maps, food, packing clothes, and vernon would be the one to venmo you money.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys

[wolviensabes]

Logan is a brat tamer. 18+ MDNI

Sorta a headcannon not an actual fic, just a few things I think about in my free time :)

Dom/sub things. Don't read past the cut if you don't like that. I used p/t for 'preferred title' for Logan in the relationship. Some people like dom, some like daddy or sir. Just imagine whatever you likes since it's easier than choosing a single one. Ignore mistakes. Gender neutral reader.

Logan is not exactly known for his patience, or to be pushed around.

He would absolutely put you in your damn place if he needed to. You think you can get away with being bratty? I don't think so.

If you so much as say 'no' or disobey him when he tells you to do something, you are over his knee and his hand is smacking your ass at least ten times. You don't realize how effective this method of punishment is until you realize his adamantium skeleton makes his spanks hurt a lot. You're brought to tears every time, and he rubs over your ass when he's done. "Are finished being a brat, hm?" his hand continued to rub soothingly over your red hot backside, handprints imbedded in your skin by now.

"Uh-huh..." you manage, making him smirk slightly as he pulls you up into him. "Such a naughty thing. Why can't you just behave for once?" he asks with a light scold to his voice, but it's mostly calm by now. "What the hell am I gonna do with you?" he sounds a bit amused now, still holding you after and rubs your exposed thigh.

I think a lot of people assume he wouldn't be into toys because he sort of has that 'I'm all you need' vibe, but come on. He has things for you. He's not insecure about it either. And he certainly doesn't get jealous over silicone.

Sometimes he will make you sit on a dildo while you suck him off, knowing it drives you crazy not to have his cock in you. You want him, not silicone. But he doesn't give in if you've been naughty. "You're a lucky girl/boy, at least I let you have something put in that greedy hole of yours." Logan grunts out, watching you struggle to take his dick down your throat, "You've been so unruly today, now you have to deal with your punishment. My cock won't be going in your sweet honey hole, so sit there like a good girl/boy and take your punishment."

Even if you're a brat from Hell, he will tame you down. A single glance and you stiffen and instantly rethink your attitude. "Talk to me like that again, and I will show everyone here why you always scream my name."

He's a good dom though. He knows how to take care of you. Maybe you act like a brat as a way to cope with something that happened in your life, and you need the stability of a dom like that. Logan's had his fair share of traumatized buddies, he is traumatized himself ffs. He can read you easily and identify exactly what's wrong or where your behavior stems from. He can differentiate when your brattiness is on purpose and playful, or when you're struggling mentally. And he will approach it properly.

Sometimes you don't need to be spanked or forced to cum until you're crying for forgiveness and he wipes those tears away. Sometimes you need a sit down and to just talk. Sometimes a verbal scolding with firm yet gentle authority does the trick, or you need to cry and he sits with you so you're not alone.

Not all of it is about sex.

Logan is good with whatever you may need. He's there for you, which is the most important thing. "Come on pup...what's the matter today? You're being a brat for no reason. Why are you being so bad, hm...tell your p/t." The way he asks in a different tone than normal can make you crumble, and sometimes a good cry or needing some grounding helps a lot.

Maybe your brattiness stems from a lack of care in your life, or an absence of a nurturing figure so when Logan shows himself to be a protector, you lash out with bratty behavior.

He obviously notices this, and he is unmoving. You might get frustrated, used to pushing people away and his stern authority frustrates you to lashing out. Logan is smart; he can handle your little tantrum. "You can fight all you want, little one. You're not gonna move me." He says calmly, hypothetically since he's not actually cornering you in any way. He watches you get mad but eventually his persistence pays off and you realize he's not going to hurt you like others may have done in the past.

Logan is the protective figure you needed. He keeps you in line, but he also tends to your needs. Sexually, emotionally, physically, mentally. He's a good dom, able to handle your behavior with ease and keep hold of you when necessary as he fucks you to climax.

