#and i love the movement it's so dynamic!!!

[pinkaditty]

can NOT stop thinking abt the way you wrote yuri.... /pos ugh i love pathetic men ♡♡♡ i Know hes Loud

anon you're so real... pathetic, whiny, loud, wet blankets of men are some of my favorites. i love them. it's like, please never fucking change. you pathetic wet cat. i simultaneously want 2 laugh at you and 2 dry you off again 2 keep u warm.

a/n: well here we are again. back on my bullshit AGAIN! can't even complain though i love writing smut im so glad 2 be back 2 pulling this bullshit again. i hope u all enjoy this one bc this one took a while 2 write.

summary: you want Yuri to focus. he wants to finish.

cw: people r fucking!!!!! penetrative sex, lots of whining, slight power dynamic???, dom!reader and sub!char, etc etc.

"Stay still."

He only whimpers in response, tightening his already knuckle-whitening grip on the arms of his chair.

"Stay still or I'll stop moving."

You can tell from the way Yuri’s eyes flicker defiantly towards yours that he has half a mind to retort something, but one squeeze of your walls around his twitching cock and his eyes roll back in submission again. The heels of his shoes dig uselessly into the floor, failing to steady him as he bucks his hips upwards involuntarily in response to you dragging your walls against his length. You watch as he grabs aimlessly at whatever he can squeeze to ground himself for a few moments, at best. The arms of the chair, the sleeves of his lab coat, the crest of your hips. To his credit, he's doing a great job at being quieter than usual. His bottom lip is red from biting so harshly at it, but you suspect the pain helps him keep his moans in. The only sounds that escape are quiet gasps, whines, whimpers, and some grunting. However, he's not doing a very good job at staying still.

You slam your hips back down onto his, grinding your hips against his as you settle into place. He yelps in surprise, and clamps a hand to his mouth, muffling his whiny moan as you grind against him. He digs his heels into the floor again, his foot tapping the leg of his desk, nearly jostling his work. When you don't stop grinding, he hurriedly places his hands down on your hips in an attempt to stop you from moving. In a whiny voice, he pleads "Stop, stopstopstop! Fuck, please, oh my god, please—” He melts into incoherent whimpers, yelps, and pleas, eyes flickering between your hips grinding on his cock and your gaze boring into him. He starts panting, whiny moans slipping through his lips as his eyes roll back into his skull again. 

You smile fondly at his loud moans, pausing the movement of your hips and leaning in towards him. “You can take it, can't you? You're strong." You lean back, looking towards his laptop, still propped open on the desk beside you. “You’re the one that wanted to practice. Come on, from the top. And stay still this time.”

He looks at you for a moment, his expression so utterly pathetic you want to laugh. He finally nods, submitting to your will. “F-Fine…” 

Due to his twitching fingers keeping their grip on the arms of the chair, you move to click back to the first slide of his presentation, looking at him expectantly. He frowns at you the best he can, what with an obvious blush over his face and his eyes still watery from pleasure. Eventually he relents, turning towards the presentation, his whole body trembling with effort to keep his composure. He clears his throat and partially straightens his posture, still visibly flushed and trembling.

After a few false starts and stuttered words, he's finally ready to go. “This is a presentation regarding the—Ahem, regarding the progress of research on—mmmm—Immortality…” he stops for a moment, panting, and leaning his head back against his chair. One stern look from you, and he bites his cheek and straightens up again, “...As it pertains to the living cells of the anomaly caused—Fuck!—by a patient eating mermaid skin.” He exhales all at once. Sweat beads on his forehead, flattening his hair. His cheeks are a furious bright red, the blush even spreading to his ears and chin. You laugh at him, motioning for him to continue, beginning to raise and lower your hips at a slow pace. 

“Go on Dr. Isami, I’m listening!” You smile widely, all chipper and animated, as though you weren’t riding the man beneath you into oblivion. Of course, it was hard for you to keep it together yourself, but your blush and heavy breathing were nothing compared to the slack-jawed, drooling, pathetic mess that Yuri was. 

“I—I can’t—” Yuri sounds breathless, cutting himself off with a whine before he could continue. He collapses against the chair again, clenching his jaw tight as he squirmed, trying to get ahold of himself. He starts panting again, each exhale high-pitched and whiny. You could feel his length twitching inside you, his involuntary upward thrusts stuttered and shallow. His eyes were beginning to water from the prolonged torment of being forced to remain composed. He whimpers, suddenly leaning forward into you, pressing his face into your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. “Please, fuck!” He gasps for air, before launching into a defense, stammering as you quicken your pace. “It’s ph-physically impossible for the human body to multitask! I cou—ugh—couldn’t possibly focus on this damned presentation when you—” he cuts himself off again, moaning loudly as you ride him harder, further disrupting his already broken speech. “Y-You…” He tries again but trails off, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, panting. You feel his breath puffing against your chest and his damp lashes fluttering against your neck.

“Hm? What is it?” You say, your voice just barely giving away your own shaky arousal. You continue to ride him, breathing heavily and squeezing your walls around him. “Go on. Surely a doctor can use his words, yes?” 

He mewls into your shoulder, removing his hands from your hips and placing them atop your shoulders, pushing you away from him. He appears adorably frustrated, his lips in a downwards quivering frown and his eyebrows creased in annoyance. His eyes are still watery and his face is covered in a searing blush. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, muffling his whines to the best of his ability. His breathing is in tandem with the pace you’ve set, still raising and lowering your hips on his cock. You lean in, encouraging him to continue, grabbing the sides of his lab coat to steady yourself. He finally relents, his voice shaking as he speaks. “Can’t focus—can’t, not when you—God—not when you ride me—” You are almost satisfied with this, until he purses his lips. You feel his cock twitch and harden within you. He’s getting close. He lets out a deep moan, clawing his fingers into your shoulders. He clenches his jaw at his reaction and looks down to where your bodies connect, pushing his hips upwards to meet yours. “—Like some bitch in heat!” He mutters these words through his teeth, and they were clearly meant to bring you down a peg. He was desperately searching for a way to regain control of the situation, despite being on the edge of an explosive release. 

Well, two could play at that game. You begin to slow down your pace, pouting at him. “Aw, that’s not very nice, Yuri.” 

He looks at you suspiciously, biting his wavering lips to muffle his moans and raising an eyebrow. 

You simply shake your head, lifting your hips off of him. His cock slides out of you with a wet pop! and only further stiffens at the sudden exposure to the cool air. He gives you a panicked look, quickly moving his hands down to your hips, trying to push you back down as he thrust his hips upward aimlessly. “Wh-What are you doing—?!” He almost shouts out of frustration, his cock twitching from the sudden loss of sensation and pending release.

You lower your hips again, but you’re careful not to slip him back inside. “Only nice boys get to cum, Yuri.” You say it teasingly, reaching down with one hand to grab his cock. He gasps and tenses up before you gently tap the head against your folds, smirking at him. You watch as his eyes cloud over with desire, and he nearly melts, suddenly very pliant despite his earlier reservations. You rub yourself back and forth over his aching cock, returning your hands to his sides. Yuri grips your hips with his hands, gritting his teeth to muffle his whines again. You giggle at him. “Come on, be nice and take it back. If you don’t…” You trail off, looking down at his pathetic form, smiling to yourself. “...I won’t ride you anymore.”

From the way his face twists, you can tell he’s caught somewhere between retorting that he didn’t want that anyway and begging you to keep going. He groans, feeling his pleasure mount as your warmth travels across the length of his cock. He tightens his grip on your hips, biting his lips harshly in a futile attempt to continue to muffle his already loud moans. It was hardly any use when his moans escaped anyway, loud and high-pitched and whiny. He curses, looking up at you with a pleading expression. Of course, you don’t yield, meeting his pleading gaze with an expectant one. He keens, caving to your will. “I take it back…” The words are small and muffled, barely heard over the creaking of the chair and the sounds of your heavy breathing. He doesn’t look at you when he says them, purposely turning away from you. You pout in mock disappointment.

“Hmmm, sorry. I don’t think I heard you. Repeat that for me, please?” You slow your movements again, rubbing yourself along his length in an increasingly teasing manner. You feel his cock jump in response.

He groans. turning towards you. His face and neck were bright red, his lips appeared almost bruised from all the biting he’d done, his eyes were hazy and unfocused, and sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead and cheeks. He was not going to last much longer. His voice cracks when he speaks this time, breathy and high-pitched. “I take it back.” He punctuates this sentence with a whine, his cock jumping again as you pick up the pace, teasing him more. 

You smirk at him, biting your lip to resist the urge to laugh. Surely he could take a bit more, right? “Come on, I know you can do better than that.” You tilt your head at him, your eyes crinkling with mirth. “You can say it one more time, right?”

He groans, both out of frustration and out of arousal, reaching up to wrap his arms around your shoulders again and pull your body into his. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his lips hovering near your collarbone. He thrusts his hips upwards, his cock dragging against your heat again, slipping in between the folds before slipping back out again. He opens his mouth in a moan, tightening his hold on you. “I take it back!” He says it with conviction this time, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. He begins to tremble, muttering the phrase over and over again, his voice slowly becoming more and more whiny as he presses his open mouth against your collarbone, just barely covered by your uniform. He pulls you in even closer, his hips stuttering, his whimpering becoming more nonsensical until he finally quiets. His thrusts slow down and his breathing begins to even out, his grip on you becoming shaky and unsteady. 

You smile, glad he has finally bent to your will. You pull away from him, noting the glazed look in his eyes and the way his jaw hangs slack. You tilt your head at him, confused, until you feel something thick drip down your thigh. You turn around, and notice a pool of white liquid dripping from the chair and leaking from Yuri’s softening cock. You have to resist the urge to laugh simply out of shock. You turn back to him with an eyebrow raised. He’s somewhat recovered, his blush lessening and his mouth slightly parted as he catches his breath.

“Yuri. Did you just cum from humping me?” A smile spreads across your face as he frowns at your comment. Before he can say anything, you quickly add on to your words to taunt him. “Like a bitch in heat?” 

Yuri freezes, his blush returning to his cheeks. He turns away from you, refusing to make eye contact. 

All you can do is laugh.

a/n: amen that's that!!!!!!!! i can't decide if im proud of this or not but in my defense it's approaching the witching hour where i am. regardless. i hope u all enjoy!

ofc shameless note as per usual that i love likes, but especially comments, tagged reblogs, and asks!!! please tell me all about how you liked my work! it's what fuels my motivation to create!!!!

also. im considering making a tokyo debunker taglist. idk how many of u are going 2 see this but lmk if ur interested in being a part of the tkdb taglist. ill tag u in all of my tkdb related works if ur a part of it.

ok that's all gn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

A LESSON IN ORDER

summary - Mephisto was injured protecting you during a mission, leaving you distraught. Upon returning to base, your dangerous boyfriend, Sylus, is more amused than angry by the situation and relishes the opportunity to punish you, which he thoroughly enjoys while you are restrained.

pairing - Sylus!possessive!boyfriend x Reader

(nsfw+18) - Very dominant in this one, a lot of teasing and banter (angst & sweet), reader is very sassy and mouthy but also weak for Sylus and his control, dominantxsubmissive dynamic, includes a little punishment, spanking, he is not really angry but maybe you will hate him a little how sadistic he is. Also, he is masochist (he likes pain). Experienced!reader, male!receiving, female!receiving, raw slow vaginal & rough sex, creampie, intense orgasm edging, nipple play, reader cries a lot because of it, they play a silent game (wink, wink), energy evol usage for restraining, praise kink, neck and shoulder biting (leaves bloody marks), pet names(sweetie, kitten, little minx, little bird, little temptress, baby, darling), a lot of dirty talk, a sweet aftercare in the end. They love each other a lot.

w-20k - So. Don't. Come. At. Me. Again. I carried away with this one also. I just couldn't stop. Sylus is my second baby.

Masterlist

The rhythmic tick-tock of unseen machinery was the only sound that dared to break the suffocating silence of Sylus's base. Each tick was a hammer blow against my already fraying nerves as you paced the worn metal floor of his bedroom. Shadows danced in the corners of the room, stretching and contorting familiar shapes into monstrous figures. You felt the weight of guilt pressing down on you, a suffocating blanket woven with failure and fear.

"Sylus, I… I really didn't mean to. I swear! I was fighting the Wanderer, and he just… he lunged, and Mephisto tried to intercept, and…" Your voice trailed off, a pathetic whimper lost in the vastness of the room. You couldn't bring yourself to finish the sentence, the image of the Wanderer's attack flashing before your eyes, a stark reminder of your inadequacy.

Sylus remained disturbingly calm, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. He was lounging in his favorite chair, an old, dilapidated thing that looked as though it had been salvaged from a forgotten battlefield. He was gently stroking Mephisto's head with the tip of a small screwdriver, his movements precise and deliberate. "And?" he finally asked, his voice dangerously soft. "Kitten, you’re making me dizzy with all that pacing. Just breathe."

Breathe. A simple instruction, yet impossibly difficult to follow. Your lungs felt constricted, starved of air. "And… and he got clipped! It was my fault. He was protecting me, like you asked him to and... now look at him!" You gestured wildly towards Mephisto, the anger and frustration finally bubbling to the surface.

Sylus sighed dramatically, a theatrical display that did little to assuage your anxiety. He finally looked up, one eyebrow arched in amusement. "Look at him? He's got a scratch on his wing. Hardly the end of the world. Though, he does look quite pathetic, doesn't he?" There was a hint of a smile playing on his lips, a cruel twist that sent a shiver down your spine.

"A scratch? Sylus, that's more than a scratch! It's a gouge! He could've been seriously damaged!" You protested, your voice rising in desperation. The thought of Mephisto, Sylus's beloved creation, being irreparably harmed because of your mistake was unbearable.

Sylus chuckled softly, the sound sending a fresh wave of guilt through you. "Oh, Kitten, always so dramatic. My precious Mephisto is tougher than he looks. Aren't you, boy?" He gently adjusted Mephisto on his arm, his touch surprisingly tender. "He took a hit for you. A true testament of his loyalty."

"That's what I'm worried about!" You exclaimed, your hands clenching into fists. "You sent him to protect me, and he got hurt because I screwed up. I’m supposed to be able protect myself you know!" The shame was a bitter taste in your mouth, a constant reminder of your failure.

Sylus's voice took on a teasing edge, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. "Are you saying that you don't appreciate my concern for your well-being? Did I overestimate your abilities out there alone, sweetie?"

"Of course, I appreciate it!" You snapped, stopping in your tracks, frustration bubbling over. "It's just… it's embarrassing! And I hate that Mephisto got hurt. It was reckless of me, I should’ve seen the attack coming to begin with!"

Sylus set Mephisto down carefully on the workbench, his movements deliberate and slow. He then turned to face me, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Reckless? Hmm. I think I’m starting to understand. Are you more upset that Mephisto got hurt, or that you’re now indebted to my adorable tin bird? Or perhaps…" He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “are you afraid of owing me something?"

You took a step back, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. "Sylus, don't be ridiculous." But even as you spoke the words, you knew there was a grain of truth in his accusation.

Sylus closed the distance again, cornering you gently against the cold metal wall. "Am I? Because it seems to me, kitten, that you're more concerned about your pride than about a little mechanical mishap." His voice was a low purr, a dangerous rumble that resonated deep within your bones.

You looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze. Your voice softened, betraying your vulnerability. "I'm worried about both. I don't want you to think I can't handle myself, and I really don't want Mephisto to get hurt because of me."

Sylus gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the darkness that often swirled within him. "Relax, kitten. Mephisto will be fine. A little welding here, a bit of polish there, and he'll be good as new. And as for you…" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine, “I already know you can handle yourself. That's one of the many reasons I'm so… attached."

A small smile flickered across your face, a fragile bloom of warmth in the cold, harsh environment. "Attached? Is that what we're calling it?"

Sylus grinned, a flash of predatory delight in his eyes. "Possessed. Obsessed. Madly, irrevocably head-over-heels. Take your pick, kitten. Now, come here. Let's get you cleaned up. And then you can tell me exactly how you handled that Wanderer. I want all the details."

You crossed your arms, the leather of your jacket creaking softly, and arched an eyebrow, doing your best to project an air of nonchalance I decidedly didn't feel. "Why?" You asked, the word clipped and perhaps a little sharper than intended.

Sylus's grin widened, a predatory gleam entering his red ruby eyes. They were the color of spilled blood and burning embers, a dangerous invitation you both craved and feared. "Because, kitten," he purred, the sound wrapping around you like a silken noose, "knowledge is power. And because picturing you covered in shimmering Wanderer dust, fighting tooth and nail… it’s… stimulating."

Your breath hitched. He saw more than you wanted him to, felt more than you were ready to admit. The Wanderer dust. It clung to everything, a glittering residue of battles fought and lives taken. He also lived in danger but he was too much attuned to your inner demons. The whispers of your darkest desires.

He stepped closer, the air thickening with a palpable tension. "I want to know exactly what they saw, what they felt, when you were dismantling them. Every blow, every parry. Paint me a picture with your words, and then… perhaps I’ll paint one on you." He ran a finger lightly down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The touch was feather-light, almost innocent, yet it sparked a fire deep within you, a primal response you couldn’t control.