Ty for reading my silly thoughts byeee 🧡

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[callsign-datura]

a/n: y'all not a word. just literal ghost!simon for those who like this trope <3 tags: cunnilingus, ghost sex, ghost simon. yeah he's a literal ghost and eats you out.

ghost!simon riley. ghost that died, and is now a ghost. you were his wife-- so he haunts your new home. ghost!simon that scares away the men you try to hook up with after he dies. breaking things near them, flickering the lights whenever they're alone. you're his, not theirs. in life and in death, his. of course he's going to make them piss their pants before you can fuck them. he doesn't blame you, though. he blames them.

ghost!simon who can pass through walls and objects at will and touch them, too. so, when he finds out he can touch you? best bet he does.

ghost!simon whose main hobby in the afterlife is watching you. other ghosts may cause trouble... but he's not that type. he wants to watch his gorgeous wife, all the time, no matter what she's doing. ghost!simon who's a little too eager to watch you possibly touch yourself when you get horny. it's been years at this point, and he knows you- your tells. the way your thighs started to rub together as you laid in bed, tossing and turning.

ghost!simon who gets the idea to try and let you know he's there... watching. "bird," he mumbles. he knows you can't hear him, but he'll talk to you anyway. "so pretty." he brings a hand to your leg, dragging it upward gently-- testingly. he's surprised that he can touch you at all, so he continues. ghost!simon who leans down to kiss your arm. ghost!simon who recognizes the way your body freezes at the contact. who snickers when you curse about it. you know it's him... you know you're haunted by him in the back of your mind, even if you're in denial. --- "simon?" you whisper, sitting up. you know in your logical brain that this isn't happening-- you're just imagining it. but when the bedlight lamp flickers twice, your heart sinks and your stomach flutters. "...s'that you?" you ask, and the lights flicker twice once more. you feel more fleeting touches along the outer sides of your legs, and suddenly the bed dips at your feet. you feel something nudging your legs apart, and you curse yourself at how easily you follow suit and spread your legs. you're not the spiritual type... this can't be happening. maybe you're dreaming? maybe you're already asleep?

--- ghost!simon who moves between your legs and leans down, kissing your leg just above the knee. his hands move up to the waistband of your pants, and he tugs lazily. sure, he's been a ghost for a while-- but it takes ghost energy to move things! you should do it for him. and he hums when you do, watching the way your hips shift as you pull them down, panties following. you know it's him, and that makes him smug. even after all this time you haven't forgotten his touch. his love. he moves and lays down, and the bed dips further beneath him. his weight, still tangible somehow even in the ghost plane, or whatever the fuck it's called. ---

you're questioning if you've gone crazy. you feel hands move up your legs yet again, stopping at your hips as you feel a few kisses at your hip bone. your head falls back and your chest swells. you shut your eyes and try to ignore the fact that simon always kissed you there before he went down on you. more proof that this was him. ---

he can't taste you. all of his senses are gone now, but at least he can feel you and at least you know it's him. his tongue darts out, leaving over the flesh at your hip before he nibbles there. he can use most functions of his body, some at will, others are just defunct. saliva is one that he still has. why? he has no idea. it's not like he can eat in the afterlife.

...well, not actual food, at least. ---

your eyes flutter. it's an odd sensation. you feel him kiss closer to your cunt, and you've fully succumbed to the feeling. your chest swells more and you feel countless emotions-- you knew he was with you, in one way or another. feeling his touch, his kisses. it almost makes you cry. you suck in a breath and lift your hips, and you feel vibration against your flesh, as if he laughed at you. you just wish you could hear it... see his face between your legs... the feeling is enough.

---

his tongue dips out again, moving between your folds, flattening against your clit. his hands find the bottom of your thighs, gently hoisting them up to give him better access as he tilts his head, swirling his tongue in slow circles like he always did. two slow swirls, four quick flicks. he knew how quickly it got you to cum when he was alive. he hopes it's still the same.