A shiver ran down your spine despite yourself. It was a reaction born not of fear, but of anticipation, of a forbidden thrill that pulsed through your veins like a drug. You tried to maintain a defiant stance, but your voice was a little breathy, a betraying whisper. "You’re incorrigible."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you, shaking the foundations of your carefully constructed composure. He closed the distance between you two, stepping closer until his heat enveloped you. His breath warmed your ear as he whispered, "Only for you, sweetie. Now, tell me. Did you enjoy yourself? Be honest. Did you feel… powerful?"

The question hung in the air, laced with a challenge, a dare. You looked away, trying to regain some semblance of control, trying to piece back together the shattered fragments of your resolve. "It was… necessary," You mumbled, the answer a shield, deflecting the truth that threatened to overwhelm you.

He wouldn’t let you hide. Sylus reached out, tilting your chin up with a gentle yet insistent pressure, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark pools, swirling with shadows and secrets, reflecting the turmoil within your own soul. "Necessary, yes. But also… exhilarating? Don’t deny it. I can taste it on your skin. The thrill of the fight. The edge of danger. It suits you."

His words were a brand, searing themselves into your flesh. He saw the darkness within you, the part you tried to keep hidden, the part you feared. And he wasn't repulsed. He was… intrigued. More like thrilled.

"No wonder, you almost succeeded to kill me the first time we met," he grins, remembering that day very well when you got captured in N019 zone.

Swallowing hard, you tried to push him away, to break the spell he was weaving around you. "Stop it," You pleaded, the words barely audible.

His voice dropped to a husky whisper, a silken caress that sent shivers dancing across your skin. "Stop what? Telling you the truth? Showing you what you crave? You may pretend to be demure, but I see the fire in your eyes. The hunger."

He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, close enough that I could feel his breath ghosting across your skin. The scent of ozone and something darkly intoxicating filled your senses, stealing your breath and clouding your mind. Strands of his white hair, as fine as spun moonlight, fell across your forehead, a delicate contrast to the storm raging within you.

"Tell me one thing…" he murmured, his voice a low growl that reverberated through your bones. "Did you think of me while you were fighting?"

The question was a trap, a carefully baited hook designed to snag the truth from the depths of your soul. You fought against it, against the vulnerability it exposed, against the power he wielded over you.

The truth slipped out, a confession whispered against his lips. "Maybe…"

His lips finally met yours, a slow, deliberate kiss that started as a tentative exploration and quickly deepened into a possessive claim. He pulled you closer, his hands sliding around your waist, molding your body against his. The kiss was demanding, a silent command for surrender. Your senses reeled, the world fading away as you succumbed to the intoxicating heat.

The kiss intensified, Sylus's hands moving to explore the contours of your back, tracing the curve of your spine, igniting a firestorm with every touch. He broke the kiss, gasping slightly, his breath ragged against your lips.

"Come," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "The details can wait. I need to feel you close, kitten."

He swept you into his arms, effortlessly lifting you off your feet. The air crackled with anticipation, the weight of unspoken desires pressing down on you two. The world outside faded away, blurring into insignificance, leaving only the burning connection between you, the magnetic pull that drew you together with irresistible force.

He carried you towards the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze a silent promise of pleasure and pain, of dominance and surrender. He gently placed you on the soft, velvet covers, his eyes still locked on yours, holding you captive in their crimson depths.

"Let me show you what I mean by possessed," he murmured, his voice a silken threat that sent shivers down your spine.

His hands, gentle yet firm, reached for your leather jacket, pulling it off, the next was the buttons of your shirt, his eyes meeting yours with each deliberate movement. He discarded his own shirt, the muscles of his chest rippling beneath his pale skin, a stark contrast to the darkness that clung to his soul. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his words a seductive whisper.

"Tell me what you want. Let me worship you."

The words were a key, unlocking a hidden part of you, a part you had long denied. You wanted to surrender, to lose yourself in the darkness he offered, to taste the forbidden pleasure he promised.

But a flicker of doubt, a whisper of conscience, still remained. "But Mephisto…"

He dismissed your concern with a wave of his hand, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. "He will not disturb us, sweetie."

Even as he spoke, you heard the distinct sound of a door slamming shut, followed by the flapping of wings. A dark shadow momentarily crossed the room as Mephisto, his familiar crow, departed. With a surge of his energy, a crimson mist materialized, gently restraining your wrists, pinning them above your head. Sylus’s smirk widened, a triumphant glint in his ruby eyes. "Where were we? Ah, yes. I will thank you on his behalf.”

Confusion warred with terror. “Thank me? What do you mean?” You stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

The smirk widened, revealing a flash of sharp, white teeth. “For giving me an opportunity to give you a punishment, of course.”

Your heart lurched. “Wait…what?”

He leaned closer, invading your personal space, the scent of ancient leather and something indefinably…otherworldly… filling your nostrils. “You didn’t think I would let that slide, did you?”

“But you said it was fine! And…he just got a scratch.” The words tumbled out in a desperate rush, clinging to the hope that this was all some terrible misunderstanding.

Sylus’s eyes hardened, the predatory glint intensifying. “I lied. He was upset. Terribly so.”

“But you sent him to protect me! It wasn’t really my fault that he got hurt.” The protest sounded weak, even to your own ears.

He advanced closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, sending a shiver of both fear and an unwelcome thrill of anticipation. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle tension in his muscles.

“Wasn’t it?” he murmured, his voice a silken whisper that seemed to coil around you like the crimson mist. “You knew the risks. You knew what creatures lurked in the shadows. And yet, you went anyway. He acted on my order, and he got hurt. That reflects back on me, doesn’t it?”

He raised a hand, his fingers long and elegant, and trailed a single digit down your cheek. The touch was surprisingly light, almost delicate, against the weight of his words. It was a calculated move, a deliberate contrast designed to unnerve you, to keep you off balance.

“So, a lesson is in order,” he continued, his voice a mesmerizing drawl. “A gentle reminder that actions have consequences.”

“But…a punishment? After everything else?” The question was a plaintive plea, born of exhaustion and a desperate yearning for respite.

Sylus’s eyes darkened, becoming pools of impenetrable obsidian. “Don’t mistake my earlier…inclinations for weakness, sweetie.” The sweetness in his voice was gone, replaced by a chilling edge. “I can desire and discipline in equal measure. Perhaps it is the combination that truly fascinates me.”

He paused, tilting his head, studying you with an intensity that felt like being dissected under a microscope. “Tell me,” he purred, his eyes boring into yours, “which do you find more enticing: my worship, or my control?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. With a swift, decisive movement, he released your left wrist, freeing it from the crimson mist. The sudden freedom sent a jolt of relief through your arm, but it was quickly overshadowed by the stark reality of your continued captivity. He didn’t release the other. The remaining bond felt more significant now, a symbol of your complete and utter dependence on his will.

“Such a difficult choice, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated through your very bones.

He used your freed hand, the one that should be pushing him away, to trace the line of your jaw, his touch both gentle and possessive. The sensation was maddening, a confusing blend of fear and undeniable attraction. His touch intensified the dark desire you had been trying to ignore. His fingers moved to cup your face softly, his warmth seeping into your skin. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, a subtle, suggestive caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek. “I make the choices for you…just relax, and submit.”

His gaze burned into yours, an undeniable intensity that both frightened and excited. It was a look that promised both pain and pleasure, dominance and devotion. He was offering you everything and nothing all at once, a twisted paradox that both repelled and seduced.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel the faint rasp of his smooth flesh against your own skin. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a dizzying blend of dread and desire.

“Now,” he commanded, his voice a soft, dangerous whisper. “Tell me you understand. Tell me you accept the consequences.”

The words hung in the air between you, a heavy weight that threatened to crush you.

He watched you with a lazy, playful smirk, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light as he rubbed the inside of your wrist with his thumb teasingly. A shiver traced its way down your spine, the simple touch sending sparks of anticipation through your veins. The air around you crackled with unspoken desire, thick with the promise of something dangerous and exhilarating.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat, “I accept the consequences…”

His smirk widened, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light. A predatory glint danced in his eyes, acknowledging your surrender, your willingness to play his game. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with unspoken promises. It was a reward, a validation for your obedience, and it ignited a fire within you that both terrified and thrilled you. He slowly pushed your freed wrist back into the crimson mist, enveloping it completely once more, reasserting his control.

You whimpered softly after the praise, the sound barely audible, yet it seemed to echo in the silence between you.

The sound seemed to please him, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he observed the slight quiver in your lips. His thumb continued to trace lazy patterns on the inside of your wrist, applying gentle pressure, a subtle reminder that you were captive, willingly or not, within his grasp. The crimson mist swirled around your wrist, a beautiful, deadly shackle.

“Sylus…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, a plea for something you couldn't quite define.

"Yes?" His voice dropped an octave lower, becoming almost hypnotically soothing, yet carrying the same underlying darkness that both intrigued and frightened you. "You're doing so well, kitten. Taking orders like a good girl..." He continued the mesmerizing motion of his thumb, knowing full well the effect his words had on you, how they chipped away at your resistance, leaving you vulnerable and wanting.

“What will you do?” you finally managed to ask, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Hmm, what do you want me to do?" Sylus paused his actions, tilting his head slightly as if genuinely curious. But you knew better. The question was laced with a dangerous allure, tempting you to voice your darkest desires, to surrender completely to the intoxicating power he wielded. "Would you like me to keep you trapped here, under my control?"

"....."

"Cute how you go silent," he whispered, a knowing smile curling his lips. "The truth is... you trust me more when you don't know what's coming next." His other hand trailed down your arm slowly, following the line formed by the energy bonds. "Should I make you more comfortable?"

You nod, the anticipation building within you like a storm gathering on the horizon.

"Interesting choice," Sylus purred, his smirk widening. With a flick of his wrist, the crimson mist shifted, the bonds loosening slightly around your wrists. It wasn't freedom—not quite—but it was significantly more comfortable than before. The mist now felt like velvet rather than iron chains, a subtle shift that sent shivers down your spine.

"Thank you," you breathed, the words barely audible.

His smirk softened slightly, a flicker of something akin to tenderness in his eyes. "You're too easy to please," he muttered softly, watching how you tested your newfound mobility. Your wrists were no longer stretched painfully high, now dangling loosely at your sides. He continued rubbing the inside of one wrist possessively, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. "Do you know how to ruin this?"

"What do you mean?" you ask, your voice laced with a delicate tremor.

"Simple," Sylus explained, his eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light. "You could struggle, try to break free, make this whole situation difficult... But instead, you lay there quietly, accepting your fate like a well-behaved little bird." He chuckled softly, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

You whimper, the sound involuntary, a reaction to his nearness and the intoxicating power he held over you.

"Yes, that's it," he praised darkly, his breath ghosting over your ear, sending another wave of shivers through your body. "You're so good at being helpless and submissive. It's almost... adorable." His hand moved up, gripping your chin firmly, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Sylus…." You moan, your voice laced with a desperate plea.

"Mmm, and that's the best part," he whispered, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through you. "You can't help but react to me, can you? Your body betrays you every time." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. "Want to know a secret?"

"Yes," you whisper, the word escaping on a breath.

"I love it," he confessed, his voice barely audible, a velvet caress against your skin. "Your reactions, your whimpers, your submission—it's intoxicating." He finally closed the distance between you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away just as gently, leaving you breathless and wanting more. "You make this too easy, kitten."

You moan, your body aching with a desire that both terrified and thrilled you. "Sylus…you’re torturing me…”

"Good," he hissed, his eyes flashing with a possessive fire that made your pulse quicken. "That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm torturing you with my presence, with my kisses, with the knowledge that you're completely at my mercy." He gripped your wrists tighter, the mist responding to his silent command by constricting slightly, a subtle reminder of the power he wielded.

You whimper, biting your lip in a nervous tick you can't seem to control. It's a habit Sylus has made abundantly clear he despises.

"Stop that," he snaps, the command sharp enough to make you flinch. He releases your wrists, the sudden lack of restraint almost disorienting. Instead, his hand rises, fingers pressing against your jaw with a force that borders on painful as he pries your mouth open. "Show me your teeth," he demands, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

You obey, your lips parting to reveal the pearly white daggers within. He studies them for a long moment, his gaze intense and unnerving. "Now, bite my finger instead."

Confusion furrows your brow. You hesitate only a heartbeat before complying, sinking your teeth into the pad of his finger. It's not a hard bite, more of a gentle pressure, a test. Yet, Sylus lets out a low groan, a sound that vibrates through you not from pain but from a dark, unfamiliar pleasure.

"Better," he murmurs, his finger still caught between your teeth. "Much better than biting that sweet little lip of yours." He slowly withdraws his finger, his eyes lingering on the faint indentations left by your teeth. A strange, predatory satisfaction gleams in his gaze.

“Yeah? I bleed everyday on missions,” you protest, the words tumbling out in a rush, a desperate attempt to break the spell he's weaving.

"That's different," he replies, his tone turning stern, the playful edge vanishing. "Those are battle scars, proof of your strength and resilience. This... this is something else entirely." He brings his finger to his mouth, sucking on the faintly marked skin. A shiver crawls down your spine. "This is a mark of your submission, your willingness to obey me."

“Fuck…Sylus…are you going to punish me for real or?” The question hangs in the air, thick with a mixture of fear and a perverse anticipation.

Sylus smirks, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent room. "Soon, very soon," he drawls dramatically, his lips curling into a wicked grin. Well now, aren't you eager? he purrs, the thought seeming to resonate in your mind, his voice dripping with amusement and a dark promise. “Such an impatient little thing.”

Your eyes trace the landscape of his naked chest, a familiar path of admiration you've tread countless times. Muscles ripple and flex with every breath, a constant distraction that pulls you away from the world and into the captivating realm of his physique. When his face, with its sharp angles and knowing eyes, becomes too much, his chest and abs offer a haven, a beautiful distraction.

Sylus, ever aware of your gaze, smirks, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. He subtly flexes, the defined lines of his abdomen contracting under your focused attention. "See something you like, kitten?" he purrs, his voice a low rumble laced with playful mischief.

"Yeah, my boyfriend's abs," you reply, your voice devoid of any false modesty. There's no shame in appreciating what's yours, especially when it's as breathtaking as this.

His laughter is a deep, resonating sound that fills the room, genuine but with a possessive edge. He closes the distance between you, his presence a palpable force. One hand trails lightly down your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. "Well, your boyfriend's abs seem to be enjoying the view of your lips too," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, a tantalizing promise of intimacy without the immediate touch.

A giggle escapes you, bubbling up from the depths of your amusement. The situation is ridiculous, yet utterly captivating.

"God, you're so cute," he mutters, catching himself before a genuine smile graces his lips. He watches you laugh, the sound infectious and unrestrained. It's a far cry from the moans and whimpers he usually coaxes from you, and the contrast intrigues him. "You know what else your boyfriend has?" he asks suddenly, his voice dropping an octave, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

"Big dick?" you retort, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Sylus' eyes widen in momentary surprise before he throws his head back and releases a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the room. "Fuck, you're something else," he chuckles, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. "Yes, your boyfriend has a big dick," he confirms, still chuckling, reveling in your audacity.

Giggles erupt from you again, the sound as bright and effervescent as a sparkling spring.

He joins in your laughter, the moment feeling strangely… normal. A fleeting glimpse into a world where you're just two people sharing a joke, stripped of the power dynamics, the expectations of a dominant and his submissive when you two were in a bedroom setting. "But do you know what else he has?" he asks, his laughter subsiding, replaced by a serious undertone that makes your heart skip a beat.

You look up at him, your playful mood shifting, a question in your eyes. "Hmm… you tell me."

He reached out and grabbed your chin, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. "A possessive streak a mile wide," he said, his eyes boring into yours, holding you captive in their intensity. "He's the kind of man who'd kill anyone who looked at you the wrong way."

"Is that so?" you purr, a thrill dancing along your spine at the thought.

His gaze intensified, the pressure of his thumb increasing as it slipped into your mouth, gently pressing against your tongue. "Yeah, that's so," he growled, the sound resonating with a raw possessiveness that made your knees weak. His other hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, not threatening, but simply holding you in place, marking you as his. "Fuck, look at you, all submissive and sweet."

Your eyes glazed over, the world around you fading as you focused solely on him. You sucked on his thumb, the motion instinctive, drawing him further into your intoxicating spell. A contented purr rumbled in your chest, a sound that was both innocent and utterly carnal.

Sylus groaned as you sucked his thumb, the vibrations sending a jolt straight to his cock. He stroked your throat gently, feeling your pulse race under his fingertips, a frantic rhythm of desire echoing his own. "Fucking hell, you're perfect," he muttered, mesmerized by how readily you submitted to him, how easily he could claim you.

Slowly, deliberately, Sylus withdrew his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, the sound lingering in the air. He admired your slightly parted lips, the delicate sheen of moisture reflecting the light. A smirk played on his lips as he noticed your glazed eyes, the undeniable proof of your surrender. "You know, every time I think I've seen the last of your submission, you go and prove me wrong," he whispered, his voice thick with admiration and desire.

You smile, a slow, knowing curve of your lips. "Your girlfriend is the best, isn't she?"

He smirked, a flash of amusement lighting up his eyes as he shook his head. "Of course she is," he agreed, leaning in to kiss your neck softly, his breath ghosting against your skin. "She's smart, strong, beautiful, and most importantly, incredibly submissive to me." He hummed against your skin, the sound a low, possessive rumble. "I'm a lucky man."

You purr, the sound a promise of pleasures yet to come, a testament to the undeniable power you held over him.

A shiver ran down your spine at his purr, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly. "You make this too fucking easy, you know," he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe, sending another jolt of electricity through you. "One cute little sound from those perfect lips, and I'm ready to throw away everything for you."

You moan, the sound desperate and pleading. "Please…punish me like you wanted to. I can’t hold it…"

Sylus smirked, the expression predatory and knowing. "Impatient, aren’t we?"

"Please…" you try to tug free of the red mist bounds that held you captive, his energy an invisible, inescapable cage. The power of his hold on you was intoxicating, terrifying, and undeniably thrilling all at once.

His eyes darkened, the red swirling within them, your struggle only fueling the fire in his veins. He watched your body squirm, testing the boundaries of his energy bindings. They tightened around your wrists and ankles automatically, as if enjoying your futile attempts to break free. "Goddamn," he growled, his voice lower, rougher, and far more dangerous than before.

Another moan escapes you as he leans down, his breath hot against your skin, and bites the sensitive flesh between your breasts, your bra and jeans still offering a frustrating barrier.

He bit down harder, marking you as his. You cried out, your back arching involuntarily, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. He watched your breasts strain against the lace of your bra, practically begging to be freed. His hands itched to tear away the fabric, to feel your bare skin beneath his fingertips. He pulled back just enough to see the angry red mark he'd left on your pale skin. His smirk was sinful, possessive. "Look at you."

You pant, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

His gaze slowly raked over your body, lingering on your heaving chest, the way your hips moved restlessly against the bindings as you tried to get some semblance of friction.

"Sylus, please…" The word was a broken plea, a testament to the control he held over you.

Sylus chuckled darkly, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through you. Your desperate pleas were stroking his ego more than any physical touch could. "Fuck, listen to you beg," he murmured, watching your body writhe in the confines of his energy. "You'd let me do anything right now, wouldn't you?"

You nod, your breathing heavy and shallow, your eyes locked on his. The answer was a silent, desperate promise.

His grin turned feral, his energy snapping with excitement. "Words, sweetie," he demanded, voice firm. "Tell me how desperate you are for my punishment." His eyes glinted with sadistic intent, eager to hear the dirty words spill from your lips.

“Please….punish me Sylus. Because I didn’t hurt Mephisto,” your sarcasm drips out anyway. He was hurt because Sylus ordered him to protect you but he got hurt by a wanderer and now he wanted to punish you for that. You knew he clearly enjoyed that as an excuse to torment you like this.

His shoulders shook with silent laughter. Damn your smart mouth. He loved it. His expression darkened again, "You know what kind of punishment you deserve?" He asked slowly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he held back laughter. Your smart-ass answer had him less murderous and more amused.

“What kind?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

His eyes narrowed, a playful glint sparking within them. "The kind where you can't sit comfortably for a week," he suggested, his tone laced with fake menace. He loved seeing your defiant expression; it always made punishing you more satisfying. "Or…"

“Or?” you prompted, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

He smirked, the corner of his lip lifting in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "Or the kind where you scream my name so much you lose your voice." He watched your cheeks darken with a predatory satisfaction. His smirk widened. "Answer me honestly, kitten. Would you prefer sore ass cheeks, or a sore throat?" he asked softly, finding amusement in your blatant embarrassment.

You groan, a sound that was equal parts exasperation and reluctant anticipation. "So this is how you will play this time."

He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest in a posture of relaxed dominance, eyes gleaming with undisguised curiosity. "And how would I play this time?" he inquired, already knowing your answer. He loved these mind games with you, the push and pull of wills, the battle of wits. It was half the fun, the delicious prelude to the storm. "Will you keep being mouthy and sarcastic?"

“You love it when I talk back,” you smirk, mirroring his own expression. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

He barked out a surprised laugh, leaning closer again. "Fucking right I do." His voice dropped to a whisper, a dangerous rumble that vibrated against your skin. "Nothing turns me on more than your smart-ass comebacks. Especially when I have you restrained."

“Har, har, har,” you deadpan, trying to mask the shiver that ran down your spine. His nearness was intoxicating, the scent of leather and spice clinging to him, a heady mix that always made your pulse race.

His eyes crinkled at the corners again, amusement dancing within their depths. "You're asking for it now," he warned, his voice low and laced with promise. He loved how you never backed down, always gave him lip, even when you were clearly flustered. He wondered how long he could draw this out, this delicious back and forth, before he snapped and silenced you with his mouth. "Last chance," he breathed, his gaze intense, locking onto yours.

A sigh escapes your lips, a mixture of exasperation and surrender. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, pushing him to the edge, but the thrill of the chase, the anticipation of his touch, was too tempting to resist. “Fine. Sore cheeks,” you blush, the admission escaping before you could fully process it.

He threw his head back and laughed, a genuine sound that echoed through the room, a sound that always sent a flutter of warmth through your chest. "Fucking hell," he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He loved how you could go from sarcastic and defiant to blushing and vulnerable in an instant. It was a constant surprise, a never-ending source of fascination. "You know I'm going to enjoy this," he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

You nod slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. “I know.” You knew his enjoyment would be your pleasure too. The sting of his hand against your skin, followed by the overwhelming wave of desire, was a sensation you craved, a release you both needed.

His eyes darkened intensely, the playful glint replaced by a raw, possessive hunger. The way you accepted your punishment so calmly, yet blushed adorably at saying ‘sore cheeks’, had him wanting to both spank you raw and kiss those red cheeks until they were flushed even brighter. "Such a brat..." he muttered, his energy snapping with barely controlled lust, the air thick with unspoken desires.

“So?” you retort, tilting your chin up defiantly, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. You knew you were playing with fire, but you were willing to get burned.

Sylus couldn't resist the brat comment, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So fucking what? You're about to get your cute little ass smacked, and you answer with 'so'?" He tsked, shaking his head, but the amusement was still evident in his eyes. "Such a rebellious mouth on you," he murmured, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, a silent promise of things to come.

“As long as you fuck me afterwards,” you whisper, the words a blatant invitation, a challenge thrown at his feet. You watched as his expression shifted, the surprise quickly giving way to a blazing inferno of desire.

His smirk faltered, eyes widening slightly before darkening with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. Fuck, you always knew how to push his buttons, how to ignite the fire that burned between you. "Mmm, and if I don't?" He challenged, voice low and husky, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He wanted to hear you beg, wanted to see the desperation in your gaze. He wanted to break you, just to put you back together again.

You growl, a primal sound that rumbled in your chest, a sound that betrayed the depths of your desire, the raw need that consumed you both. “Don’t…” The word hung in the air, a plea, a threat, a promise of the pleasure he knew you both craved.

He chuckled darkly, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through the air, as he savored the way you so readily stumbled into his carefully laid trap. "Don't what?" he purred, his voice laced with a playful menace. He leaned in closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you, stealing your breath. "Don't fuck you after I turn your ass red? Don't give you what you want, what you so clearly crave?" His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours, watching as a storm of frustration and blatant, undeniable desire flickered within their depths. He knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Sylus…I swear…if you just…” you started, your voice a low growl, a warning that he was dancing dangerously close to the edge.

"If I just what?" he mocked, the air around him crackling with unrestrained power, an energy that mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. He thrived on this, on seeing you lose your carefully constructed composure, on witnessing the raw, untamed possessiveness that flared when he threatened to withhold the very punishment, the very pleasure, you so desperately craved. "You're so easy to rile up," he chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine, a potent cocktail of amusement and anticipation. He was a master puppeteer, and you, his willing marionette.

You slammed your eyes shut, a desperate attempt to regain control. "Nice thoughts. Nice thoughts," you chanted under your breath, a mantra of self-preservation.

Sylus erupted into a deep, rumbling laughter that shook his entire frame. It was a sound that both infuriated and ignited a fire within you. He knew exactly what you were doing – desperately trying to quell the rising tide of anger, trying to deny him the satisfaction of seeing you utterly undone. But your efforts only fueled his amusement, only intensified his desire to push you further. "Nice fucking thoughts, huh?" he drawled, the words dripping with suggestive intent. The air thickened with unspoken desires, with the promise of a fiery encounter that neither of you could resist.

You nodded curtly, your lips pressed into a thin line, the mantra continuing to flow from your lips, a fragile shield against the onslaught of his teasing. "Nice thoughts, nice thoughts..."

He watched, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as you lay there, a picture of frustrated restraint. The image of you, so close to the edge, repeating your mantra like a prayer, was almost unbearably alluring. He couldn't resist the urge to dismantle your defenses, to shatter the facade of control you were clinging to so desperately. "You know what nice thought I'm having?" he asked, his voice a silken whisper that promised both pain and pleasure.

You cracked open one eye, a glint of defiance flickering within. "What?" you challenged, the single word hanging in the air, a gauntlet thrown.

He smirked, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent a jolt of electricity through you. Leaning in so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, he whispered in your ear, his voice a husky rasp that sent shivers down your spine. "I'm thinking about how red your ass is going to look. How you'll squirm and wiggle, trying to avoid each smack, each stinging kiss from my hand. And how fucking hard I'm going to be by the time I'm done, knowing I'm the one who put you there."

The air crackled with unspoken tension, with the raw, primal energy that flowed between you. Your carefully constructed walls crumbled, revealing the desire that burned beneath the surface.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you breathed, the words a husky whisper, a surrender to the inevitable.

His smirk widened into a full-blown grin, a predatory expression that promised a world of delicious pain. He loved this, the way you could transition from controlled restraint to unbridled desire in a heartbeat. "Eager much?" he teased, but his words were already belied by his actions. His hands, strong and possessive, reached for your waist, and with a fluid motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach.

"Shit!" you yelped, the unexpectedness of his strength stealing the breath from your lungs. He was a towering figure, a formidable presence at 6'2 feet, his power amplified by the potent magic that flowed through his veins. You were no match for him, and the knowledge of that only added to the intoxicating thrill.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing in the small space as he positioned himself over you, his large frame effectively caging you in. "Language," he scolded playfully, his voice a low rumble against your ear. And then, with a deliberate slowness that bordered on torture, he began to pull your jeans off, each tug a promise of the pleasure and pain that awaited.

He tossed your jeans aside, the denim landing in a heap on the floor, leaving you exposed in just your delicate underwear. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he ran a large, calloused hand over the thin fabric, tracing the curve of your ass with possessive intent. "So fucking cute," he murmured, the words thick with desire, before delivering a sharp smack that echoed through the room, the sound a stark punctuation to the heavy air.

"Sylus!" you gasped, a mix of surprise and breathless indignation in your voice.

He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through his chest and sent a delicious shiver down your spine, even as you felt your body tense beneath his touch. "Quiet," he ordered, his voice laced with playful dominance, before delivering another stinging smack to your other cheek. A rapid series of sharp slaps followed, each one landing with a satisfying thud, making you squirm and cry out in a mixture of protest and burgeoning pleasure. The rhythmic sting filled the air, your protests growing weaker with each impact.

After what felt like an eternity of tantalizing pain, Sylus paused, his breath hot against your skin. He rubbed his large hand over the warm, reddened skin of your ass, his touch both soothing and provocative. "Already so pretty and red," he murmured approvingly, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers of anticipation through you. He gave one cheek a possessive squeeze, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. "Think you've had enough yet, brat?"

"Yes…yes…please," you begged, your voice a broken sob, the word tearing from your throat. The humiliation and the pleasure warred within you, leaving you breathless and desperate.

His expression darkened, the lust in his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart pound. He loved making you sob like this – your ass flushed and sensitive, your body wracked with delicious little shudders. It was a raw, primal connection, a dance of power and submission that both terrified and thrilled you. He decided to be merciful, but not without a final, teasing flourish. He spanked you hard two more times, each impact eliciting a sharp yelp, before finally stopping altogether, the silence that followed almost deafening.

"Holy moly," you gasped, your breath coming in ragged pants. The air felt thick and charged, every nerve ending on high alert.

Sylus chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. He reveled in the sight of you gasping and panting, your cute little ass bright red from his playful punishment. He ran a hand over the warm, tender skin, making you jump and whimper at the sensation. "Shh, kitten. It's over now," he murmured, his voice softening, the edge of dominance replaced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

He gently lifted you and helped you sit on his lap, carefully positioning you so your reddened bottom rested on his strong, supportive thighs. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you trapped against him in a comforting embrace as he nuzzled his face against your hair, inhaling your scent. "You took your punishment well," he murmured, his fingers gently carding through your hair, untangling any stray strands.

Now, a bit tired and definitely sore, you snuggled against him, your body seeking the comfort and warmth he offered. A soft purr rumbled in your chest, a subconscious sign of contentment and trust.

He smiled softly at your trusting purr, the sound a balm to his soul. One hand continued to card through your hair, a soothing and repetitive motion, while the other stayed firmly on your waist, preventing you from moving too much and aggravating your tender bottom. "Tired little kitten," he cooed softly, his voice laced with affection. "Does my baby need cuddles?" The question hung in the air, a silent promise of comfort and closeness, and you knew, without a doubt, that in his arms, you were safe, cherished, and utterly loved.

The words escape your lips, a soft, almost desperate plea. "I want you…" you murmur, the sound thick with sleep and longing.

His breath hitches, his expression instantly darkening with a raw desire that makes your heart flutter. He absolutely loves it when you're like this—relaxed, vulnerable, completely and utterly at his mercy. A possessive hand tightens around your waist, drawing you closer, while the other gently tilts your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes is a tangible thing, burning away the last vestiges of sleep. "Want what, kitten?" he rumbles, his voice a low, seductive growl that sends shivers down your spine.

"You," you breathe, the word a feather-light caress against the charged air. The single syllable encapsulates everything: your need, your desire, your complete surrender to him.

A shadow of conflict crosses his face, warring with the blatant lust that still shines in his eyes. "You're too sore for that, baby…" His tone is firm, laced with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He wants you, gods, how he wants you, but the thought of causing you more pain is a palpable restraint. He knows pushing your bruised bottom too soon would be selfish, cruel even. Instead, he buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent, trying to regain control. "I should put some cream on your ass," he murmurs against your skin, the words more a penance than an offer.

"No…you promised," you whine, the protest escaping before you can fully form the thought. The memory of his promise, the reward dangled after your…punishment, flares between you, a shared secret that ignites the already simmering tension.

He sighs, the sound laced with a mixture of exasperation and surrender. He had, indeed, promised. A smirk, devilish and utterly captivating, tugs at the corner of his lips despite his best intentions. "Damn brat, holding me to my word already?" he teases gently, the words light, but his eyes blaze with a reluctant desire that threatens to consume him. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent promise of things to come.

You nod, unable to articulate the depth of your need. The only thing you can focus on is him, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body, the promise in his eyes. You are desperate, utterly and shamelessly, for him.

He groans internally, the sound a guttural rumble that vibrates against your own skin. He knows he can't deny you, not when you look at him like that, your eyes wide and pleading, reflecting the inferno that burns within you both. "Stubborn little thing…" he murmurs, the words affectionate, laced with a helpless fondness. He shifts you in his lap, adjusting your position with painstaking care, making sure you're as comfortable as possible despite your protesting muscles. "Alright, baby. But you'll tell me if it's too much, yeah?" His voice is rough with concern, and you know he means it. He would stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, your pleasure always his priority.

You nod, the movement small and eager, your eyes locked on his.

Slowly, deliberately, he begins to unbutton his pants, his gaze never leaving yours. The anticipation is a tangible thing, stretching between you, thick and heavy with unspoken desires. Once unbuttoned, he pushes his pants and underwear down just enough to free his hard, erect length, the sight of it a potent visual promise. He lifts you slightly, his hands firm and steady on your waist, positioning you so that his hardness is pressing against your sore, reddened bottom. The contact is electrifying, a sharp, delicious ache that makes you gasp.

"Panties…" you manage to whisper, the word a breathless plea.

He pauses, his breath catching in his throat. In his haste, driven by the overwhelming need to feel you against him, he had forgotten about your underwear. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face. He slides a hand beneath you, his fingers tracing a teasing path around the delicate lace of your panties, the light pressure sending shivers of anticipation through your body. "Want these off, sweetie?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky, dripping with restrained desire. The question is rhetorical; he already knows the answer.

You nod, the movement small and frantic, unable to articulate the urgency that consumes you.

Slowly, agonizingly, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down inch by painstaking inch while maintaining unwavering eye contact. The teasing is exquisite, a deliberate torment that drives you wild with need. "Eager little kitten, aren't you?" he chuckles softly, the sound a low rumble that vibrates against your skin, before finally freeing your panties completely. He tosses them aside, the small scrap of lace a testament to the intensity of the moment.

"Maybe…" you lick your lips, the gesture unconsciously seductive, your eyes wide and glazed with desire.

The sight of your little pink tongue darting out to lick your lips was enough to make his carefully constructed control crumble. He gripped the base of his erection, knuckles white, fighting the urge to simply take you right there. "Open your mouth, baby," he finally managed, his voice a strained rasp that barely sounded like his own. "Show me how much you want me."