---

your hips twitch, and your back arches, soft sweet moans falling from your lips. the friction is odd, but lord if it isn't intense, your pent up body relishing the feeling of whatever the fuck this is. if you were doubting that it was simon before, you fucking knew it was now. you whimper and your hips buck, a heat swirling in your lower stomach. you feel another vibration against you and your clit twitches, another whine leaving your throat.

---

he's never forgotten you or your body. he's never forgotten the memories he had when he was alive, and even though he can't taste you now he remembers it. sickeningly sweet, he remembers. like honey. "pretty pussy," he grumbles, more to himself since he knows you can't hear it. his tongue flicks against your clit again, relishing in the way it makes your back arch and your hole clench. neglected. he knows you haven't had any since he died. dammit he's made SURE you haven't. of course he can only control things within the bounds of this home, but he knows you prefer having sex in your home-- where you can control things. the setting, the ambiance. one thing he loved. you always controlled all of that, and all he had to do was love you. and if he knew anything, it was how to love you. he decides now to just use his tongue. he didn't want to overwhelm you.

---

you were already overwhelmed. your clit twitched again with each flick, your back arching further and your legs twitching as you got closer to your orgasm. you know, you never thought it was possible to get eaten out by a ghost, but here you were.

---

you mumble his name, and he's done for. his pace increases suddenly, and he grunts to himself at the way your body writhes beneath him. his grip on your thighs tightens, and he pins them down to keep you in place, opting to flick his tongue against your clit to just get you to the edge. when you start whimpering and wailing, he slows down-- smirking when you whimper at the loss. he keeps doing that for a few moments before speeding up again, flicking his tongue against your clit and swirling it at the same time, squeezing your thighs once or twice. ---

you fold your hand over your mouth, head falling back against the pillow beneath your head. you cum seconds after he speeds up again, gasping and writhing still. it comes over you in waves, vision dotted and mind hazy with pleasure. your orgasm ebbs, and his movements slow until you're panting. you barely notice when he detaches himself from you, the bed dipping a bit more as he leans over you and kisses your head. "still as pretty as ever. haven't changed a bit, my wife." --- ghost!simon who breaks all rules of the afterlife to get between his pretty wife's legs again.

[yourlocalzombiewriter]

And I don't even like you that much!

Wait…, I do…, fuck

(Black myth wukongs head-canons)

Author note: hi!, I’m not that use to writing and English is not exactly my first language so there might be a lot of spelling mistakes.

And this is my first time writing for Sun wukong (Black myth) so he might not seem in character, if that makes sense. Either way I hope you enjoy!

★ ✵ ★

Assuming you two are already dating, and he’s comfy around you, please prepare for some chaotic moments.

Not a single Moment is dry nor empty with this mischievous monkey.

From spooking you with a clone of himself, or annoying your with one of his many transformations, he never runs out of ideas to surprise you with.

That being said, he is a bit laid back now depending on what period you’re dating him. After the events of journey to the west, he is way more calmer then his “younger” self.

He enjoys the simplicity of day to day activities now, cuddling, cleaning up a small section in which you both share. Or laying out under a tree with you as you read to him.

Those small moments mean much more to him now.

He loves to pridefully declare his fearlessness and having no such thing as “a biggest fear”. But at night that’s quickly disproven, sometimes he uncharacteristically sits in silence. Mind making up fake scenarios of your demise that could have been caused by him, his reputation, his enemies. He has a silent vow to himself to protect you first with his immortal life, no matter the cost and punishment he may endure.

An uncomfortable fear of having something of value so precious, so fragile is almost to much to handle. He doesn’t look down upon you mortal or not, but he will still fret for your safety. He’s so tired of losing things he holds dear, and after not having that feeling for centuries before you came along, he almost gets so wrapped up in the possibility of losing you, he loses sight that he has you right now.

He loves picking you up at random times, doesn’t need to be a situation where you need to be picked up he’ll just do it. No matter height or weight he loves seeing you shocked and giggling.

His most sensitive parts are definitely his tail and ears, maybe his nose too. If you kiss him from ear all across his cheek to his nose, he swears all his immortal lives end there from how his hearts pumping.

He does plan on marrying you, makes it very vocal too in the beginning to make sure you know what your committing to.

Loves when you comb and pick at his fur, don’t even get started on complementing it. He’ll easily sit between your legs for hours as you comb through the top of his head, getting rid of knots and such.

He wraps his tail absentmindedly when you stand near him. He doesn’t really even acknowledge it happening, it usually wraps around your ankle or thigh Or lazily around your hips.

Watches you as you sleep, not even in a creepy way he just has to take time to appreciate you for just your mere existence.

Spoils you with fruits, peaches especially of course, but he mixes it up here to there. Sometimes he just comes waltzing in with buckets if not wagons of ripe fruit from different regions.

When you hurriedly say you cannot eat that much before they wither, he’ll just laugh. Because he knows he can so whatever you leave over he finishes it off happily. But if your generous your free to share with the other demon monkeys on the island.

He likes carrying you in his arms while he rides his nimbus cloud.

You can point to random spots and he’ll happily zoom on over there to let you explore. Of course with him trailing closely behind you.

(I’m aware that in most tellings of journey to the west they say picking up a mortal from the ground is almost impossible, but I’m gonna dismiss that. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

He likes lounging around with you on slow afternoon’s cuddling and engorging in different types of luxuries.

He loves taking you to hot springs, and enjoying time there together relaxing. That or a near by waterfall he frequents.

If he sees something you may like he just snatches it, doesn’t really matter to him where he took it, half of the time he doesn’t know himself. As long as it is worthy to be appreciated by you.

He takes naps on you, just asks you to lay down and then lays on your chest or stomach and falls into a comatose state for a good while.

★ ✵ ★

That’s all I have for right now, I hope these were enjoyable to read!.

( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾

[anadiasmount]

giiiirlll you gotta write some smut blurb for me after this game !!!! the way jude was sooo aggressive and full of energy 🤭🤭 you have too!!

oh my!! here’s a mini blurb ig!! 🤭🤭 mind the spelling errors pls 😔

“don’t look at the window… look at me love… look at how good and so fucking tight you’re taking me y/n,” jude hissed, his hand sneaking up your sides as your eyes fluttered and pleasure. feeling so full. with courage and strength you managed to look him, jude’s eyes dark and lustful with one thing in mind.

he was still on his winning high, adrenaline still rushed in his veins and energetic. he couldn’t stop it, didn’t know how. especially when he saw you wearing his flimsy jersey and just panties underneath. he craved, needed you to his will just for tonight.

he started on the couch, denying your orgasm with his tongue and finger deep in your cunt. then once again on top your desk where he pushed away papers and pens as he took you from behind. it was so dirty yet so hot it made you dizzy. the way he used and manhandled you. yet also being soft to make sure you were okay and wanted this, just as much as he did.

you loved this side of jude, that appeared on games like this where everything could go wrong for him. you loved that he came to you first. with a needy and almost begging voice. how could you not let him? he was wrapped around your finger, and you’d do anything to give him what he wanted.

he kissed you messily, his tongue tracing his name on yours, gliding it along your pulse point and sucking before hitting the area. you bucked your hips down, the pleasure getting so heavy and cloudy the only thing you could focus on was how deep he was. hitting the angle that made your legs shake and whimper his name. clugging on his shoulders afraid to let go.

“jude please… i can’t… you’re so… mhm… so deep,” you cried out, walls clenching around his hard cock that slowly thrusted in and then out, so wet and so easily. “what do you want y/n?” he gripped your jaw gently, forcing you to look at his pretty and fucked out face. “i need you to tell me baby… or else it will be a longer night.”