You didn't hesitate. Climbing down from his lap, you knelt between his legs, your eyes locked on his.

His breath hitched. He watched you, his eyes darkening with a raw, possessive lust. The reddened imprint on your bottom was a blatant reminder of the passion simmering between you, a tempting invitation he was finding increasingly difficult to resist. He ran a hand through your hair, the possessive gesture a silent command as he guided you closer. "That's a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, each word a velvety caress. "Now take me in your mouth."

Anticipation thrummed through you. You eagerly opened your mouth, welcoming him inside, the heat of him a familiar and intoxicating pleasure.

A deep, guttural moan, ripped from the depths of his being, escaped his lips as you enveloped him. One hand remained tangled in your hair, subtly dictating the rhythm, while the other gripped the pillow, a desperate anchor against the rising tide of sensation. "Fuck, kitten..." he breathed, each word a ragged exhale. "That feels so good... so fucking good." He could feel every slick, teasing movement of your tongue, a masterful dance that sent shivers of pure pleasure coursing through him.

A moan bubbled up from your throat, an involuntary response to the exquisite pleasure. You loved the taste of him, the way he filled your mouth, the sheer perfection of his shape.

Those moans, vibrating against his length, were a potent aphrodisiac, sending electric shocks down his spine. He began to slowly thrust in and out of your mouth, his eyes fixed on the mesmerizing sight of your lips stretched around him. It was almost too much, the raw eroticism of the moment threatening to shatter his remaining control.

You lifted your gaze, your eyes meeting his.

His eyes, blazing with crimson intensity, locked onto yours. The red deepened, reflecting the inferno raging within him. A low growl rumbled in his chest, his grip on your hair tightening almost imperceptibly as he guided your movements with increasing urgency. "You look so fucking sexy down there, kitten," he groaned, the words raw and honest. "Those pretty lips wrapped around my cock..."

A gasp escaped you, a mixture of pleasure and a slight gag as you accommodated his increasing length. The sensation was overwhelming.

The slight gag that escaped you ignited a primal fire within him, a surge of possessive satisfaction. He reveled in the knowledge that he was a force, a presence too substantial to be fully contained. You were pushing your boundaries, stretching your limits, all to please him. His hands, firm yet gentle, cradled your head, holding you captive as his hips surged forward, burying him deeper into your welcoming throat.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, a sound that resonated within him, igniting his desire further. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, piercing and intense, as he thrust again, the back of your throat meeting his insistent advance, eliciting another involuntary whimper, another delightful gag. The sounds were intoxicating, driving him to the brink. He could feel the tremors of your struggle, the desperate fight for breath, the tears that streamed down your face as you strained to accommodate his impressive length. "Good girl..." he rumbled, the praise a silken caress against your skin.

The unexpected clench of your core in response to his praise sent a jolt through him. A smirk, slow and knowing, played on his lips. "Does my good girl like being used like this?" he purred, his voice a low, husky rasp that vibrated through your very being. He continued his deliberate rhythm, granting you fleeting moments to gasp for air between each deep, penetrating stroke.

A moan, involuntary and raw, escaped you, followed by a hesitant nod. His smirk deepened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He gloried in your willingness, your eager acceptance of his dominance. You were his good girl, taking him with a fervor that bordered on reverence. He pulled back slightly, allowing you a precious moment to breathe deeply, before offering himself once more. "Answer with words, baby," he commanded softly, the underlying steel in his voice unmistakable. His hips snapped forward again, eliciting another gag, another desperate gasp.

"I-" you began, the word strangled by his imposing presence.

He paused, holding you firmly against his length, silencing your attempt to speak. The air caught in your throat, the pressure building, and a desperate whimper escaped. He reveled in this power, the ability to restrict, to control, to elicit such raw, primal reactions. "Say it," he growled, his eyes now burning embers of crimson desire.

A growl, low and guttural, almost escaped your lips, a testament to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and frustration that coursed through you.

The almost-growl sent a fresh wave of excitement coursing through him. He loved witnessing your unraveling, the desperation that bloomed in your eyes. Releasing his hold, he allowed you to pull back, to gasp for breath, the air burning in your lungs. His length glistened, slick with your saliva, a testament to the intensity of the moment. "Again," he demanded, his voice firm but laced with a gentle undercurrent.

"I will choke you with my mouth if you don't let me speak," you hissed, the words a promise and a challenge, a spark of defiance in the face of overwhelming desire.

His eyes widened in a delightful surprise at your sudden assertiveness, a genuine thrill sparking within them. He adored those moments when you stood your ground, even in the smallest ways. The hand that had been gently guiding you released its hold, granting you the space to speak your mind. "Oh, really now?" he challenged, a playful smirk dancing across his lips, the familiar curve hinting at the delicious game you both were engaged in.

"Yes," you breathed, the word laced with a delicious blend of defiance and desire. "I love when you use my mouth, but don't piss me off." The air crackled with unspoken promises and playful threats, a tantalizing dance of power and submission.

A deep, genuine laugh erupted from his chest, the sound resonating with pure, unadulterated amusement. He reveled in your duality, the way you could seamlessly transition from sweet surrender to fiery defiance. With a tender hand, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch softening, becoming almost reverent. "Noted, my little angry kitten," he murmured softly, the words a caress against your skin.

You leaned into his touch, a smile blossoming on your face as the tension eased. It was a shared moment of understanding.

The sight of your relaxed smile warmed him from the inside out. These pockets of tenderness, even amidst the passionate storm you created, were precious. Guiding your head back towards his waiting length, his touch remained feather-light, almost hesitant. "Now," he whispered, his voice a low, husky command, "be a good girl and use your mouth like you just threatened."

A choked laugh escaped you, the sound a mixture of amusement and arousal, and you eagerly got back to work.

His heart hammered against his ribs as you laughed, then reverently took him into your mouth once more. He watched, mesmerized, as you weaponized your earlier threat, taking him deep and sucking hard, leaving no room for doubt. His hips instinctively arched upwards, seeking more of your skilled ministrations, craving the exquisite torment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he groaned, the words raw and unbidden.

A soft hum vibrated from your throat, the sound resonating against his skin, sending shivers of delight through him. A low "Mmph" escaped his lips, his body twitching in response. He watched your head bob with skilled precision, your hair cascading around your shoulders like a silken waterfall. It was in this moment of exquisite torture that something shifted within him. "Sweetie?"

"Mmm?" you responded, your voice muffled, the sound a tantalizing invitation.

He gently threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch both possessive and tender. "Can I ask you something?" he asked softly, his hips flexing in a silent plea. "It's important..."

You paused, looking up at him, your eyes questioning.

His dark eyes met yours, filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He saw in your gaze the perfect blend of pleasure and trust, a potent combination that stirred something deep within him. "Would you... would you mind using your teeth?" he asked quietly, almost shyly, his voice barely a whisper. "Just slightly..."

You almost laughed as you pulled your mouth away from his cock, "Is my bad Sylus is a masochist? This is a first.”

His deep laugh rumbled through the room, a warm vibration that tickled your senses. He knew you were teasing him, playing your little game. "Answer the question first, smartass," he countered, a mischievous grin dancing on his lips. "And yes, kitten, I might be a masochist. Haven't you figured that out yet? I thought I was being obvious."

You grinned, a spark of playful challenge in your eyes. "Oh, I've figured it out. Remember the first time I bit your shoulder when you fucked me hard? That was the first clue, genius." A blush crept up his neck, a telltale sign of the pleasure he was trying, and failing, to hide.

His grin widened at your brazen observation. "You're catching on quick, kitten," he praised, his voice laced with a husky timbre that sent shivers down your spine. He traced the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes burning into yours. "And I do like it. It's a good kind of pain, a pain that makes me feel alive." The air crackled with unspoken desires as he refocused, his gaze intense. "Now, back to my question. Are you going to do what I want, hmm?"

You nodded slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation build in the space between you. "I can do that," you breathed, your voice a low hum.

A visible shudder of excitement ran through him as you agreed. You could feel his cock twitch against your leg, eager for your touch, already imagining the delicate scrape of your teeth. "Carefully now," he murmured, his voice thick with need, guiding your head back down with a gentle hand. As you took him in your mouth, he let out a sharp hiss, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair, a clear indication of the control he was already losing.

You sucked him deep, your focus absolute, your intention to drive him wild. You teased him, pushing him closer to the edge, carefully scraping your teeth along his shaft, savoring the sensation.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sylus as he felt your teeth gently rake against his sensitive length. It was exquisite torture, a delicious pain that sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body, making him arch against you. His hips jerked involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your welcoming warmth. "Holy fuck..." he groaned, the words barely audible.

You wanted to smirk, wanted to revel in the power you held over him, but you kept going, deepening the kiss, intensifying the pressure.

His eyes rolled back slightly, pupils blown wide, as you continued to work him with your mouth, the careful scrape of your teeth driving him further into a frenzy. He could feel the pressure building in his core, his body tensing with each rhythmic movement of your head. "Just... like... that," he gasped out, his voice strained and breathless, barely recognizable.

A moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his skin, a primal sound that fueled the fire burning between you.

The vibration of your moan around his length was nearly his undoing. It sent a jolt of pure pleasure straight to his core, and he felt his release rushing towards him like a tidal wave. "Gonna... gonna come," he warned, his grip on your hair tightening slightly, a silent plea for you to hold on as he prepared to spill himself in your mouth.

You opened wide, a silent invitation, ready to receive his offering.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he felt your mouth open wider, an unspoken invitation that sent a jolt of pure, raw pleasure through him. He surrendered, his hips bucking against you as he came undone, a torrent of hot seed spilling into your waiting mouth. Through half-lidded eyes, glazed with ecstasy, he watched as you accepted his offering, swallowing gently, reverently. The sight was intoxicating.

After long moments suspended in blissful afterglow, Sylus descended from his peak. He gently detached you from his softening length, his chest heaving with exertion and profound satisfaction. He looked down at you, a soft, contented smile playing on his lips. "Perfect little kitten..." he murmured, the words laced with affection and a hint of possessive pride.

You grinned, a playful glint in your eyes as you climbed back into his lap. "Care for round two? But this time," you purred, nuzzling his neck, "we both get to come?"

His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, securing you against him as you settled back into place. His hands, large and warm, rested possessively on your stomach. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, his fingers splaying out as he spoke, "Deal. But this time, I get to add a little challenge..."

"Yes?" you breathed, anticipation coiling in your belly.

His red eyes darkened, the lust that flared within them now laced with a mischievous spark. "No hands. Only mouths and hips," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down your spine. He could already feel his length thickening again, pressing against your inner thighs, a blatant promise of things to come. "And no sound. Try to be quiet," he added, the challenge clear in his tone.

You groaned, the prospect both thrilling and daunting. "Then you need to restrain me. I can't… that's…" The words trailed off, unable to fully articulate the storm of sensation he was about to unleash.

He laughed, a deep, knowing sound that vibrated through your body. He knew you were right. You were too loud, too responsive. The thought of you waking the entire base with your unrestrained moans was… undesirable, to say the least. He pulled you closer, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking softly. "One more condition," he murmured against your skin.

"What else now?" you whined, your voice laced with playful exasperation.

He hummed against your neck, his arms tightening around you possessively. "I'll restrain you with my energy evol. It'll keep your arms trapped behind your back." His voice dropped to a dark whisper, a promise of delicious torment. "And if you break it… punishment," he added, his grin evident in his voice. "Agreed?"

You swallowed hard, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. "That's easy if you use your energy evol... but sounds?" The very thought of remaining silent while he pleasured you to the edge of oblivion seemed an impossible feat. The thrill of the challenge, however, was too enticing to resist.

His nod was a possessive claim, his lips still fused to the sensitive skin of your neck. Then came the subtle shift, the caress of his evol as it manifested, tendrils of pure energy weaving around your wrists. They bound you, not with harshness, but with a gentle, undeniable strength, holding your arms captive behind your back. "Shh... no more talking," he murmured, the words a silken command against your skin.

A whimper threatened to break free, a tiny sound of rebellion that he seemed to savor. He smirked, a flash of predatory amusement in his eyes. He knew this restraint, this enforced silence, was a potent cocktail designed to drive you to the brink of madness, a delicious blend of frustration and burgeoning pleasure. With his free hand, he guided your hips, a firm but persuasive touch that aligned you perfectly against the hard, throbbing evidence of his desire. "Remember," he whispered, his voice laced with teasing promise, "quiet... or else."

Your eyes, wide and pleading, were your only answer, a silent promise offered in supplication.

"Such a good kitten," he praised, the words a soft caress that belied the intensity of the moment. His hands, firm and knowing, guided your hips downwards, a slow, torturous descent. You could feel the slick heat of him, the thick, insistent pressure against your entrance, a prelude to the inevitable. "No noises now..." He lowered you further, inch by agonizing inch, testing the strength of your resolve, the limits of your silence.

The need to cry out was a sharp, burning ache. You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic tang of blood a small sacrifice in the face of overwhelming sensation.

His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as he watched your struggle, your valiant attempt to maintain control. He raised your hips just a fraction, prolonging the anticipation, before lowering you again, a slow, deliberate slide that filled you inch by excruciating inch. This was torture, exquisite and refined, a shared torment that stoked the flames of your desire. No sound, no touch beyond the searing connection between you – it was an exercise in restraint, a symphony of pent-up energy threatening to explode.

A silent plea formed on your lips, your gaze locked on his.

Understanding flashed in his eyes, a flicker of concession amidst the storm. He granted your unspoken wish, his lips descending to capture yours in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your bitten lip, then plunged into your mouth, a silencing invasion that muffled any sound that might dare to escape. All the while, he maintained his deliberate pace, lifting and lowering you slowly, the rhythmic friction building with each controlled movement.

You closed your eyes, a wave of dizziness washing over you. The scream was trapped, a silent prisoner clawing at your throat, desperate for release.

He reveled in your silence, in the frantic desperation of your kiss, in the way your body clenched around him in a silent plea. He could feel the tremors of your building climax, the feverish heat radiating from your skin. It empowered him, fueled the fire within him, made him throb even harder, even deeper inside you. "That's my good girl... keeping quiet," he murmured against your lips, the words a husky praise that sent shivers down your spine.

Your eyes rolled back, your world narrowing to the feel of his mouth on yours, to the exquisite torture of his controlled movements. You kissed him back with a ferocity born of desperation, a frantic attempt to swallow the moan that threatened to shatter the fragile silence.

His arms tightened around you, a possessive embrace that stole the air from your lungs. His kiss deepened, a hungry claiming that swallowed any sound threatening to escape your lips. You tried to stifle your moans against his mouth, a futile attempt that only fueled his desire to keep this silence game going. He tasted your restraint, the suppressed passion, and it made him ache to break you.

You shifted, taking control, your movements initiating a slow, deliberate ride. He felt you helping him, guiding him deeper, and his hands instinctively gripped your thighs, lifting you, urging you higher. You rode him slowly, painstakingly, trying to maintain the fragile quiet, each movement a silent scream. He loved it, the challenge, the exquisite torture of your enforced silence. It was a game of wills, and he was determined to win.

The pressure built, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to shatter your control. You bit your lip, harder this time, a sharp sting that drew blood. A thin trickle escaped, a crimson testament to your struggle.

His eyes widened, a flicker of concern quickly replaced by a dark, possessive excitement. He reached up, his touch feather-light as he licked away the blood, his tongue lingering on the tender flesh of your lip, before gently sucking it into his mouth. The metallic tang was intoxicating, a forbidden flavor that heightened his arousal, pushing him closer to the edge. "So stubborn," he murmured against your skin, the words a low, husky growl.

The tears came then, unbidden, unwanted. They welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, a stark contrast to the silent inferno raging within you. You wanted to lash out, to whimper, to scream from the overwhelming pleasure and the exquisite torture of his control.

He caught a tear with his thumb, wiping it away with a tenderness that belied the burning intensity in his gaze. His heart hammered against his ribs as he felt your desperation, the raw need to cry out, to surrender to the sensations consuming you. He was so close, the silence, the tears, the palpable tension pushing him relentlessly towards the brink.

You looked at him, a silent plea etched on your face, your eyes begging for release.

He held your gaze, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the raw vulnerability in your eyes. He knew you were at your limit, teetering on the precipice, desperate to shatter the silence with a moan, a whimper, anything. He leaned in, his voice a low, guttural growl against your ear that vibrated through your very core. "Just a little longer, my kitten."

You closed your eyes, more tears forming, and bit down hard on your wounded lip, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the throbbing pleasure that resonated deep within you. You felt his hard length filling you, stretching you, igniting every nerve ending. Just a little longer. But how much more could you endure?

He felt you tensing around him, every inch of you a live wire against his skin as you rode him, a silent storm brewing. Your teeth worried your already wounded lip, a desperate attempt to contain the sounds clawing their way up your throat. He could feel the tremor in your body, a frantic bird beating against its cage, and the slick trails of tears tracing paths down your face. This exquisite torture, the dance between pleasure and pain etched on your features, was intoxicating.