“to cum… jude please… i need too. i given you all you asked jude… this isn’t what a goal scorer does…” you said struggling, a trembling chin as you kissed his face, your feet bringing him closer to you. “you’re right he doesn’t do this… and you’ve been such a good fucking gurl for me… listening and waited so patiently…” jude moaned, digging his head in the crook of your neck.

you feared that if he stopped you would cry out, your neighbors being able to hear you. the feeling was indescribable, so passionate, so intimate, you didn’t want him to stop. you but your lip, the bubble in your tummy exploding any second if he continued the pace he was at. “please jude, please-”

“yes holy shit… yes y/n you can cum, cum all over my cock, show me how good i’m giving it to you… how it feels,” jude said, kissing you deep hiding the loud moan that would escape your lips as you were driven to the breaking point. jude groaned feeling as you scratched his back, your legs trembling around him, saying his name like a devoted prayer.

so sweet. jude’s cock twitched inside you, being able to feel the white ropes of cum as he controlled his breathing as well, shaky breaths escaping his swollen and plump lips.

it wasn’t just one time. this was the beginning of something that would last until the morning if it was allowed. no matter how many times it happened, you loved this type of sex with him. so meaningful and so longing.

[reidalert]

IT’S OKAY NOT TO BE OKAY | spencer.reid

| spencer reid & fem!reader 3.1k words

| content: a case has you feeling helpless and guilty, and no matter who consoles you, nothing helps. maybe all you need is to take a break, but what if the break is being risky with dr. reid?

| warnings: mentions of death/kidnapping, flashback to the case, reader feeling vulnerable

| author’s note: i haven’t written in a longgg time and boy does it feel good to finally get these words out of my head. it feels like a privilege to get my writing spark back & i can’t wait to share all my ideas with you. i hope you enjoy reading <3

| masterlist

feedback and comments are highly appreciated!

You have thick skin.

Well, that’s what you say to anyone who asks if you’re okay.

But after today? After this case? You’re not sure if that’s true anymore. You don’t get affected easily, not when it comes to blood and gore. You’ve homed in on keeping your reactions and feelings at bay when it comes to that… but what happened out there? It’s made you feel helpless.

You knew from the minute JJ briefed you back at the BAU that this case was something you hadn’t dealt with before. Even Agent Hotchner had asked if you wanted to sit this one out.

But you said no. You wanted to get more experience to become a better profiler and a better agent. And it came at a cost.

You feel like an outsider. Like you’re watching yourself from an outside perspective as you go through airport security. The endless whir of machines and planes landing and taking off in the background do nothing for the thoughts racing in your mind.

You’re the last to be cleared and you know the others are watching you. Their eyes burning through your skin and doing what they do best. Profiling.

You don’t meet their gaze. You know as soon as you make eye contact with one of them, they’ll be asking you questions and it’ll make you torture yourself about whether you’re fit for this job. So, you make your way through the long and endless corridors until you’re at the gate for the jet.

The dull whirring of the jet engines helps you zone out. The leather seats are a cool comfort to your heated self.

Logically, it would make sense to let them know you’re not doing okay and that you need some time to yourself. But who are you kidding? You’re a thick skinned woman who can do anything… so you’ve made them believe.

You’re sitting on the farthest seat in the jet, right in the corner away from everyone else. You can’t deal with the questions you know they’re going to ask you.

But apparently, that doesn’t stop Agent Hotchner from taking the seat opposite you.

“I know what you’re gonna say.” You break the silence but continue staring out the oval window. The city lights below turn smaller and smaller as you progress through the flight.

“And what’s that?” Agent Hotchner asks. You’re not happy he’s here, invading your little self-pity bubble, but you do appreciate the way he keeps his voice quiet.

You shrug. “That something has upset me. Or that I’m too in my head about this case. Along those lines, anyway.”

Agent Hotchner regards you for a moment. You can feel his eyes staring at the side of your face as you purposefully stay looking out the window.

Because you know the second you make eye contact with him, he’ll see what’s going through your head. And he can’t.

“I gathered something was wrong.” His voice is low, a nice baritone that doesn't annoy you. “I know when someone in my team is different. And you’re different.”

You fight back the scoff that’s threatening to spill. “And what is that supposed to mean, Agent Hotchner?”

“Just…” he sighs. You’re very similar to Spencer Reid; in a way that you both struggle to admit when you need help. “If something is bothering you, I am here to listen.”