He watched you, a silent observer of your beautiful torment. Your skin glistened, a canvas painted with sweat, the gentle rise and fall of your breasts a mesmerizing rhythm. Your lip, bruised and swollen from your relentless bite, was a testament to your struggle. The tears were a silent symphony, a visual echo of the battle raging within you. He was teetering on the edge, the need to surrender to the moment almost overwhelming.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

His gaze was a dark abyss, unwavering and intense, locking onto yours. He saw the raw desperation swimming in their depths, the fragile dam holding back a torrent of unshed tears. He saw the agonizing fight for silence, the near-impossible task of containing the explosive pressure building within. He knew you were on the precipice, about to shatter into a million pieces, a scream or whimper the only escape from the exquisite agony.

Without warning, his hand shot out, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. He surged upward, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce, possessive claim. His tongue, a demanding invader, pushed past your injured lip, silencing the scream that had been building, a pressure cooker about to explode. He was the valve, finally allowing you to break, to surrender to the overwhelming tide of tension and pleasure.

A strangled cry escaped your lips, muffled, desperate, as you shattered.

The sound was swallowed by his mouth, a secret he claimed with a savage tenderness. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as you convulsed against him, a broken dam unleashing its fury. The silence shattered, replaced by the violent release of your body. He held you captive in the kiss, a deep, soul-searing connection as you sobbed and screamed silently into his mouth, the tremors of your release echoing in his own body.

He watched, mesmerized, as the pleasure consumed you. Your body bucked beneath his touch, a silent tempest raging within. But no sound escaped. Your head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in exquisite agony, your mouth a perfect "O" of breathless release, yet utterly, achingly silent. He pulled back slightly, needing to witness the entirety of this raw, untamed moment. A guttural sound rumbled in his chest. "Damn..."

He removed his arms from around you, his hands now roamed down your sides, his fingers finding purchase on your ribs in a possessive caress. He watched your ragged attempts to regain control, your chest rising and falling in silent hitches, tears slicking down your face – a testament to the overwhelming power of the silent climax.

Gently, he framed your face, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the relentless tears. He was utterly captivated, enthralled by the primal intensity of your unspoken pleasure. The way your body trembled, convulsed, without a single sound crossing your lips was both a delicious torment and the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed.

He lowered his forehead to yours, his breath ghosting over your lips, mingling with your voiceless gasps. He felt the frantic pulse of your heart against his, the frantic thrum beneath your skin. Part of him yearned to hear you scream, to revel in the sounds of your pleasure, but he was equally intoxicated by the potent, silent explosion.

Your eyes met his, pleading, desperate. A silent entreaty for mercy, for a flicker of compassion. You couldn’t fathom his anger over the crow incident. It wasn’t your fault he’d been injured defending you. Was he really this furious?

He searched your gaze, the desperation in your eyes a physical ache within him. He understood your silent plea for leniency, for comfort after the tumultuous, unspoken release he’d just unleashed. A sigh escaped him, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip, gently soothing the slight rawness he’d inflicted.

His expression softened, the harsh lines around his mouth fading. He knew, logically, that you held no blame for the damn crow. The realization slammed into him – he’d been venting his anger, taking out his frustration on your body. He wasn’t even mad at you. Why was he punishing you like this? The harshness bled from his voice, replaced by an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Sweetie..."

Your head dropped forward, the movement almost enough to break the silence, almost enough to unleash a choked sob.

He watched you drop your head, the silence nearly shattering with the small, choked noise you emitted. A stark realization hit him then—how utterly unfair he'd been. He'd been channeling his anger, his own inner turmoil, into your pleasure, using you as a release. A curse escaped his lips, barely audible, as he gently lifted your chin with his fingers. "Hey..." he murmured, his voice suddenly laced with concern.

He saw the raw emotion swimming in your eyes, the way you were desperately trying to hold back a sob. A pang of guilt twisted in his gut, the realization of his actions hitting him hard. He had been using you, and it wasn't fair. He softened his voice even more, trying to soothe the hurt he'd inflicted. "Look at me, kitten," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours.

You look at him, a silent plea etched on your face, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

He gazed into your desperate eyes, the intensity of his own anger dissolving in the face of your obvious distress. With a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his regret, he brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle now. "I was never angry at you, sweetie. Not even a little bit," he confessed, his voice low and sincere. "It was not your fault. I just... I wanted to make this more interesting for us."

You glare, the fire in your eyes flickering despite the lingering vulnerability.

He actually chuckled softly at your glare, a hint of amusement returning to his features, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "Would you rather I'd been gentle and boring? At least I gave you the best orgasm of your life..." He paused, realizing he'd managed to anger you despite the pleasure he'd just given. "Okay, okay..."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the glare you were still sending his way. "I know, I know. I was an ass. Using your gorgeous body as a punching bag for my amusement. Not cool," he admitted, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness.

You keep silent, the question hanging in the air: Was the game still on, or had he crossed a line?

He watched you carefully, his playful demeanor fading as he tried to gauge your mood. The smirk vanished from his lips as he realized you were still processing everything that had just happened. He leaned back slightly, giving you space to breathe, but kept his hands gently on your waist, a silent reassurance. "Are we still playing this game, kitten?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You shake your head, the plea in your eyes intensifying, begging him to stop, to understand.

Feeling guilt creeping in, a heavy weight in his chest. He groaned softly, misinterpreting your silence for a moment, but then understanding dawned. He knew his limits, and he knew when to stop. His touch softened, becoming even more tender as he cupped your face gently in his hands. "Okay, no more games for now," he promised, his gaze unwavering, a silent vow to be better, to be what you needed him to be.

You sharply exhale, a ragged, loud breath ripping through the tense silence. "Fucking shit," you hiss, the words laced with a frustration that claws at your throat.

His eyes widen, just a fraction, at the unexpected outburst from your sharp tongue. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound laced with amusement and, strangely, affection. He finds your cursing endearing, a chink in your carefully constructed armor. He watches you, his heart warming at the display of your raw emotion. "Well, someone's feeling feisty now..." he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

Without warning, you grab his throat, your fingers tightening just enough to remind him who's in control. You lean down, your breath hot against his skin, and sink your teeth into the tender flesh of his neck. A possessive, hungry bite that ignites a fire in his veins. As you start riding him again, a primal energy surges through you, a tempest of anger and desire.

A low groan escapes his lips, a sound of mixed pleasure and surrender as you suddenly take the reins. Your teeth sink deeper, drawing a bead of blood, in a kiss that's more a declaration of war than affection. His hands instinctively grip your hips, his fingers digging into the curve of your flesh as he feels the sudden, intoxicating movement. He can taste your frustration, your pent-up rage, channeling into this raw, untamed act.

You growl, a feral sound that vibrates against his skin, and move faster, pushing him closer to the edge.

His fingers dig deeper into your hips as you unleash your fury, each thrust more desperate than the last. He can feel the intensity building inside you, a volatile cocktail of passion and defiance. He moans, completely overwhelmed by the sudden shift in dynamic, the raw power emanating from you. "Fuck..." he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

You let out a loud, unrestrained moan as you finally release your teeth from his neck, the metallic tang of blood filling your senses. Relief washes over you, the silence finally broken. "Sylus..." you gasp, his name a plea, an accusation, a confession all rolled into one.

As soon as you release your hold, his head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, his muscles tensing in anticipation. He can feel the beginnings of a shattering orgasm building, your moans – raw, untamed, electrifying – echoing in the small space.

"You punished me for no reason!" you hiss, the words laced with a wounded vulnerability that cuts through his haze of pleasure. You drag your inner walls up and down, milking every last drop of sensation, a silent demand for retribution.

He gasps sharply as you tighten around him, the pleasure almost unbearable, bordering on pain. Your accusation hangs in the air, heavy and charged, a challenge he can't ignore. He pants heavily, struggling to find the words, the breath, to answer you amidst the overwhelming sensations. "I... fuck, I know... was unfair... ah!"

You clench, a final desperate squeeze, and cry out as the wave of release crashes over you, your body convulsing with the force of it.

The world exploded around you as you clenched him, your cry a raw, untamed sound ripped from your throat. A tidal wave of his own pleasure crashed over Sylus, his body seizing as he moaned, the sound raw and guttural. He felt you, tight and pulsing around him, milking every last drop as he poured his essence into you, a fierce, primal connection forged in the heart of ecstasy.

You stared up at him, breath ragged, chest heaving.

His eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze. Your bodies were slick with sweat, pressed together as if trying to merge into one. He saw the wild tangle of your hair, the flush high on your cheekbones, the swollen curve of your lips parted in desperate gasps. And then he saw the storm brewing in your eyes, the serious set of your jaw. His throat constricted. He swallowed hard, a cold dread creeping into his veins. You were furious.

"Sylus…"

The name hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations. He remained silent, bracing himself. The anger radiating from you was palpable, but beneath it, he saw a flicker of something else, something wounded. Guilt, sharp and immediate, stabbed at him. He knew he’d pushed too far, used you as an outlet for his own dark desires. "Yeah?" he managed, the word a mere whisper.

"You sadist," you hissed, the accusation a venomous sting.

His eyes widened, a flicker of shock quickly replaced by a complex emotion he couldn't quite decipher himself. He opened his mouth, then closed it, searching for the right words, but finding none. A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping with the weight of your condemnation. "I... I suppose I am," he admitted, the words laced with a weary resignation.

"Huh? That's your response?” You glared, incredulous. "I almost died from the silence game, you know? I almost stopped breathing."

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture revealing a vulnerability you rarely saw. The gravity of your anger finally seemed to register, the playful smirk vanishing, replaced by a serious, haunted look. He met your fiery glare head-on. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Because I am. Truly."

You released a long, shuddering sigh, the fight momentarily draining out of you.

He mirrored your sigh, feeling the full weight of his transgression settle upon him. His grip on your hips loosened, becoming less possessive, more a gesture of surrender. "Look," he said, his voice rough with remorse, "I crossed a line. I know that now. The silence game… pushing you that far? It was fucking irresponsible of me."

The fight had left you. Everything had left you empty. “Yeah…”

He saw the hurt shimmering in your eyes, a silent accusation that pierced through his carefully constructed walls. Guilt, sharp and unwelcome, surged within him. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently cupped your face. His thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone, a tender caress that felt clumsy and inadequate. "I'm really sorry, okay? I let my own demons cloud my judgment. I never meant to truly hurt you, to put you in that kind of danger." The words felt hollow, failing to capture the depth of his regret.

You rolled your eyes, a familiar gesture that usually brought a smile to his face. This time, however, it felt like a lifeline. “Okay, don’t be so dramatic. I’m still alive,” you said, your voice laced with a playful exasperation. You leaned closer, the subtle shift in your posture sending a jolt of electricity through him.

His heart rate kicked up a notch as you closed the distance between you. He could see the beginnings of a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth, a flicker of light in the lingering shadows of the moment. Relief, vast and overwhelming, washed over him. "Yeah, yeah, you're still alive. Barely," he countered, his voice a low murmur, laced with a hint of teasing affection.

You laughed, the sound a melody that chased away the last vestiges of tension. It was music to his ears, a sign that perhaps, just perhaps, he hadn't completely shattered the fragile bond between you.

He smiled softly, the expression reaching his eyes and softening the harsh lines of his face. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping securely around your waist, a silent promise of protection. "You know, for someone who was almost killed by me, you're surprisingly calm right now," he said, a hint of wonder in his voice.

“Not literally killed,” you corrected, your tone light.

"Semantics," he murmured, nuzzling his face against yours, inhaling the familiar scent of your hair. "The point is, you were close to breaking point. You were pale, shaking, on the verge of passing out..." A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, a reminder of how close he had come to losing you.

You sighed, a soft sound that vibrated against his skin, and snuggled closer, seeking the comfort of his embrace.

He smiled to himself, his arms tightening around you in response. He rested his chin on top of your head, inhaling your scent like a man starved. "You're really not mad at me anymore, huh?" He needed to hear you say it, to banish the lingering fear that he had irrevocably damaged what they had.

“I can’t. Not the type to hold grudges for long,” you mumbled against his chest.

He chuckled softly, his fingers splaying out on your lower back in a possessive gesture. "Lucky for me, I suppose. Most people would still be giving me the cold shoulder after almost driving them to the brink of insanity with silence."

“Maybe your two henchmen would,” you quipped, tilting your head back to look at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

He laughed, the sound a deep rumble that vibrated through his chest and sent shivers dancing across your skin. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes, a delightful contrast to the possessive fire that still burned beneath. "Oh, darling, they're definitely still sulking in the corner. I swear, I could practically feel the vibrations of their disapproval when I dared to suggest you’ve been monopolizing my attention lately. They were practically trembling."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and breathless. "Are you jealous, Sylus?" The question was teasing, trying to get some reaction out of him.

He scoffed, a theatrical display of indifference. He tried to maintain a neutral expression, but the playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "Jealous? Hardly. Let those two lovesick puppies vie for your attention. It's quite entertaining, really. Like watching a pair of kittens trying to catch a laser pointer."

"Hm," you hummed, unconvinced. Your eyes narrowed playfully, enjoying his little performance.

He noticed your skepticism, his grin widening into a full-blown, devilish smile. "Besides," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent goosebumps erupting on your arms, "if anyone should be jealous, it should be them. After all," he tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, "you're currently sitting in my lap, naked, your skin flushed. And thoroughly fucked by me, not them."

You gasped, a mixture of shock and embarrassment flooding your senses. "Sylus!" you protested.

He laughed, the sound dark and husky as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck, his hands wandering possessively over your bare skin. "What? It's the truth. They're probably out there, pacing and imagining all the things they wish they could be doing to you, while I’m the one actually doing them. Satisfying your cravings and moans."

"No," you insisted, a touch of genuine disbelief in your voice. "They're too loyal, too… nice. They wouldn't have thoughts like that."

He stared at you, his eyes widening in mock astonishment. He realized, with a jolt of amusement, that you were serious. You honestly believed his men were that innocent. He threw his head back and roared with laughter, a sound that shook the very room and made you jump slightly. He pulled you close again, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth.

"What's so funny?" you asked, a little flustered.

"You," he chuckled, playfully ruffling your hair. "You genuinely think my men aren't fantasizing about you? Sweetie, they're grown men, not eunuchs. They probably have whole scenarios planned out, detailed and… explicit." He laughed again, the sound a delicious rumble against your ear.

You winced, feeling your cheeks burn. "Don't be gross," you mumbled, burying your face in his shoulder. "That's impossible."

He grinned at your shocked expression, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, it's completely possible. I've caught them staring at you with some rather telling looks. Trust me, if they could act on those fantasies without me killing them, they probably would."

You slapped his chest playfully, a blush creeping up your neck. “Okay. Stop.” The image of the two, always so eager to please, made his words just ridiculous. They were like brothers to you, the twins.

He laughed again, a rich, warm sound that vibrated through you as he caught your hand and pressed it to his chest, right over the steady rhythm of his heart. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. You're too easy to tease." He paused, his expression softening, the mischievous glint fading slightly. "But seriously, don't be so naive, darling." His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, a silent warning.

“They are like two puppies, like you said. They are not like that.” You insisted, trying to brush it off. Luke and Kieran. Puppies, loyal and harmless. Right?

He raised an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate smirk tugging at his lips. "Puppies that would rip out the throat of anyone who threatened you, given the chance." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "And believe me, I've given them plenty of opportunities to show their... loyalty." His voice was a low purr, thick with unspoken meaning.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said, trying to sound annoyed.

His smirk widened mischievously. He knew he was getting under your skin, stirring up desires and uncertainties. He pulled back slightly, his eyes glinting with unspent mirth. "You really want to believe they're just innocent puppies, don't you?" The challenge was clear in his voice, the unspoken dare to ignore the truth he was laying bare.

“They are. Now, drop it,” you demanded, deciding the best defense was a swift offense. You leaned in, kissing him deeply, a deliberate attempt to distract him. And then, you lifted your hips, a small, teasing movement, and moaned softly when he slipped out, leaving you momentarily bereft.

He groaned softly, the sound rumbling in his chest, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. He gripped your waist, pulling you back down onto him slowly, deliberately, a low growl escaping his throat. The world seemed to narrow to the feel of his hands on your skin, the heat radiating between you. "You know how to change the subject," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and thick with lust.

“Hey! I was pulling out.” You protested weakly, though the truth was, you’d been playing a dangerous game yourself. The initial protest was just that, initial.

He chuckled darkly, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he held you firmly in place. "Was that before or after you moaned like you didn't want me to slip out?" He teased, his hips giving a slight, deliberate thrust to emphasize his point, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Sylus,” you moaned, his name a breathy whisper against his lips, feeling your core clench in anticipation of round two.

His smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as your breathy, needy whimper filled the air. He felt the subtle clench of your muscles around him, a delicious betrayal of your carefully constructed facade. His grip on your hips tightened, thumbs digging possessively into the soft curve of your flesh. "You keep saying my name like that, little kitten, and I'm going to keep doing this," he breathed, each word a promise of escalating pleasure.

"Oh, Sylus!" you purred, the moan a deliberate weapon, laced with playful defiance.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against your skin as your husky invitation hit its mark. His fingers dug into your hips, a possessive anchor as he began to move. Slow. Deliberate. Each movement a calculated torment, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that bordered on feral. "Keep mocking me, little minx," he growled, his voice a husky rasp. "See how long you last."

A giggle escaped your lips, a spark of exhilaration igniting within you. But before you could savor the moment, the world shifted abruptly. A gasp caught in your throat as he flipped you with effortless strength, the sudden change in position stealing your breath. He withdrew almost completely, the agonizing anticipation drawing a whimper from your depths, before slamming back in, hard and deep. The cry that tore from your throat was raw, untamed. He gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, an offering to his escalating dominance. Each thrust was a sharp, exquisite burn, his smirk turning predatory as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. "You were laughing," he accused, his voice a low rumble.

"Sylus! You—" you gasped, trying to form a coherent protest, but the words died in your throat.

He silenced you with a powerful thrust, cutting off your rebellion with a surge of overwhelming sensation. His voice, a command whispered against your ear, sent shivers down your spine. "Shut up and take it. You started this." He leaned over you, his body a warm, heavy weight, a cage of muscle and desire. He moved with a relentless rhythm, stealing your breath, your thoughts, your very will. "You know I can't resist when you tease me like that, little temptress."

A hiss escaped your lips, a frustrated sound of surrender.

His grin widened, wickedly pleased by your response. The sound fueled him, a confirmation of his power. He knew you were strong, resilient, but he was determined to break through your defenses, to show you the true extent of his control. He shifted his angle, a subtle change with devastating consequences, hitting a spot that made you gasp, your body arching involuntarily. "Is that too much for you, my little wild kitten?"

"No," you breathed, the word a ragged whisper against his skin.

A possessive growl vibrated in his chest, a sound of pure, primal satisfaction. He continued to target that sweet spot, each thrust a calculated assault on your senses, his body grinding against yours with a relentless, demanding rhythm. He leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive curve of your neck, nipping and sucking at the vulnerable skin, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "Then stop making those fucking noises," he murmured against your flesh, his breath hot and ragged.

"Sylus! Oh, yes!" you whimpered, abandoning all pretense of control, the pleasure too overwhelming to resist.

He chuckled darkly against your neck, his breath sending shivers down your spine. He felt your whimpers vibrate against his lips, a delicious confirmation of his effect on you. He knew you were trying to provoke him, to push him further, and he was more than willing to oblige. His hips surged forward, burying himself to the hilt, a raw, primal connection. "Keep pushing me," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "See what happens."

You gasp, a sound quickly turning into a strangled choke as he relentlessly finds that sweet, aching spot within you. His rhythm intensifies, bordering on demanding, each thrust stealing your breath. Your body betrays you, trembling uncontrollably as your inner walls clench around him, a desperate plea for more.

Your back arches instinctively, offering him the vulnerable curve of your neck, a silent invitation he can't resist. A primal fire ignites in his eyes as he descends, teeth grazing then sinking into the sensitive skin where neck meets shoulder. He bites down, a possessive mark sealing your fate as his hips continue their merciless dance.

"Sylus!" The sound tears from your throat, a mixture of pleasure and surrender.

A low growl rumbles against your skin as he sucks harder, feeling your body convulse beneath him. He knows the mark will bloom into a bruise, a visible claim for all to see. Driven by the raw taste of you, his movements become frantic, desperate. "Is that what you wanted, little bird?"

You want to deny it, to feign control, but the exquisite torment he inflicts steals your voice. A moan escapes instead, a broken sound. "Yes! Please, Sylus…"

A dark growl vibrates in his chest, his pace turning brutal as he senses your impending release. He slowly releases your neck, leaving a crimson testament to his claim. His hand now encircles your throat, not to harm, but to possess, to brand you as his. "Look at how beautifully you break apart for me," he whispers, his voice thick with triumph.

The moment his fingers close around your throat, your eyes roll back, vision blurring as a sob is ripped from your chest. Your release crashes over you in violent waves, each pulse of pleasure echoing his name. Your inner walls contract around him, desperately clinging, trying to capture every last drop of his essence.

"Sylus, please…" you sob, voice fractured.

A dangerous grin spreads across his face, understanding the dual meaning behind your plea – both surrender and insatiable desire. His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around your throat as he continues his deliberate, deep thrusts, chasing his own oblivion. "Too sensitive, little bird? Should I stop?" he taunts softly, a challenge laced with the promise of more, knowing full well he won't.

"Fuck, no!" The words are breathless, desperate.

A dark laugh escapes him as his hips slam forward again, relentlessly hitting that spot that shatters your senses. His thumb presses gently against your windpipe, a subtle assertion of control. "Language," he chides softly, his voice a velvet whisper laced with raw, untamed dominance.

You meet his gaze, pupils blown wide, and whisper, "Sorry…" the word a breathless offering.

His hips stilled for a heartbeat at your whispered plea, a possessive thrill coursing through him at how completely undone you were in his arms. He leaned down, the ghost of his lips teasing yours as he resumed his slow, deliberate rhythm, stretching out the exquisite tension that bound you both. "Apologize properly," he murmured, his voice a husky command that vibrated against your skin.

"I'm sorry that I cursed, Sylus! Please…" You whimpered, the word catching in your throat.

His eyes darkened, the pupils expanding with a desire that mirrored your own. God, he lived for these moments – your vulnerability, your sensitivity, the desperate apology on your lips. His thumb traced a possessive circle on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "Please what?" His voice dropped, a silken thread laced with a dangerous edge. He knew the venomous words you wanted to use when you were being bad. 

"Please… more! Fuck me harder, like you want to kill me!" you gasped, the words ripped from your soul.

A flash of raw triumph ignited in his eyes at your desperate command, a wicked smirk curving his lips. "There's that filthy mouth again," he purred, as if admiring a rare and precious thing. Then, without preamble, he surged into you with brutal force, each thrust a shockwave that reverberated through your entire being. His fingers dug into your yielding hips, anchoring you as he set a relentless, devastating pace.

A strangled cry escaped your lips as you teetered on the precipice, the world dissolving into a kaleidoscope of sensation.

He watched, mesmerized, as your body arched off the bed, a taut bow pulled to its breaking point. A primal scream tore from your throat, your inner muscles clenching around him in a desperate embrace. Your cries were his fuel, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his own control. He knew he bordered on brutal, on the edge of violence, but your response – god, your exquisite, shattering response – was his addiction.

The smirk widened, a predatory glint in his eyes, as your cries abruptly ceased, replaced by a breathless silence. Your back arched even further with each savage thrust of his hips. He felt the subtle tremors that racked your body, the telltale signs of another involuntary climax. He slowed his pace fractionally, his grip on your hips gentling, a possessive caress replacing the harsh demand. He knew the power he held, the ability to elicit screams or whimpers with the barest touch.

"Sylus…" you moaned, your voice a shattered whisper.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he continued to move inside you, the rhythm slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. "Yes, sweetie?" His hands slid from your hips to your breasts, thumbs circling your aching nipples, coaxing another soft moan from your lips. "Am I too much? Too sensitive, are you?"

You could only nod, the sensations overwhelming, consuming.

His smirk widened, predatory and knowing. He was fully aware of your heightened sensitivity, each nerve ending humming from the aftershocks of pleasure. His thumbs, previously firm, now traced feather-light circles around your peaks, a deliberate torment. He knew the exquisite torture of a gentle touch, the potential to shatter you all over again. His voice, a low rumble, barely a breath against your skin, cut through the haze. "Answer truthfully, little bird. Do you truly wish for me to stop being rough?"

Your gaze, unfocused and glazed with lingering ecstasy, locked with his. The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desires. The word 'stop' felt foreign, a betrayal of the pleasure still thrumming within you. A desperate denial escaped your lips, barely audible. "Don't stop, please. Please."

A flash of surprise, quickly replaced by wicked amusement, danced in his eyes. The raw vulnerability in your plea was an intoxicating offering. He leaned closer, the heat of his body a palpable promise. His lips grazed your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he purred, "You crave this, even with your delicate state? Such a naughty thing you are."

A choked laugh, a mix of delight and breathless anticipation, bubbled from your throat. The sound only fueled his fire.

He chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated against your skin. The maddening circles continued, drawing you further into the vortex of desire. Teasingly, he whispered, his voice laced with possessive pride, "Look at you, teetering on the edge, nearly broken, and yet... you still yearn for more."

A primal growl rumbled in your chest, fueled by the exquisite torment. The submissive haze shattered, replaced by a surge of demanding need. "Then give me what I want," you snarled, your voice thick with raw desire.

His grin widened, a flash of pure, carnal hunger. This was the you he craved – untamed, demanding, desperate. He surged forward, his hips impacting against yours with brutal force, stealing the air from your lungs and forcing a strangled cry from your lips. "Like that?" he growled back, his fingers digging into your sides, claiming you as his own. "More, little bird? Do you beg for more?"

"More!" The word ripped from your throat, a desperate plea, a surrender to the inferno he had ignited.

His smirk hardened into a dangerous line. He knew the precise chords to play, the secret places to touch, to drive you to the brink of madness. Roughly, he wrapped your legs around his waist, tilting your hips upward, granting him deeper access. He began to thrust, each stroke a brutal, possessive claim. His voice dropped, a low and guttural promise of pleasure and pain. "Look at you," he commanded, his gaze burning into yours. "Utterly mine."

He watched, mesmerized, as your back arched off the bed, your mouth forming a silent scream, a testament to the exquisite torment he was inflicting. The rhythm became relentless, a punishing cadence that pushed you closer and closer to the precipice. Sweat dripped from his brow, slicking your chest, a fragrant offering as he surveyed the landscape of your body, marked and flushed with his touch.

"Shit, shit, I'm coming!" you screamed, the sound raw and untamed, a final surrender to the overwhelming pleasure.

The smirk playing on Sylus's lips deepened, a predator's delight in his eyes. He was acutely aware of your body's frantic response – the frantic flutter in your core, the desperate bounce of your breasts, the silent scream trapped in your parted lips. A surge of possessive satisfaction coursed through him. With a brutal snap of his hips, he found your deepest, most sensitive spot. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "Like this, little bird?" he murmured, the question laced with a dark promise as he repeated the motion, each thrust hitting harder, deeper.

A sob escaped you as the first wave of release crashed over you, your body a taut string about to snap.

His relentless hips continued their work, expertly prolonging the exquisite torment. He felt the tremors racking your entire body, your helplessness a stark contrast to the power he wielded. Reaching down, his fingers found and pinched your clit, sending you spiraling into another, even more desperate climax. His voice, a mere rasp against your skin, was heavy with possessive triumph. "So many marks... skin singing... so sensitive... utterly mine."

"Don't... don't torture me," you gasped, the plea weak against the tide of sensation.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, an acknowledgment of the delicious cruelty he was inflicting. He knew exactly how close you were to the edge, and he reveled in it. His pace gradually slowed, the movements becoming languid but no less intense, drawing out the agonizing pleasure. "This," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck, "is what happens when you demand more, kitten." His fingers found your nipple, teasing and pinching, drawing another moan from your depths.

"How... how can you hold on?" you managed, a frustrated growl escaping your lips. It was always this way. He possessed an inhuman stamina, capable of pushing you past your limits while remaining frustratingly in control.

He blinked, a flicker of amusement in his eyes at your ragged question. With a self-satisfied smirk, he confessed, "Years of practice with energy manipulation. I can delay my own pleasure... indefinitely." He rolled his hips slowly, deliberately drawing out another desperate moan. "But looking at you... dripping, trembling, covered in my marks..."

"Oh god... just let me die then," you whimpered, the words a plea and a surrender.

A soft laugh escaped him, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against your skin. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not yet, kitten. Not until I've had my fill." His hips moved with agonizing slowness, each thrust a deliberate promise of prolonged bliss and exquisite torture.

Hours blurred into an eternity. He explored every inch of you, every nerve ending, pushing you beyond the boundaries of pleasure and pain. You were a canvas of sweat, tears, and his essence, your body a tapestry of hickeys, bruises, and possessive handprints. Consciousness flickered, your mind lost in a haze of repeated climaxes.

He gazed down at your limp form sprawled beneath him, a sigh of complete satisfaction etched on his face. The air was thick with the scent of sex and the echoes of your cries. With a final, languid thrust, he groaned, finally succumbing to his own pleasure, his release deep and powerful within you.

"Sylus..." you sobbed brokenly, the sound barely audible as you felt the hot rush of his climax, a final claiming.

His eyes snapped open, a primal growl rumbling in his chest as your voice, a mere whisper, breathed his name. "Sylus..." The sound, broken, utterly spent, and laced with the lingering echoes of pleasure, was a symphony only he could orchestrate. He watched you, slick with his essence, a masterpiece painted in shades of exhaustion and bliss. A surge of possessive satisfaction, raw and untamed, coursed through him. "Say my name like that again," he commanded, his voice a low, guttural invitation to oblivion.

"Sylus…no more," you begged, the words barely audible, a plea lost in the aftermath of their tempestuous encounter.

He chuckled, the sound breathy and laced with a dark amusement, as he slowly withdrew, leaving you achingly empty. His fingers, calloused yet gentle, traced patterns on your flushed skin, a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed them moments before. "No more?" he mocked softly, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. He knew the truth - you were his, utterly captivated by the dance of pain and pleasure he led.

You managed a weak shake of your head, every muscle protesting the movement. You were a canvas, painted with the evidence of his dominance.

He leaned down, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead, a surprising gesture that belied the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Looks like my little kitten is finally broken," he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble that vibrated against your skin. He reveled in your surrender, in the knowledge that he held you captive in a web of desire.

"Sylus…" you breathed again, his name a helpless sigh.

A predatory grin stretched across his face, his eyes gleaming with undisguised pride at the sight of you, utterly vulnerable and undone. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over your trembling form. He ran a hand through your tangled hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Too much for you, hmm?" he teased, his thumb tracing the swollen outline of your lips.

"Yeah…" you murmured, the word a fragile whisper.

His cock twitched, a silent testament to the power you held over him, even in your wrecked state. "Such a pretty mess," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he traced the dark bruises blooming on your throat, his personal signature of possession. He knew you'd be sore for days, a delicious thought that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

"Can we have a bath?" you asked, your voice laced with exhaustion.

He chuckled softly, his expression softening as he saw the raw need in your eyes. He helped you sit up, his strong arms encircling you protectively. "Of course," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, and carried you into the opulent bathroom. He lowered you gently into the steaming bath, the water fragrant with scented oils and swirling with bubbles.

You managed a grateful smile, the tension easing slightly as the warm water enveloped you.

He smiled back, the predatory edge momentarily softened by a genuine tenderness. He lowered himself into the bath behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his hands resting possessively on your stomach. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah. You seriously wrecked me this time," you giggled, a faint, exhausted sound.

His chest rumbled with dark laughter as he nuzzled against your hair, the sound vibrating through your very being. "And I enjoyed every second of it," he admitted, his voice a low murmur against your skin as he traced lazy patterns on your stomach. "You screamed my name so nicely…" A gentle kiss landed on your shoulder, a promise of pleasure and pain intertwined. "But you're right – tomorrow will hurt."

"Then I guess, if I have no missions tomorrow, I will stay here. I don't want to fall down on my face on my way home," you breathed, the memory of your legs trembling beneath you still fresh.

He threw his head back, a deep, resonant laugh echoing through the room. "Smart choice," he chuckled, his grip tightening, pulling you flush against his warm body. "You'll barely walk straight tomorrow morning," he warned darkly, nipping softly at the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "How many times did I make you come?" The question was a husky caress, a blatant challenge.

A blush bloomed across your cheeks, hot and undeniable. "I lost count," you confessed, burying your face in his chest to hide your embarrassment, but also reveling in the possessive hold he had on you.

His grin widened, mischievous delight coloring his features. "Lost count, huh?" He purred, his hands gliding up your stomach, the anticipation building with each inch until he was cupping your aching, swollen breasts. "At least ten," he murmured, his thumbs circling your nipples, coaxing them to harden. "And that's just the ones I remember."

"I think it was more," you drawled, a hint of playful defiance in your voice, even as your body throbbed with renewed desire.

He chuckled deeply, amused pride lacing his tone as he gently rolled your nipples between his fingers, sending jolts of electricity through you. "Maybe closer to fifteen," he mused, clearly enjoying the way your exhausted body trembled at his touch. "You came so prettily for me that I lost track too."

You sighed, a sound of utter contentment, and leaned against him, purring like a sated kitten. All your muscles were screaming, your nerve endings alight, but you felt utterly at peace.

He hummed softly at your purr, wrapping his arms around you even more possessively, a silent declaration of ownership. "You get all sleepy and purring after I wreck you," he noted softly, a smile playing on his lips. The next thing you knew, he had shifted you slightly underwater, your legs parting almost involuntarily as his fingers found your entrance once more. You jumped softly, a gasp escaping your lips. "Still sore, kitten?" The question was laced with both concern and a hint of wicked amusement.

"I feel like falling asleep any minute now," you mumbled, your eyelids heavy, the world beginning to swim around you.

He chuckled softly as he gently probed your sore, swollen opening, a possessive exploration that, despite the ache, still managed to ignite a flicker of desire. "You really are broken," he murmured, his fingers slowly pushing inside, testing your limits as he saw your eyes drooping. "Can you stay awake a little longer, sweetie?" His voice was suddenly soft, soothing, laced with an almost tender concern that made your heart ache.

"Mm, why?" you managed to murmur, clinging to the last vestiges of consciousness.