“Who says something is bothering me?” You kind of regret asking that question as you know damn well he’s about to go into an explanation of how he can see you’re upset.

He sits up a little straighter, hands clasped over his crossed knees. “You’re avoiding eye contact with me, your knuckles have turned white from how hard you’re gripping the arm rests—”

“That’s nothing—”

“You’re interrupting me. You don’t like being analysed as it makes you vulnerable. You haven’t eaten anything in the past,” Agent Hotchner checks his watch. “Six hours. Your stomach is warring against your emotions and you don’t like that. You’re sitting in a corner trying to push yourself away from other people.”

“Okay.” You bite out, now finally giving in to looking him dead in the eyes. “You’re a great profiler. No need to showboat.”

“I’m not showboating.”

You roll your eyes, “Sure seems like it.”

A minute or two pass in silence. Agent Hotchner is still staring at you and you feel incredibly small under his gaze. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything.” He fixes his shirt cuffs, acting so nonchalant as if he didn’t just profile one of his team members.

You grit your teeth. “Fine. Today messed with my head. That case was… it was wrong. So wrong that I can’t stop thinking about how I could have helped that family.”

Agent Hotchner leans forward, gently placing his hand upon your own on the arm rest. You feel your grip loosen and you fight back a grimace at how cold his hand feels against your warm one. “It’s not your fault. We all know we could have done something different out there, but sometimes the unsub takes a surprise route. Things like this happen and it’s unfortunate, but don’t blame yourself.”

You shrug again, avoiding eye contact once again. “Yeah.”

He stands, pulling his suit jacket to fit more comfortably. “If you need to talk to someone, come to my office.”

You only offer a silent nod in answer.

“Oh, and Agent L/N? Stop calling me Agent Hotchner, Hotch is just fine.” He offers a small smile and you shake your head, going back to staring out the window until your eyes feel too heavy to keep open.

“Why is there so much paperwork?” Your voice comes out all agitated as you rifle through a stupid amount of folders and loose paper.

Emily peeks over the cubicle dividing and raises an eyebrow. “You okay there?”

You sigh, slumping down onto your desk chair, spinning until you’re facing her side of the cubicle. “Do I sound okay to you? Who in their right mind decided to give me the goddamn paperwork for that goddamned case?” You glance around the wide room, trying to find JJ; this has to be her doing.

Emily purses her lips, “Doing paperwork isn’t that bad, Y/N. I mean, I guess there’s a lot but it’ll make the day go by quicker.”

“Oh, please.” You scoff, feeling yourself grow more annoyed by the minute. You know you need to get yourself in check, but the past 24 hours have ridden you like the Grim Reaper is taking jockey lessons in Hell.

“What’s got Little Miss Thick Skin so angry today?” Derek Morgan walks up to your desk, a hot mug of coffee in his hand. A brief thought had you biting your lip— it’d be wrong to spill it on him.

“Don’t start, please.” You rest your elbows on your desk, hands holding either side of your face as you stare at the paperwork. The names of the family you couldn’t save stare right back at you. Your stomach drops and you’re not sure how long you can stay in this office.

“Hey,” Derek places his mug on your desk before crouching down to your eye level. “What’s wrong, girl? If you don’t want to do the paperwork, I can take it off your hands. No big deal.”

You shake your head, “Don’t bother. I’m fine.”

Derek watches your face and you turn your head to look at him. “If you start profiling me, Morgan, I swear to God that coffee mug will end up in a place you really don’t want it.”

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, girl. Just tryna help ya out.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need help. I’m fine.” You scoot your desk chair closer and grab the closest pen, tapping it against the top of your desk to distract you from the fact you have to relive this case just a day later.

You don’t catch it, but Derek and Emily share a knowing look. They’ve seen this before. It’s not hard to notice someone you spend days on end with is struggling.

Derek grabs his mug and pats you on the shoulder. Emily sinks back into her cubicle and makes sure to keep an eye on during the day. If she finds you with smoke coming out of your ears, she’ll go get the fire extinguisher.