The warmth of the water embraced you, a stark contrast to the fire you'd just endured. "Because I want to wash you properly," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. His fingers, still slick with your essence, moved with agonizing slowness, a deliberate tease. "And you need to drink some water. You're exhausted from all that screaming." His hot breath ghosted against your ear as he spoke, his free hand a solid anchor around your waist, supporting your trembling form.

“Okay…” you managed, a weak smile gracing your lips. Relief washed over you in waves, chasing away the lingering echoes of pleasure and pain.

He was meticulous, reverent. Each stroke of his fingers was a balm, a soothing promise against the soreness that throbbed within you. Then, with effortless strength, he helped you sit up, his body a warm shield behind you. He brought a glass of cool water to your lips, the glass clinking softly against your teeth. "Drink," he commanded gently, his voice laced with concern.

You leaned forward, welcoming the cool liquid as it cascaded down your parched throat. You drank with a desperate eagerness, each swallow a testament to the depths of your earlier abandon.

He watched, a possessive glint in his eyes, his arms a secure cage around you. He didn't stop until the second glass was empty, then, with the pad of his thumb, he wiped the stray droplets from your chin. "Good girl," he murmured, nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck, his voice thick with emotion. "Now, stay awake a little longer, okay?"

You could barely manage a nod, your body heavy with exhaustion, but you knew you wouldn't refuse him anything.

A soft smile bloomed on his face, transforming his features. He picked up the soft cloth, lathering it with soap until it foamed white and fragrant. His touch was feather-light, each movement deliberate and tender as he washed your shoulders, your arms, the delicate curve of your collarbone. He lingered on your breasts, circling the areolas with exquisite care, teasing without pushing you over the edge.

“You get so sweet every time like this,” you murmured, your voice husky with contentment. The lingering tension in your muscles began to melt away under his ministrations.

He chuckled, the sound a low vibration against your back. His fingers traced intricate patterns on your ribcage as he moved lower. "You make it easy to be gentle," he whispered back, his voice a soothing balm. He washed your stomach with agonizing slowness, his hands halting, trembling slightly as he approached the delicate curve of your hips.

“Are you nervous?” you asked, feeling the tremor in his touch. His hesitation was a stark contrast to his earlier dominance.

He paused, his hands still resting lightly on your hips, and drew a deep breath. "A little," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible. "I don't want to hurt you again. You're so sensitive down there..." His fingers traced a hesitant path along the swell of your hip, carefully avoiding the most sensitive areas.

You smiled, a spark of mischief flickering in your eyes. “If you wash it carefully, it will be fine.” The challenge was implicit in your tone.

He nodded slowly, the corners of his lips curving upward in a hesitant smile. With a visible effort, he steeled himself and carefully continued washing lower. "Right," he murmured, his hands moving with a newfound delicacy as he cleaned your thighs and knees. As he reached your shins, he paused, glancing up at you with a playful smirk. "Almost done," he breathed, the promise of something more lingering in the air.

You met his gaze, smirking back, anticipation building once more.

He took deliberate care, his touch lingering as he washed your feet and toes. Each stroke was a promise, a slow dance against your skin, drawing out the anticipation before he dared to cleanse the most sensitive part of you. A breath hitched in your throat as he moved higher, his touch tender and reverent as he washed you with exquisite care. He finally set the cloth aside, the silence thick with unspoken desires. "Alright, sweetie," he whispered, his voice a low, grounding rumble that vibrated through you, "All done."

A smile bloomed on your face, gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. "Thank you," you breathed, the words barely audible.

His answering smile was warm, a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. With effortless grace, his strong hands scooped you up, lifting you from the warm water. The soft embrace of a fluffy towel enveloped you, and he held you close, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His breath ghosted against your skin as he carried you, weightless, from the steamy bathroom into the dimly lit bedroom. "Time for bed, kitten," he murmured, his voice thick with affection.

Your heart fluttered at the endearment. Settling onto the soft mattress, you looked up at him, your eyes searching his. "Will you sleep with me?" The question hung in the air, a fragile offering.

He needed no further invitation. Crawling in beside you, he gathered you into his arms, a haven of strength and warmth. "Always," he breathed against your hair, holding you tight. He felt you melt against him, instinctively seeking his heat. A knowing smile played on his lips. "You always want to cuddle after a bath,"

"Because you’re so big and cuddly. So warm," you murmured, burrowing deeper into his embrace. His presence was a comforting anchor, a shield against the world.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his arms tightened around you possessively. "Flatterer," he teased, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on your back. "Though I must admit, I do enjoy being your personal heating pad." He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the clean, sweet scent of your freshly washed hair.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the day's tension melting away in his arms.

He watched your eyes droop sleepily, a sense of tender protectiveness washing over him. He carefully adjusted his hold, making sure you were completely comfortable. Spreading your dark hair across the pillow like a silken veil, he loved seeing you like this - peaceful, unguarded, and completely trusting in his care.

Listening to your soft, even breathing, a deep sense of contentment settled within him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice a soft murmur against your skin. "Goodnight, my little kitten." And with that, he closed his own eyes, letting sleep claim him, holding you close and safe within his arms throughout the night.

Taglist : @mcdepressed290

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v ] [ pt. 6 ]

Authors Note: I’m so sorry for how long it took to get this out to you guys. I’ve been going through it. This chapter is also going to be heavily situated in flashbacks and take place more in the past of r and Rio.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE |

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio understands that she’s now crossed more lines than she can ever uncross. She is Death, she has shaken lives and has been worshipped for thousands of years. But you lay fragile in the bed you share and she wonders just how thin the line between magic and pure, unfiltered love actually is. Meanwhile, outside of the flashbacks, you make sense of the puzzle Rio Vidal is and has always been.

Content Warnings: While this has mostly flashbacks and isn’t inherently as dark as the rest, it begins to reveal the nature of Rio’s actions so — take caution! Aftermath of magic [ r ], mental break [ r ], misuse of magic [ Rio ], confusion and memory loss [ r ], minor gaslighting and major manipulation [ Rio -> R ], pregnancy and the side effects that come with it, threats of violence [ r -> Rio ], we learn how R gets a magical collar, discussions of power dynamics, Stockholm Syndrome taking deep roots so as a result R has become an unreliable narrator in that there's: Fluff, softness, kindness from Rio

Word Count: 4.06k

1955

Rio had exposed you to too much too quickly.

The magic she had done quick work with after Agatha had left while you sat in that painful comatose like state had filtered the memories of what you witnessed.

She couldn’t keep her nature from you forever — she knew that, eventually, you would have to be aware of her true self, the entirety of who and what Rio Vidal was.

But this — what Agatha had shown you was like cracking your brain open and removing the parts that made you understand the world and how reality sat.

She had to sift through it all — your mind was entirely overwhelmed. You were unable to come up a reasonable explanation as to why Agatha’s hands glowed violently purple, why her eyes followed suit. You tried in the back of your head while the rest of your brain protected you in the way it could: leaving you catatonic and pliable.

So Rio worked more magic to undo the damage.

It was like snipping threads that had tangled into intricate knots and couldn’t be simply untangled. Only loosened by a pair of sharp scissors to cut them free and undoing the strain that threatened to pull apart your mental facilities.

When she was through, you slumbered for a week. She woke you to spill broth and hot tea down your throat, ensuring your body, too, wouldn’t fall victim to Rio’s own recklessness.

She should not have allowed Rio to step a single foot into the house. Should have lured her somewhere farther away, allowed the angry woman to get her say and send her off.

But Rio had been stuck in this . . . Vision of perfection and completeness she had finally felt after millennia of feeling so empty that she was foolish enough to forget that grudges — no matter how pointless and emotionally damaging they were — can last centuries if the bearer has the lifespan.

And Agatha Harkness had the lifespan.

Friday evening started coming around and Rio had to pretend to be human without you to witness her acting — for if you woke and saw her otherwise . . . She did not want to test the newly built constraints of your mental state when it still healed.

You made a low noise as she was bringing up a tray with the same meal as the last few days — but she had decided to upgrade you to a chicken noodle soup.

She noticed your movements, weak and flinching, almost instantly. She was quick to set the tray down onto the bedside table and crouch low to meet you at your level.

“Angel,” she tried, voice low and beckoning. She scooped limp hair away from your forehead and tried to draw you further out of sleep.

For a while you didn’t answer, but you did respond to her touches and shift when she spoke.

“Rio?” It was such a hushed little thing, your whisper. Voice hoarse from days of misuse — but she knew it could perhaps be worse than it was if she hadn’t kept you hydrated.

"I'm glad to see you awake, my love," Rio crooned ever so sweetly as she stroked at your hair and smiled encouragingly the more you regained your consciousness. "Are you feeling better?"

"What happened?" you asked as you clenched the sheets between your fingers and push yourself up onto your butt and wait for the dizziness to abate before facing her fully. "I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs."

"You did," Rio told you and you could feel the guilt in her voice as she joined you on the other side of the bed and pressed her shoulder to you and offered lighter touches than her heavy hand usually offered. "You woke up and came to find me but you weren't really able to get your footing, I don't think."

You tried to focus your cotton-stuffed brain on what you could last remember, but all you could grab onto was the conversation you had with Rio when you first woke up. "How long have I been asleep? Did I hit my head?"

Rio's expression shuttered and her hand pulled away, ending the warm strokes it made across your leg. She looked so lost -- and that was not normal for Rio as you knew her.

"You were unconscious for a week, Angel," Rio admitted finally as though the words were removed from her forcefully.

"What?" You shot up higher and panicked. Lunch with your mother was next Thursday -- or last Thursday, now -- and you missed it! "Oh that's not good, Rio. Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

Rio scowled at you. The look gave you a pause and you held your tongue from demanding to know why she seemed offended at your questioning of how she handled your fall.

"I called a doctor to the house to check on you," Rio replied coolly, her hand reaching back out to wrap around your arm and anchor you back to the bed to prevent escape. "He said you bumped your head but it wasn't anything to terrible and that you were expected to remain asleep for some time."

She spoke with the same silver tongue that always awarded her with the desired reactions, but your head was throbbing far too heavily to believe a fall down the stairs of this severity was deduced to just resting and sleeping.

You've been hospitalized by your husband for head injuries that hurt less than the way it hurt right now. Your ears had a ringing that couldn't seem to ease up and yet they felt like water clogged them to the drum.

"Angel." The hand tightened and the pain -- pain is a familiar concept and always drew you away from wandering thoughts -- drags you away from what you knew was the beginning of a nagging feeling of distrust against the woman you've fallen in love with.

"Sorry," you murmured, blinking blearily at her. "I'm trying to wrap my head around it. You said I fell down the stairs?"

Rio studied you, grip loosening, fingers starting to gently rub the hurt left behind the less signs of suspicion she thought she saw.

Then she nods, slowly, "Pretty roughly. You cut your forehead," she that hand from your arm up quicker than you expected and the flinch that followed had her freezing for a second before she continued like it never happened, "right here."

A soft thumb ran along your forehead and left behind a stinging sensation in the wake. You winced and reared back from her thumb, and she turned the appendage to show you flakes of dried blood that scraped off.

You looked away. "Is that the only injury? What did the doctor say?"

"Plenty of fluids and let you sleep as long as you show signs of improvement. I only left once to run to the store to grab your prescription. He gave you a painkiller, but I don't want you taking it without checking in with me first, Angel."

"Fine -- yes, of course. That's fine." You rubbed your eyes. Your mind-space was sludgy and you trudged through your thoughts with no way to sort them the way you wanted.

"Did you call my mother?" you asked when you could remember that fact. "She probably will be in a tizzy if she doesn't know what is going on and I simply did not show up for our lunch."

Rio nodded and pressed a kiss to your hand. "Called her the same day you fell. She and your father dropped by to visit you when the doctor was here, too, of course. They were concerned and your mother's dropped off numerous baked goods while assaulting me with rather invasive questions."

A flush ran up your body and you closed your eyes. Your mother had good intentions and she cared deeply, worried for you and distrustful of Rio. It does not surprise you that she would use this as a chance to infiltrate Rio's home and likely snoop about and ask inappropriate questions.

"I'm sorry." But when you opened your eyes, your partner had a good-natured smile adorning her face as though the entire idea was amusing to her. "She's protective and thinks you have terrible intentions."

Rio's endearing smile became a wicked grin. "Is she truly far off?"

"Rio."

2024

"I hope you die," you told Death, maturely and like the adult you were, as you stared at the plate of your favorite meal while shuddering in disgust.

"Counterproductive and obsolete," was the only response you got as the plate that was only just set in front of you was removed as quickly as it came, lest you vomit everywhere.

"You did this."

Rio did not bother arguing, denying, or otherwise saying a word against your statement of fact -- your accusation -- but put the untouched plate into the fridge.

"I can't control what they like, Angel," Rio unwisely said as she returned to you with a concerned crunch in her brows.

You had reached a stage in your first trimester in which your morning sickness should have gotten better by now. You were not expecting it to worsen and bring with it an onslaught of food aversions that you didn't have beforehand.

Your favorite foods that you desired and made Rio either make or go grab for you were suddenly a scale on whether or not you'd get sick at the smell, sight, or taste of it.

You'd requested your favorite snack one early morning and when she had returned with it, she swore up and down your skin had turned green [ no magic involved ].

With your frustrations and emotional turmoil came your increasing need for comfort that only Rio could provide. It was getting more difficult by the day to not pretend like this was a normal relationship and allow her to fawn over you like you were her greatest treasure.

You had no other human companions to turn to -- not like back when your first run in a real relationship had been. Rio had been . . . reasonable then but you had time to think on it.

She had been hiding in a skin that was not truly hers in order to play house with a human woman, playing by the society's rules despite being above all and being one of the few able to ignore them.

Rio Vidal the woman did not make sense like Rio Vidal the Undertaker did. At least as Death, she had a black and white duty and did have to play by some important rules that exposed some of her otherwise hidden side.

As a human she could do whatever she wanted, be whoever she wanted, and before she had revealed herself to you she had managed to puppet her world to her needs perfectly.

You remember those days and conclude that while her desires remain somewhat the same, she had gone about the execution of those desires very differently this time around.

Cool fingers wrap around the back of your neck and you dropped your head back so you could meet her gaze as she frowned down at you. She fingered at the magic that thrummed at her touch -- at her just being there.

"So pale," she said, mostly to herself as she strokes at the magic. It sent a course of ease through you that overwhelmed the nausea and ache that had been haunting you all day. "We need to get color back in those cheeks."

"Your fault," you repeated but closed your eyes to take in the comfortable feelings that coursed through you at her will.

"Hmm," she agreed. "Can you think of something else that sounds good for your tummy?"

"Sushi."

"You know you can't have sushi."

"I hate you," you whined as tears started filling your eyes.

Her hand moved up suddenly, grasping your chin as she glared down at you. "And you're carrying a baby, baby. Sushi is not good for you during your pregnancy so stop whining."

You ripped your face out of her hold, knowing she wasn't keeping you into a fiercely firm one. "You're being mean to me when I can't control most of my body or emotions anymore. I didn't get a choice in this! Any of this! Why did you do this now and not then? What changed?"

"You know how I answer those questions, Angel," she warns you as she watched you curl up in the dining chair and cry like she was watching an interesting animal. "Because I can."

1955

Recovery from the fall was moreso taxing on your head than your body. Your memory was foggy and you were forgetful whenever you went to do something and got distracted by another.

Rio had fussed and hovered the likes of which you’d never encountered. She took on over half of your usual household duties — “I’ve been doing them while you were sleeping, anyway, Angel,” — and tried cooking.

You told her in no uncertain terms after the fifth meal she made you that it was fine if she wanted to help you when you struggled, but cooking was off limits and not for her to do.

She didn’t argue.

Two weeks out and you hang up off the phone with your beside herself mother, having finally assured her that you were getting up and about without as many issues as you believed and that the doctor would be making a drop in soon.

You fiddle with the itchy collar of your dress and let the comforting quiet of the house seep into every tired bone of your body.

Rio was hesitant to return to work but her boss had been so lenient already with her. She already had so much more to prove than her male coworkers and showing weakness now would cause strife.

You had packed her lunch as you usually did and promised her you’d take it slow today and call her if you felt off.

She had given you the softest of kisses and had left, leaving you behind to find something to do. You would keep your promise on taking it slow. The house was clean right now, but you’d listened to the radio until your ears bled.

You peer out into the backyard that Rio had never truly made much use of. The sunlight flared through the curtains, striking you directly in the eyes and as it did a painful, searing sensation flared in your head.

Flashes of purple and green filtering through your mind, ripping apart your synapses. You collapsed against the back of the couch and breathed heavily, fingers digging into the cushions. The pain felt heavy and uncomfortable, pounding into your skull like a pickaxe.

You thought to call Rio and tell her about the pain but an intense reaction prevented you from moving toward the telephone on the wall.

For some reason, you would sit on the floor against the sofa for however it long it took for the pain to ebb. When tilting your head upward even a few inches did not result in a weight feeling forced onto your skull, you took it as a sign you should stand.

There was not something quite right even as you regained your strength and filled a class of water for yourself to sip upon. A deep, wrenching reaction to this pain -- something was off but questioning it brought on another headache.

You did not keep track of the time or the amount of times you refilled your glass of water.

Your head -- it was a . . . why did it hurt when you tried to unjumble these messy images of purple and green? Why was there resistance in your own being as you made moves to recall these events?