Your hand cramps as you write your final notes. The computer screen has turned too bright for your eyes and a headache begins to form behind your eyes. It’s been a long day.

Clicking the pen closed, you lean back against your chair with a deep sigh. You close your eyes just to rest them for a brief moment and scenes from yesterday plague you.

It’s like you can’t escape.

Your heart rate picks up speed. You’re not sure how it turned into a game of cat and mouse, but you’re adamant on putting a stop to it.

“What does he think he’s doing?” You’re standing with your palms pressed against a conference table in a police station in Washington. The projector casts a live shot of the news— a helicopter is chasing after the unsub in a car. The family you’re trying to protect is with him.

“He’s trying to flee.” Agent Rossi says, so matter of factly that it has you turning your attention to him instead.

You squint at him. “You saw this coming, didn’t you?”

He gestures to the screen. “You didn’t?”

“No, I did not.” You grit your teeth, moving so you’re now standing up straight. “I predicted he’d do something out of the blue. We all did. But we didn’t know he was going to kidnap them. That wasn’t part of his game.”

Rossi shrugs, “I’ve been in this job longer than you have, kiddo. It takes experience to know something like this. Don’t blame yourself.”

“What?” You let out a disbelieving scoff. “Listen here old man—”

“That’s enough.” Agent Hotchner cuts through your words, ending your little spat with Rossi. “We’re all here to do a job. So let’s do it.”

Faint footsteps sound behind you. You’re not sure who’s still in the office, but considering how late it is, there’s only a few people that come to mind.

“Hey, what are you doing here so late?” That all too recognisable voice makes your heart swoop. Spencer appears in your line of vision, his man-bag crossed over his torso. He looks ready to leave. “It’s nearly 7PM.”

“Oh.” You glance at the clock mounted on the wall. You didn’t realise that you were doing the paperwork for the Washington case for nearly 10 hours. “Guess I lost track of time.”

Spencer regards you for a minute. “Everything okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You offer a weak smile, not trying to be bitchy to him like you were to the others earlier. You make a mental note to apologise to them tomorrow.

“It’s just— nevermind.” He shakes his head.

Your brows furrow, “No, what is it?”

“Ever since we got on that plane yesterday, you’ve been hostile.” Spencer rocks back and forth on his heels. “I know you don’t like to be profiled, I don’t either, but I know something is wrong.”

You twist in your chair, facing your computer screen with your hands hovering over the keyboard. You don’t want to talk about it, you just want to figure it out on your own.

“Y/N?” Spencer says your name and you look at him over your shoulder. His eyes all sparkly, his cheeks smooth, his lips… perfect.

You blink slowly. Your head isn’t in the right place, but your heart (and hormones) are.

You internally say fuck it and reach for the strap of his man-bag to pull him down to your level. Your breaths mingle and your eyes dart in a triangle from one eye to his lips to his other eye. And lo and behold, the triangle method actually works because Spencer leans in and you feel his lips ghost over your own.

And nothing.

He just stays in that position. Hunched down in your grip, lips mere millimetres away from your own and he doesn’t finish the job.

You breathe in a deep sigh, your senses being filled with his scent. “Why aren’t you kissing me?”

“I— I think it’s because I know you’re not yourself. It feels wrong.” Spencer's breath is minty as it fans over your cheeks and neck. You want to say something snarky, but you know he’s right. “I do want to kiss you, though. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now.”

You lean back a little, your eyes staring into his pretty brown ones. You don’t see a sign of a lie and your heart skips a beat. “Would it help if I admitted what’s going on? Would you kiss me then?” God, are you really that desperate to get kissed by Spencer Reid? Yes. Yes you are.

Spencer lowers into a crouch, one hand grips the armrest of your desk chair, whilst the other splays across your knee with a gentle squeeze. “If it helps you, then it’ll help me. Talk to me. Let me inside your pretty head.”

You reach out for his tie, fiddling with it to help your nerves. “You know I don’t like talking about how I feel, but this is something I can’t keep to myself anymore.”