You were not an educated woman -- would Rio simply tell you that you still suffered post-injury side effects?

You felt trapped in the kitchen until the sunset's soft colors began soaking through the windows, a warning of your misuse of the day.

Rio was taken aback by the sight upon seeking you out. Head in your hands, haunched low at the table with fingers tightly skewed into your hair as you trembled in place.

A glass was shattered atop the surface as water spilled over the floor in small, even drips.

She set down her stuff gently next to her, making no noise to avoid startling you. She unbuttoned the cuffs of her sleeves and began to slowly make her way over to you.

Rio could feel the ripples of her magic like river-made waves on shores of a bank. Her magic had meant to reset your memories to an extent, to replace what you saw of her and Agatha.

Somehow you were having . . . almost an allergic reaction to her magic. You should not be experiencing this level of pain or despair when trying to recall any sort of happenings after she went through your mindscape, and yet . . .

The Green Witch crouched low at your side and lifted a hand to seize the tendrils of magic that became corrupted and caused you pain. Even around her fingers it felt slimy, heavy, and almost suffocating in nature.

She had not meant to . . . do this. When her magic had been placed within you, it was not this inky, antagonistic, thing.

This was an infection of a wound she created. She had used her magic to fix your mental state too hastily when she had thought she had been as careful as she could have been.

Undoing this magic, with this level of oily corruption and blackness, would shatter you. For the first time in a very long time, Rio was not sure how to fix this for you.

You still had not moved. Your suffering -- brought on by her failing magic work and your failing state -- was keeping you head locked as your body went into a state of shock that no human doctor could repair.

Her eyes floated to your neck. The solution she did have would dampen her previous work but would have to be maintained -- effectively locking you to her side for the rest of her existence and forgoing your mortality.

She would have to forge a familiar bond with you.

2024

You rubbed under your neck at what was not there to begin with. Depending on Rio's mood, you either forgot it existed entirely or there was sometimes an ache that accompanied it's existence.

The small amount of magic you got back from her collar returning to your neck was stronger than normal. You couldn't do much -- manipulating the windows to open or starting the oven or turning the water on was basic familiar work.

Rio had become her greatest opponent in meeting you -- refusing to take you, staying around for you, taking you as a familiar and then keeping a sexual relationship with you -- you learned a lot about familiars quickly after she had revealed her true self to you.

Most witches chose animals because they were covert -- especially cats, toads, lizards, or birds. She had then said less commonplace animals had started being used as modernization occurred and witches grew less traditional. It wasn't uncommon for a witch who did not know about her own bloodline to accidentally make a familiar out of a tiger if she worked at a sanctuary.

But a human was taboo. Human familiars placed dynamics on both ends of the bond that normal familiar bonds lacked -- along with additional magical abilities that fuzzy friends do not have advantages to receive.

But Rio never kept company of other witches -- she was the Witch of witches. Death was her name and it was fitting for her to choose only the most accurate familiar to be at her side.

Even though you've made an attempt on her life many times.

These days -- the days after you paused on your fight -- you wondered how your child would differ in place of Agatha's. Was it because you were bound to Rio in a way that the other witch simply wasn't?

Rio had clenched her jaw when you had asked her the question one night as she ran a hand over your new, small bump. Her eyes had been soft, movements gentle and warm.

"Is it because of . . . of what I am? The magic you used on me?" you asked her in the quiet. The windows were open to allow the spring breeze in, along with the noise of neighborhood children laughing past curfew and crickets chirping their songs.

Her dark gaze shuttered the second the question was out of your mouth, her hand stilling on the rise of your stomach.

You did not bring up Nicholas very much -- knew he was a sore spot for the dark haired woman. She had told you about him on occasion, how he came to be and why he could not stay on this plane . . . which is how everything with Agatha had fallen apart.

But she had also told you that she kept him close in the afterlife he had chosen to drift into. She had created a home for him there, made of warm fields and sunny days that never gave way to cold nights or heavy storms.

She would visit often, she had said, and spend time with her lost son knowing Agatha was running from the chance to be reunited and embrace the same form of peace.

"The magic I used on you may be different, yes," Rio answered roughly. You realized the exposure of her emotions here rested your head on her shoulder. "Your life is the only one I am paying for to keep. So far, I have not had . . . not had to answer for . . ."

"For her," you finished.

"Her?"

You smiled at the feel of Rio's chin on top of head moving in the echo of the word, tasting it on her tongue. "Too early to tell," you admit, splaying a hand next to hers on the small swell, "but I have a feeling."

"Hmm." Rio buried her nose in your hair. For now you accepted the fall of the subject of how your child's ability to survive without breaking the rules works . . . but it would bother you again and you would demand answers later.

Some days you felt aching guilt for being so . . . weak. Easily broken and willful to Rio's tactics that you had thought you had learned from the first time around. It would leak into bouts of rage that had her ultimately fixing what parts of the house you destroyed.

She would poke at your rage at times, scold you for having such childish tantrums. But you knew every single time why she did. It was a circle of anger and grief with nowhere to go -- and you were at an increasing risk of injuring yourself.

Eventually she started providing you with more things to do when she could detect these bouts; "tell me where you want this koi pond and willow tree -- I will not be using magic to install either of them," was one such project. It took you a day to find a suitable spot in the yard, and now Rio was singlehandedly, without magic, taking her time to put in a koi pond in the yard with a newly planted willow tree beside it.

Leaving the house was now an option -- together, not alone.

"The dog is going to tear up the house if we don't walk him, and he likes you better," she told you as she handed you a new fitting pair of tennis shoes.

Said dog had released a heavy sigh from his spot under the coffee table, but had relented when you clipped the leash to his collar.

Dinner. Movie dates. Zoo trips. She was making these plans as activities to be done before you could crash and burn. On one hand you appreciated it, on another . . .

Sometimes you wished for flames.

rio and reader will return in part 7

PART SEVEN

Tag List: @dandelions4us , @flow33didontsmoke , @girlsgotissues , @crescentcrush -- if I forgot anyone, please let me know!

[lonewolflupe]

Yo first of all, kriff timezones and my workday for missing this when you dropped it.

Secondly, I'm so glad you found some sketching time again because you know I could eat your sketch style (or basically any art you create).

I could also eat your anatomy, because DANGGGGG this is looking FIIIIIINE (I think this was point three but it has been such a long day, apparently I lost the ability to count. Is there a train departing to Sesame Street at this hour??)

Okay but seriously this is kriffing amazing, the anatomy and the movements and the dynamics and mlemmmmmm

Sorry my brain isn't working properly but have you a) written a Fox + Aev sparring at 0300 fic yet and b) does it end with smut? Asking for a friend

Also I kriffing love Fox's expression. He's looking at Aev like 'Is this all you got?' teasing her with it, right before she pulls this sick move, and BAM hits him properly and leaves him scolding with a bloody nose ahaha.

Have I said I love this piece??

get lost, cut loose, + lose your way-

there ain’t no fun in holding back babe,

enjoy the thrill of living dangerously!

[actualbird]

// cn server spoilers, new luke card

EXCUUUUUUUUUUSSSEEE ME, HE IS SO STRIKING, THEY ARE SO GORGEOUS?????

[maximura]

[lemonvolley]

Back at it again with our favorite knockoff Spider-Man-

@photosyntheticspace here you gooo <33

[bmpmp3]

i do think its kinda funny when i see someone in the year of our lord 2024 talk about vocal synth music like its all gone downhill since like 2010 because like dont get me wrong i love a good niconicodouga-ass 2008 ass vocaloid joint BUT also like. the past couple years have had the most fascinatingly creative and expressive uses of vocal synthesizers ive ever heard in my life DJFSKHJDFS dont write it all off just yet!!

[debrouiller]

JANJA GARNBRET at Innsbruck Boulder Finals 2023

bonus:

[namelessprince]

listened to that pd anime op song and now i want to animate to it. which means ive spent the last hour watching random anime openings and taking notes o(-(

[7central]

the train station reunion is so fucking funny in terms of physical comedy. ramping up to it we got the overly casual shrug from Lupe and the exasperated eyeroll "riiiight" from Jess. and then we have Lupe's double take, her smacking Jess in some realm between hip and ass, trying to present a unified front--total dad move. the power walking while swearing in public--also a total dad move.

and then Esti abandoning her sandwich, winding up her legs like a cartoon before she starts running, turning over her shoulder just to have the last word with "¡no eres mi mamá!"

then we have Jess immediately going "oh shit" and trying to get in the way, but Lupe just doesn't stop, so Jess fucking keeps running backwards while Lupe tries to fake her out unsuccessfully. and then the cut to Esti sprinting (she's the fastest stealer in the league, lu!) while they're busy arguing. and finally, Esti's calculating stare as she realizes she can use this leverage to annoy Lupe even more learn to drive. cinematic perfection.

[somerandomdudelmao]

………….

TAP.

@somerandomdudelmao, happy day of birth, Universe

[lilacerull0]

i feel like people tend to forget how rough around the edges enzo is because of the way he is with lila, and i mean this as a wonderful thing about him.

[yandere-writer-momo]

My take on the neglected spouse trope, but with a little spice. Short and to the point

Yandere Batman Shorts: Adorned In Pearls

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Neglected Wife Fem Reader x Yandere Batboys (platonic)

Tw: obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamic, power imbalance, time rewind, imprisonment (implied), death (beginning), and themes that should not be romanticized

“Put the jewels in the bag!” (Your name) didn’t even flinch when the intruder crudely held up his gun to her while she was in the kitchen. It seems her end was finally near at last. “Did you hear me?! Put your jewels in the bag!”

(Your name) calmly turned off the stove top while the intruder kept his voice raised. She had been working on breakfast for her ungrateful husband and her adopted children since they’d be back from patrol in a few hours. Alfred was in the Batcave which left her up here and vulnerable… not that they’d care.

“Let me turn off the stove so you don’t blow the place up if you shoot.” (Your name) calmly told him. She knew this would be a tragic end… and she looked forward to her suffering to end at last.

(Your name) unclasped the pearls from her neck and placed them in the burlap sack the burglar thrusted toward her with one hand. She then made her way to take off each piece of jewelry that was an empty gift from her husband. Even his mother’s ring he gave her for their opulent wedding.

“Code. Safe. Now.” The burglar demanded as he thrusted the gun in her chest.

“0219.” (Your name) calmly stated despite how terrifying the situation was. “It’s in the third room to the right.”

She could not get another word in before a searing pain filled her chest as a loud gunshot rung throughout the house. She glanced down at her chest at the bullet hole that was now through her chest cavity.

The burglar walked off while she sank to the floor in a heap. Her hands went to her phone to make a final call but… she knew no one from this house would answer. (Your name) was always an afterthought, and she believed she would be even in death.

So she dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer. Her right hand was stained crimson as the viscous blood pooled around her like a grotesque blanket.

Once she heard the operated answer, (your name) cut them off, “There’s been a robber and murder at the Wayne manor.”

(Your name) then hung up and turned her gaze to the ceiling. If there was another life, she would be selfish and live for herself. She wouldn’t rot away like lettuce in the back of a fridge in this manor. No… she would have more respect for herself.

Breathe in… breathe out. She smiled in peace for the first time in years. She was finally free from this lonely nightmare she had been trapped in for nearly two decades. Maybe, she would finally deserve her chance to be loved as much as she loved back.

How was she to know the nightmare only just began?

.

.

.

(Your name) jolted awake, her wine glass nearly slipped from her hand from the sudden movement. A myriad of voices chattered in the opulent restaurant has her eyes glanced around the almost surreal scene.

This was the restaurant she had begged Bruce and the boys to come to for her birthday with her six years ago…

“ Mrs. Wayne, would you like another glass of water?” The familiar waiter came over with a pitiful expression that she had seared into her memory from all those years ago. The look almost every waiter gave her at any venue she went to.

“Actually, I’d like to order.” (Your name) smiled. “It’s my birthday… and I want to celebrate it for once.”

The waiter seemed surprised but happily took her order. This was the first time she had ordered rather than wait for hours for a family that wouldn’t come.

(Your name) smiled to herself, her gaze focused on the complementary wine glass that was brought to her by the wait staff. How sad was it that the stranger showed her more love than her own family?

She had a second chance… and she’d be damned if she wasted it.

.

.

.

After she had long left and enjoyed her meal, a dashing family of five hurriedly arrived to the restaurant.

Bruce Wayne looked slightly disheveled, but that didn’t take away from his charming good looks. The billionaire and his adopted sons hurriedly glanced around the restaurant for any sign of his wife and their mother. He knew she would be here… just like she always was that she waited for them.

They had all been given a second chance when they came home and found her small, lifeless body on the kitchen floor after patrol.

Never had they all cried so much as they cradled her cold, bloody form as they desperately tried to revive her. Each of them begged for another chance to love her properly.

Each of them had spent so much time finding the perfect gift to make up all the lost time up to her and to finally celebrate her birthday like a family… just like she always dreamed.

They had always kept their distance to keep her safe from their enemies. Yet they had instead created a giant misunderstanding. One that they all desperately needed to make up for.

“Do you think mother is still here? I hope she didn’t wait too long…” Damian muttered, his green eyes nervously searched for (your name)’s delicate form.

“She always waits for us. She loves us.” Dick reassured the others, yet they all knew it was more of a self reassurance. “She will be so happy…”

The wait staff seemed surprised but they did give the boys some glares.

“Jeez, what’s their problem?” Jason huffed as he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t see her anywhere… he had gotten her a wonderful gift for once.

“I can look up her location.” Tim chimed in as he pulled out his phone. “She’s around, I’m sure.

It was Bruce who seemed to search the hardest for her. A bouquet of roses were clenched so hard in his fists that his knuckles turned white. He would make this all right again.

(Your name) was alive once more… and he would make sure she would never die or be hurt by anyone again. She’d be protected and cherished like she deserved.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Wayne left hours ago.”

The men all instantly deflated. She left? But she would always be here for hours for them… was there a possibility she returned in time too?

They all went back to the manor in haste. They wanted to celebrate her birthday with her… they wanted to celebrate so much with her. They wouldn’t let her be alone ever again.

.

.

.

(Your name) dipped her feet in the hot tub at the manor with a content sigh. Her lungs deeply inhaled the crisp night air with a dreamy sigh. This felt so peaceful. Why had she never celebrated her birthday like this before?

(Your name) didn’t even flinch when she heard the boys come home. Perhaps patrol ended early? It’s been so many years of being ignored that she hardly knew what went on in their lives.

She slipped the robe off and slid her swimsuit clad body into the comfortably hot water. Another sigh spilled through her lips, her muscles relaxed. This felt like heaven.

(Your name) jumped when Bruce suddenly slid the sliding door open with a loud whack. She was quick to cover her cleavage with her hands despite how this man was her legal husband.

“ Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here-“ Bruce was quick to close the distance and pull her into a hug. The muscular man shook like a leaf as he held her to him. His heart beats so fast, she swore it was about to burst.

“You’re alive… you’re okay…” (Your name) did a double take at his words. When did he ever care about her well-being?

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way he came back to the past too, right? Her original, neglectful husband would never hold her and bury his nose in her hair like this…

Yet here Bruce Wayne, her infamous billionaire, Playboy husband, was with his face borrowed into her skin. His nose deeply inhaled her scent like she was his favorite flower. He held her as if she was something precious, something he has never done in their two decades of marriage.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but he only held her tighter.

Bruce pulled back to study her face, is blue eyes were dark like a sea storm. His brows were furrowed in worry.

“Hugging my wife.”

A humorless chuckle bubbled from her chest. So now she was his wife? Since when has he treated her as such.

“Is this a joke?” She asked him despite how serious he looked. “I’m just a decorated house pet-“

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when he planted a searing kiss on her lips. A gasp escaped her as his tongue thrust its way into the cavern of her mouth and tasted every inch of it. His hands greedily grasped at her body.

“Wife… my wife.” Bruce whispered against her lips. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mister Wayne-“

“It’s Bruce.” His voice was authoritative as he cut her formalities off.

“…Bruce.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you. I want my wife.” (Your name) squealed when h got into the hot tub with her to hair with her. “It’s your birthday today…”

He… he knew her birthday?

“I didn’t think you ever noticed...” She muttered, but he pressed his forehead to hers.

“All these years, we thought we were keeping you safe by keeping a distance. How foolish I was.” Bruce sighed. “You’re safer in our arms, in my arms.”

(Your name) was speechless when he pulled a gift box from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal an exquisite pearl necklace.

“You deserve to be adorned in pearls and jewels. To be pampered by me.” Bruce didn’t give her the chance to move away as he clasped the necklace around her.

Despite its elegance, (your name) couldn’t help the dread that pulled in her stomach. She could not stop the feeling that this pearl necklace was nothing more than a magnificent collar.

“You look so beautiful in those pearls… they were my mother’s, you know.” Bruce hummed as he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the hot tub.

Bruce placed her robe back over her form.

“Let’s get changed and go celebrate your birthday properly with the boys. They really want to see their mother.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “and after that, I think you and I can finally make up for all the lost time.”

(Your name) felt a tear roll down her face that Bruce took as a tear of joy. Yet only she knew the truth.

She had believed she would escape and find her own happiness, now she realize she would never escape this gilded cage.

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[meganegatari]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

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