Spencer nods, his hand on your knee giving you another squeeze. But this time in a reassuring way. That’s your go ahead sign to lay it all down.

“That case we did. The family where we couldn’t save them, where I couldn’t save them, keeps replaying in my head and I don’t know what to do to stop it.” You take a breath, your fingers still playing with his tie. “If we got there sooner, I know we could have stopped him from hurting them. From killing them. I feel like if I did or said something right or helpful, I could’ve saved them. I hate feeling like this because I know it isn’t my fault, but I just can’t help but feel guilty.”

Spencer stays quiet, letting your words sink in. “You’re right, it isn’t your fault.”

You sigh, dropping his tie and moving your attention to his face. To his lips.

“I wish I could go back in time and help.” You admit, feeling a small weight lift from your shoulders.

“I wish for that, too.” Spencer admits as well. Both of you find comfort in knowing you feel the same. It makes feeling like this just the little bit easier to deal with. “Thank you for sharing how you feel.”

You let out a small laugh. “Thank you for not dismissing me.”

“I could never dismiss you.” Spencer’s voice is soft and warm. His fingers slowly trail up and down your calf, sending a shiver through your body. “Would you like that kiss now?” The smirk on his lips has your stomach flipping and you want nothing more than for his lips to be on yours.

“I would very much like that kiss now.” You smile at him, leaning in and already feeling your body succumb to him. When your lips meet, you sigh. You’ve missed being able to be physical with him; it’s hard trying to stay colleagues when all you want is to be wrapped up in his arms.

Spencer lets his hands travel— up your thighs, round your back, cheekily up the hem of your dress. You moan lightly into his mouth and he swallows it.

Your hands grab for his collar to deepen the kiss. “More.” You mumble against his lips and he complies. Spencer bites your bottom lip to elicit a gasp from you so he can dive his tongue down your throat with ease.

You feel yourself involuntarily squeezing your thighs to quell the ache forming between your legs. God, you’d do anything to take him home with you right now.

Before you get a chance to start undoing his tie, a loud and clear cough comes from your right.

You stop moving but Spencer keeps going. Trailing open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, you now get a perfect view of Hotch standing outside his office with his arms crossed. You can’t make out what his face is portraying.

“Spence.” You tug on his collar, but he thinks you want him to go further. You feel his tongue lick a stripe up the column of your neck and you have to fight back a whimper.

You’d die on the spot if you let Aaron Hotchner hear you moaning.

“No. Spencer.” This time you push at his shoulders and the look he gives you makes you feel bad. But if you let him carry on, both of you would never be able to be in Hotch’s presence. Ever.

“Are you okay?” Spencer brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Did I do something you didn’t like?”

You shake your head, your fingers quickly straightening out Spencer's tie. “I loved it. You were good, but, um…” your eyes drift off to where Hotch is still standing.

It’s as if Spencer was zapped by lightning. He shoots back away from you, and somehow manages to hit every piece of furniture around him. You want to laugh but this situation doesn’t call for laughing. You’ve been caught by your boss making out in the middle of the BAU.

“Reid, L/N. Care to explain?” Hotch moves slowly down the stairs, his aura too strong for you to look him in the eyes right now.

You twiddle your thumbs. “He was just helping me finish this file report from the case yesterday.”

Hotch looks at Spencer, knowing that he’ll blab the truth. “She was upset about not being able to save them and I wanted to help ease her pain and—”

“That’s enough.” Hotch raises a hand. “Since it’s past working hours, I’ll make a one time allowance for this behaviour.”

You have a big sigh of relief and Spencer lets out an audible groan of embarrassment. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right. It won’t.” Hotch checks his watch and frowns. “I’m late for something. Finish that report and I’ll see you both tomorrow. Behaving correctly.”

You nod your head and Spencer keeps his head down staring at the floor. You watch Hotch leave the office and you finally let out your cringing grimace. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know he was here. I thought he left already.”

“I can’t be mad. I got to kiss the prettiest girl in here.”

“Shut up.”

Copyright credit to @reidalert as of 2024-present.